“But your brothers are on your side, too,” I told him. “You just have to let them be.”
He nodded. And we relaxed into each other. I melted against his rock-like body, my personal shelter against everything the world threw at me. And he clutched me tight, pressing my softness into him as if he wanted to absorb me whole. “Feck,” he said at last. “I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you more,” I said with feeling.
We rotated, arms around each other as if we were slow-dancing, his lips pressed to my hair in an endless kiss. I could feel it flowing out of him like exorcised ghosts, all the bad stuff he’d been dealing with, all the memories seeing his brothers had brought back, all the stress he hadn’t been able to vent. And I cursed myself for not getting there sooner.
And then I remembered how many times I’d tried to come, and he hadn’t let me. So I punched him hard in the arm.
“Ow! Jesus!”
“You shouldn’t have come here alone,” I told him.
“It was the right thing to do,” he said firmly. Then he sighed, closed his eyes and put his cheek on mine. “But it wasn’t right. I’m sorry.”
And I had my Kian back. Warm and solid and real, not just on a computer screen. He held me close for long minutes, his big palms stroking my back. Then he finally eased me back until we were at the length of our outstretched arms, our hands joined, and he just looked at me, drinking me in.
The room was utterly silent...or maybe every other noise in the house just ceased to matter. I’ve never felt so focused on someone, so entirely connected to them. I looked up into his eyes and I fell in love with him all over again...and it felt like he was falling for me. His fingers squeezed mine once, twice...and then those powerful biceps jerked me forward and his lips descended on mine.
We kissed and I groaned at how good it felt: the hardness of his lips, the way he coaxed me open and then damn well devoured me. We fit together so well, twisting together and chasing each other, his strong Irish will and need to tame me, my softness and quickness and refusal to ever quite be tamed.
We broke the kiss, moved back and just stared at each other again, panting a little, our breathing in time. And a different sort of need started to take over. He didn’t move, didn’t touch me aside from his hands holding mine. But I could see it in his eyes, feel the heat throbbing through his fingertips.
All the time we’d been apart, it had been building inside me, an ache that was so basic, so primal and raw it almost scared me. I’d been denying it, suppressing it but now—
I saw the realization in his eyes at the same instant, the sudden flash of furnace heat.
We’re alone—
In a bedroom—
With a four poster bed—
We flew at each other, meeting in the middle of the room. My head tilted back for his kiss but I kept pushing, desperate to get him on something or up against something. His lips took mine, owning me, spreading me wide and tasting me, and meanwhile he was pushing me backward, just as determined to pin me.
He had the size, the weight and a lot more muscle. It’s testament to how much I needed him that, for a few seconds, I actually held my ground.
Then he growled and pushed, walking me backward even though my legs were trying to go forward. A second later, my ass hit the wall and he pinned me up against it, his big body towering over mine. I gave a kind of strangled cry of joy and kissed him even harder, letting him know how much I needed it.
Our hands were all over each other and every touch of those warm palms sent a rush of pure fire through me. He stroked my hips through my skirt. Then up over my sides, the warmth soaking into me through my blouse. I had my hands up under his jacket, tracing the muscles of his back and then pushing them up between us so I could feel every hard ridge of his abs and fill my hands with the broad cliffs of his chest. Both of us were breathing in shaky, urgent gasps. “I need you,” I panted.
“I need you more.” His voice wasn’t loud but it filled the room. And that new, stronger Irish accent was something else: it echoed off the walls like flashing silver blades and then turned molten as it hit my ears, flooding down inside me and winding its way straight to my groin. I think I gave a little whinny of lust and we kissed so hard, so urgently, our teeth clacked together.
His thigh pushed very hard against mine, until my ass was locked against the wall. I automatically pushed back a little and found I couldn’t move at all. He was like rock against me. Oh. It’s going to be like that.
He pulled my blouse out of my skirt, bunched the hem of it in his hands and ripped it up the middle with one strong pull, buttons flying and bouncing. OH! Oh God, it really IS going to be like that. I panted, suddenly breathless, my hands going crazy on his sides and abs. I pulled his shirt out of his pants and slid my palms up onto warm, naked skin.
He grabbed hold of my bra but there was no way to open the clasp because I was pressed so hard against the wall. I started to arch my back to give him room—
He took one cup in each hand and just ripped the stitching that held them together. The two halves fell either side of my breasts and I let out a cry of joy as his mouth enveloped a breast. My hands tangled in that thick, black hair, my ass grinding against the wall as if I was trying to climb it. I was sucking in huge, quick breaths through my nostrils, shuddering as his tongue licked and swirled, my nipple puckering to hardness quicker than I’d thought possible. The need for him was vibrating through me, now, like I as a violin string being plucked, every inch of me aching and trembling for him.
