Eli (Mallick Brothers Book 4)

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Alright, buddy. Relax," Eli said, but he was smiling as he tried to untangle from the dog and put him back on his own feet. "Hi, yes, hi," he cooed at him as he squatted down to give the belly rubs Coop shamelessly flopped down, rolled over, and begged for. He said it so lowly that I couldn't say for absolute sure, but I was pretty certain I heard him murmur, "I know. I missed you too."

  And damn if I didn't have to look away and fast-blink the little shimmer that crept into my eyes.

  I caught Peyton's gaze from several feet away.

  She said nothing, but I somehow knew exactly what she was thinking.

  Hottie Mc Death Row is in your sex store. You know, the guy you've been polishing the pearl to for years. He's here. In your sex store. Where there are plenty of devices for you two to consummate your weird prison love affair with. Why are your clothes still on?

  Uncomfortable, I shifted my feet. "What did he do? Why did you bring him here?"

  "He kept body slamming the door when I tried to leave. Like full force. Then he would fall, whine, and charge at it again. But he's here now, all safe and sound with Mommy and Daddy," she added a bit pointedly, letting her lips twitch. "And I have a job to get to. Doggy-Daddy, nice to put a face to the abs," she said, making my cheeks heat. "And sis, I'm just saying... foxtrot lessons are never a waste of time. Usually mutually rewarding too," she added, waving a hand as she turned and went to the door. "Cock God," she said, steepling her hands in front of her nose, and bowing her head to the six-foot-tall penis statue that sat beside the front door. "May your blessings rain... actually, ew, no. Goodnight!"

  Then she was gone.

  We were alone again.

  And I was praying to hell that he had no idea what 'foxtrot lessons' actually meant.

  "That's your sister?" he asked, moving to stand, still reaching downward to pet Coop's head as he whacked it against his leg.

  "That's my sister," I agreed.

  "She's a character."

  "You have no idea," I agreed, smiling a little because, no matter how much she might try to embarrass me at times, she was still my favorite person.

  "Where does she work?"

  "The library."

  "You've got to be shitting me," he said, smile wry.

  "Nope. She enjoys scaring all the old people with her colored hair and tattooed body."

  "And piercings."

  "Those too."

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence following that, neither of us seeming to have any idea what to say. What could you say in a situation like this?

  So, I never expected to meet my prison pen pal. Oh, and by the way, I think about you when I masturbate?

  That wasn't going to work.

  You're so beautiful it makes me forget that you were a felon locked up for aggravated assault.

  I was pretty sure that wouldn't be appropriate either.

  "Autumn," Eli said, voice a mix of soft, but also heavy at the same time. "Thank you."

  Startled, I felt myself jerking back, brows drawing together. "For what?"

  "Take your pick," he said, shrugging. "For taping the arrest when you thought it was getting too rough. For taking Coop in because he was too fucking ugly for the pound. For dealing with his crazy ass all these years. I know he is a chore. For writing me to tell me you had him so I didn't worry. For fucking writing me at all. Thank you."

  There was almost a weighted feeling in my chest, somehow reacting to the depth in his tone. "You're welcome. For all of that. But, I mean, I think any decent person would have done the same thing."

  "Take the compliment, sweetheart," he said, smiling.

  I gave him a small one back. "Fine. I take it. I'm an awesome human being."

  "There you go," he agreed, giving me a smile that suddenly didn't reach his eyes. "I don't want to keep you from work," he said after a minute, looking torn. Between what, I wasn't sure.

  "Yes, because there seems to be an absolute rush on floggers right now," I laughed, waving a hand at my empty store.

  "I know this is weird," he went on, looking apologetic.

  "It was... unexpected," I countered. "I hadn't heard from you for so long. Peyton was convinced you got shanked in the shower," I added, lips twitching.

  He chuckled at that, the low, rumbling noise moving around my belly deliciously. "Nah, I got out this morning," he admitted.

  He got out this morning and one of his first stops was to share She's Bean Around coffee with me?

  That was crazy.

  And like super sweet.

  But mostly crazy, right?

  Unless, maybe it wasn't.

  What man didn't get out of prison and think of a woman first? Right? And, clearly, he and his ex weren't going to happen again. Sure, he could hit a bar and find a woman. He was gorgeous and charming. But why not go right to the chick who was writing you prison letters for years like some freak, right?

  Ugh.

  Great.

  I made myself seem like some chick with a prison fetish or something. The kind of girl who always wanted to fuck a bad boy.

  That, well, it absolutely wasn't me.

  Writing him had been completely out of the norm. And having sexual fantasies about a man who did criminal things was just insane for me.

  It was, what was the term, an isolated incident.

  I mean, of course, I was incredibly attracted to him. Anyone with eyes would be.

  But that didn't mean that, now that he was free, I was going to drop to my knees at the, as Peyton put it, altar.

  That wasn't my style.

  No matter how hot he was.

  "What's that look for?" he asked, making me shock back, not having realized I had swum out into an ocean of not-great thoughts.