I grabbed hold of his belt and unbuckled it, then started working on his pants. Kian’s hands found my legs and started to run up them, stroking and squeezing them, expert fingers finding every secret place. I gasped and twisted, flexing and squeezing my thighs together in time with his touch. Every brush of his fingers against my skin brought another rush of heat that soaked straight down to my groin. I was frantic, now, desperate. I’d never needed it so much.
His fingers reached my panties and slid around to the front, stroking me through them, and I moaned and ground against him. He grabbed my skirt, wrenching it up my legs inch by inch, baring me. I felt the cool air of the room on my thighs, my upper thighs...God, he had it right up to my hips.
His fingers hooked into the top of my panties. At least those he can get off pretty easily, if he just—
There was a pull and a crack of elastic snapping and my panties were gone. He wasn’t interested in waiting. The heat strummed faster and faster inside me, echoing through my brain, no room left for coherent thought. He cupped me and I grabbed hold of his head and dragged him up for a kiss. Then, as he sucked on my tongue, a finger slid into me, finding me soaking. I had his pants open now, and I was threading my hand inside his jockey shorts—
I groaned as my hand curled around the shaft of his cock, hot and iron hard. He responded by hooking the finger inside me, touching me just...there—
“MMMF!” I managed through the kiss, desperate to speak. When he let me, I grabbed his cheeks in my hands and stared at him from just a few inches away. “I’ve got to have you,” I croaked. “Right now.”
His eyes didn’t leave my face. I heard the rustle of foil, the rubber sound of a condom. And then—
My eyes widened as he slid up into me, all the way in one long, marvelous thrust. My eyes closed and I grabbed at his shoulders, my long groan turning into a high little squeak as I rose up on my toes. He drew back and it was like a loss: my fingers clawed at his muscles, urging him back. Then another thrust, mashing my ass back against the cool plaster of the wall, my thighs pressed wide as they cradled him between them. I cried out and crushed him to me, my teeth and lips finding the shoulder of his jacket, silencing what would have been a scream of pleasure.
He stayed there for a second, our bodies pressed together. The heat of him soaked into me, his chest like warm rock through the thin cotton of his shirt. Then he slid his hands up between us and captured my breasts. Every squeeze, every expert stroke of his thum
bs across my nipples, made me writhe and thrash, and that moved me on him, and that made him growl and fondle me faster. “Christ, I’ve missed these,” he panted in my ear, the hot rush of Irish silver making me grind against him.
His hands slid down my sides, over my rucked-up skirt, onto my hips. He smoothed his palms along my thighs, all the way down to the knees, then back up. “And these,” he said, and the lust in his voice made me press myself harder against him. “I love your legs.” He suddenly grabbed them and lifted, using his forearms to help, and my legs hooked up and around his waist. I yelped as I fell onto him a little more deeply. Now I was supported only by my legs and the pressure of his hard body pinning me to the wall.
His hips started to move, a steady rhythm that pressed me into the wall. So much better than a bed: no give, no flex that would stop me grinding against him. Every thrust was a silken push of heat and tightness, silver streamers of pleasure swirling out. Then that grind as our pelvises met, diamonds spraying and glittering inside my mind. The heat inside me was strumming faster and faster. I gave a choked gasp and grabbed him hard, heels digging into his ass. The brute power of him was amazing: it felt as if he could hold me there for hours.
His big hands came up to cradle my face, thumbs tracing my cheekbones, as gentle with his touch as he was forceful with his thrusts. I began to pant out my pleasure, a safety valve that didn’t come close to relieving the pressure inside. I’d screwed my eyes tight closed in ecstasy but they flew open when he growled in my ear. “I’m never going away like this again,” he told me. “I need you. I need to feel you against me or I go feckin’ crazy. I need you, Emily.”
I wasn’t capable of speech so I just locked my arms tighter around his shoulders and pulled him forward for a kiss. Our mouths met in a frenzy of lips and tongue and teeth, riding the hurricane inside us, clinging to each other. His hips moved even faster, pounding into me. Each time he filled me, it was a confirmation that we were reunited, that I’d got him back. The heat was strumming so fast now that I couldn’t follow it—
I kissed him hard as I shuddered and exploded, yelling my climax against his lips. My fingers dug into his shoulders, my thighs squeezing him so hard it must almost have hurt. And as he felt my release, as he felt what he’d done to me, he went even harder, faster, drawing out the detonation into glorious slow-motion, and then he pushed deep inside me and shot. We kissed cheeks and lips and necks, our mouths frantic on each other. Then he lifted me away from the wall and into his arms, hugging me there while I recovered.