  "What look?" I asked, reaching under the counter for one of the specialty biscuits we kept just about everywhere for Coop. Milk Bones comment aside, Peyton refused to let Coop eat the 'mass produced crap' you would get at a local pet store. She actually spent one of her days off every week baking homemade dog treats, dehydrating meat for his bedtime snacks, and making a special dog stew that she read about in some veterinarian's book.

  I might have brought him home, but Coop was every bit hers as he was mine.

  "Is that in the shape of brass knuckles?" Eli asked as Coop jumped clear off the floor to take it from me.

  "Peyton has an interesting cookie cutter collection."

  "I believe it," he agreed, watching Coop devour his food.

  "He's a bottomless pit. I swear he has thirty treats a day on top of his food. But he never sits still, so he burns it all off. The vet said his weight was perfect."

  "He got huge," he agreed, giving the dog a bit of a sad smile.

  And, hell, every ounce of me wanted to find a way to take that look off his face.

  Even if that meant stripping naked and demanding he do as he pleases.

  Okay, so maybe that was just my libido talking, not my common sense.

  But yeah.

  I didn't like seeing him sad.

  He spent six years inside; he should have been over-the-moon to be out.

  "Do you want to come with me to take Coop on a walk? If I don't tire him out now, he'll be pacing my apartment all night, chasing shadows, and waking everyone up."

  There was a second of hesitation, something inside him seeming to have a battle before he nodded and reached for the leash. "What about the store?"

  "Closing early is a perk of ownership," I told him, reaching for my purse under the counter.

  "But what if there is a flogger emergency?" he asked, deadpan, making me let out a mildly embarrassing snort/laugh hybrid as I made my way through the main aisle of the store, letting him lead Coop out onto the sidewalk.

  I turned to flip the sign on the door and lock up. "Then I guess they will have to experiment with bare-handed spanking for one night. It's not the same, but it will do in a pinch."

  When I turned, I realized I needed to pay more attention to the things I said around
this man. My life revolved so much around throwing out sexual comments all willy-nilly. It hardly ever occurred to me to temper what I said, around adults at least. If you couldn't handle some dildo talk, then we probably had no business being around one another.

  But, yeah.

  Sex talk around this particular adult was, ah, problematic.

  Because those hypnotic eyes of his got just a bit deeper, went heavy-lidded.

  Noticing it did this dropping sensation in my belly followed by a pressure on my lower stomach that everyone who had ever been turned on before would know for a deep desire.

  "So, what direction?" I asked when he said nothing, as I tried to remind my body that we didn't do casual sex. Not even if the guy was as hot as this one.

  Eli jerked his head to the side, surprising me when he didn't want to go toward the center of town where there might be storefronts to look in.

  Maybe, at this point, I should have been wary, I should have been hyper-aware of the fact that this man was a violent criminal fresh out of jail, and that the streets toward the side of town he was indicating were somewhat dead thanks to many abandoned storefronts.

  That being said, I had researched his case.

  He hadn't hurt the woman. He had been defending the woman against her abusive husband. Normally, he would be hailed a hero for something like that. It was just his bad luck that the husband was the son to a prominent politician who had way too many connections, and who was able to force the battered wife to testify against him at trial. To, ugh, as the disgusting phrase went - stand by her man. As if any woman should be made to feel like she didn't have any other choice but to lie on the stand and convict the man who had tried to save her.

  But anyway, yeah, I didn't figure this man was any threat to me.

  That being said, I owned a sex store that I often was in alone a lot of the time, and left late at night.

  So my bag was like a mini self-defense store.

  Mace? Check.

  Mini expandable baton? Check.

  Taser? The best one on the market. I wasn't even sure it was legal in Jersey, but I didn't care.

  And, for about six months, I took self-defense classes at the local gym.

  So, yeah, even if his intentions weren't honorable - though I very much doubted that - I was prepared to take him down.

  "So, ah, are you staying in Navesink Bank?" I asked.

  "At least for the next year. I don't have much choice in the matter."

  "You don't want to be here?" Why was that information making my heart sink a little?

  "It's the only place I've ever called home," he hedged, pulling back on the leash when Coop looked like he was about to lunge at a shadow.

  "But you feel done here?" I asked, understanding.

  "Been there?"

  "I grew up in the sticks in Pennsylvania," I offered. "Very rural. Very conservative community."

  He looked over at me, smirk devilish. "You sure showed them, huh?"

  I laughed at that. "It wasn't that I set out to raise eyebrows. Once I was an adult and realized how far we, as a community, still had to go in being open about sex, and giving comprehensive sexual education, I kinda figured this was a niche I would do well in."

  "So you do more than sell sex toys?"

  "I won't lie; that is the majority of my income. But I teach classes too."

  "What kind of classes?"

  Okay, so I know I said that the sex store thing wasn't a good idea for topics of conversation. But Eli, unlike most men I tried to have this kind of conversation with, wasn't making double-entendres or leering at me. He was genuinely curious. In a casual way.

  "I offer a class for parents and kids about 'the talk' for when the parents are too embarrassed to do it themselves, but want their kids to get accurate information not based on shame and taboo. Then there are couples classes like tantra. I have classes - and these are usually done at bridal showers or bachelorette parties - just about sex toy education."

  "Rabbits verses eggs?" he suggested, managing to simultaneously pique my interest - because, let's face it, any man up-to-date on his vibrators was intriguing - and send another surge of desire through my system. There was simply no way to keep my brain from imagining being in bed with him. With a rabbit. Or an egg. Or, hell, just him.

  "Exactly," I agreed, hoping my voice wasn't as airy as I was worried it might be.

  There was another tense silence as Coop - as he usually did - led us his way, which was down a dead-end side street where there were only two stores, both of which were closed, likely following the scent of a mouse or stray cat. Or both.

  Eli turned suddenly, light eyes so intense under those thick black lashes.

  "Autumn, why the fuck did you write me?"

  Oh, so we were doing this.

  And me, well, I didn't have any good, satisfactory answers for him.

  "The first time, just so you knew your dog wasn't at the pound on death row. After that," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "I honestly don't know."

  "You knew what I did?"

  "I looked into you once I remembered your name."

  "Remembered my name?"

  "Yeah, you know. Between the arrest, then trying to take care of Coop, and work, and life... I kinda forgot what the cop called you. It wasn't until right before I wrote you the first time that I was at a bar, and someone called another man with the last name Mallick. Then it clicked."

  "Did you talk to them?"

  "To whom?"

  "My brother or father."

  There was a noticeable tension in his body right then. His shoulders squared; his spine went fully straight; his jaw looked like it was clenched painfully.

  So family.

  That was a sore, sore topic for him.

  The nosy part of me wanted to know why, wanted to ask for the details, wanted to understand. But I also understood that wasn't my place, that wounds like that hurt when they got uncovered, ripped open again.

  "Ah, no. No. I was at Chaz's for my birthday, and someone just called out the name Mallick. It clicked, so I turned, and I saw someone who looked a lot like you. But in a fancy suit."

  "Ryan."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "That was Ryan."

  Ugh.

  There was pain in his voice.

  Whatever story that was there, it could not have been a good one.

  Had they disowned him when he got arrested?

  Was there a disconnect even before then?

  It was clear that, at some point, his family must have meant something to him. That was the only way to describe the depth of tortured emotion in his tone.

  Something about hearing that in a man's voice, maybe just in this man's voice, it gave my insides a tug, something I couldn't place at first, but was ultimately just a bone-deep desire to ease it slightly.

  Without thought, truly without realizing it was going to happen until I felt the contact myself, my hand moved out to close around the outside of his hand.

  At the contact, his body jerked, like he wasn't expecting it, like he was unfamiliar with touch. And, I guess, that made sense.

  His eyes sought mine, full of questions.

  I had no answers.

  But I had a small bit of comfort.

  "You don't have to talk about them," I offered, shrugging.

  Like my touch, I wasn't sure that his was exactly intentional either. Because he seemed almost as taken aback as I was when his thumb moved to slide between my thumb and forefinger, allowing it to move gently over the top of my hand.

  Shivers, I tell you.

  There were actual, real-life shivers.

  I couldn't claim to have experienced everything there was to experience with a man, but I had known enough to know that the shivers you read about, hear songs about, see in movies, they didn't happen often. In fact, I had gone all my years without having felt them at all.

  Feeling them now, in this quiet, badly lit street, with a man I had only officially just met, whose past was a
mystery, whose previous six years had been spent in a prison cell, it couldn't have been any more unexpected.

  "Don't," he said, his voice barely above a rough whisper, but somehow still pleading.

  "Don't what?" I asked, hearing the neediness in my voice, but finding myself suddenly completely unconcerned by it.

  His hand slid from mine, leaving an odd tingling in its wake as his arm lifted, and his fingertips brushed near my eye. "Don't give me this look," he finished, fingers moving back toward my temple, brushing my hair behind my ear.

  "What look?"

  As if I didn't know exactly what look it was.

  It was the shameless slut inside all of us screaming out take me, take me now!

  "The one that looks a hell of a lot like permission."

  Because it was.

  It so, so was.

  To hell with rational thought, with consequences, with the knowledge that this was likely a horrible idea.

  All I could focus on was the way his touch was making my belly go liquid, making the pressure on my lower stomach all but impossible to bear, was making my heart race and skip.

  And I just wanted more.

  "It is permission."

  That was apparently that.

  Whatever thread of control he had been holding onto, snapped.

  His fingers slid back into my hair, grabbing my head at the base, and yanking me forward.

  I collided with his body hard enough to make my body jerk.

  But I couldn't even focus on that for a second.

  Because as soon as my body hit his, his lips crashed down on mine.

  And the world ceased to exist.

  I'd been kissed wildly before, without restraint, without anything but primal need.

  But, apparently, that was nothing like getting kissed by a man who hadn't known the touch of a woman in six years.

  His lips bruised into mine as his fingers curled into my skull, holding me flush to his body as his teeth bit my lower lip, as his tongue took the opportunity when I moaned to slip inside and claim mine.

  A shudder racked through my body, making a low, guttural, almost pained groan rumble from deep in his chest as he turned us suddenly, slamming me back against the brick wall to a building, his hand taking the impact as his thigh slid between mine, pressing them open slightly so he could move in closer.