47
Emily
I’d always loved watching him sleep. I was an early riser, like my dad: some genetic Texas thing where we had to be up with the dawn, tending to cattle. But Kian was more like my mom, half-asleep and adorably grumpy until he’d had his coffee. He’d sleep until noon if I let him. And right now, he was sleeping like he hadn’t been near a bed in a week. I could see the tension releasing: the worry lines around his eyes were gone, the gaunt look was receding. Me being there was good for him and that lit a warm light inside me.
But there was still something wrong. The night before, long after we’d finally moved to the bed, after he’d lain me down and it had been slow and romantic, my legs thrashing either side of his in the moonlight, we’d spooned and talked. He’d caught me up on everything that had been happening: not just the facts he’d told me in our phone calls but the real stuff: how Sylvie was feeling, how he and his brothers were getting on. It made me realize what a poor substitute phone calls, even video calls, were for some face-to-face time.
When I was caught up, he asked me about the White House and my heart just melted: even with the hell he was going through, he still wanted to check I was okay. I reassured him that life was normal and we started planning what would happen when all this was over and we got back. For years, I’d wanted to go to Europe and see the sights, maybe even visit some of the European royalty. And Kian needed a vacation, after this. But—
But I could hear it in his voice. A tension, as soon as we started talking about photo calls and press interviews and security cordons: you know, normal stuff. He smiled and said all the right words. But deep down, I could sense a battle going on inside him. He got a look in his eyes that made my heart ache, a look I’d seen somewhere before but I couldn’t remember where.
He wouldn’t talk about it, claimed everything was fine and that he was looking forward to going back to DC when all this was over. But when you’ve been around politicians as long as I have, you get pretty good at reading people. Something was wrong, something that had been wrong even before he came to LA but that had been allowed to grow unchecked while we’d been apart.
I couldn’t just lie there brooding on it or I’d toss and turn and eventually wake him, and God knows he needed his sleep. I crept out of the bed but that left me with a new problem: I was utterly naked. Even my panties had been shredded, the night before.
I’d packed plenty of clothes but my bag was still in one of the Secret Service SUVs, unless Miller had thought to bring it in: even then, it was downstairs. I held my blouse up to the dawn light coming through the drapes. Most of the buttons were missing and he’d actually torn the fabric in one place. Yep, that’s not getting fixed. I couldn’t help but give a little smile.
After rooting around in some drawers, I found an old t-shirt and some sweatpants of Kian’s. They drowned me a little, but they’d keep me decent while I crept downstairs and tried to locate my bag. I might even have to run outside to where the Secret Service were maintaining a perimeter.
Everyone else seemed to still be asleep, probably catching up after the fire the night before. I started down the stairs….
And stopped, looking at the tree. Having a full-size tree growing through your house...that was the craziest and most fantastic thing ever. And it made me want to—
No. Don’t be ridiculous.
I’d seen how easily Kayley had swarmed down it when I arrived. Even I could see it was a good tree for climbing, with thick, solid branches. I could see it had been scorched by the fire, with a lot of the twigs gone, but clearly it was solid enough for now, even if it eventually died.
I took a step towards the handrail.
Come on, seriously, are you nuts?
My whole childhood, my mom had wanted me to be ladylike. Shooting and hunting with my father was just about allowable because that was traditional but climbing trees? No way. I might never get the chance again.
I bit my lip. Then I threw one leg over the handrail, stretched out and grabbed a branch. I balanced for there a second, the floor suddenly looking very far away. “Well, this can only end well,” I muttered to myself.
I swung my other leg over the handrail and pulled myself into the tree. There was a sickening rush of air and a swaying that took my breath away, and then I was straddling a branch and grinning like a loon.
Where next? I could sort of slither down to the branch below me and then hook around like this and pull myself over there…. I had my eye on the perfect spot, a nice wide branch from which I’d be able to see the whole hallway. One foot here and bend the branch a little so I can reach and grab on here and— I slipped and had to catch myself. Then I pulled myself up onto my chosen branch, my heart hammering but an even bigger smile on my face. I felt like I’d scaled Everest. And it was so peaceful. I sat there with my feet idly kicking, listening to the creak and shift of the tree around me...everyone should try this.
Eventually, though, I figured it was probably time to go and find some proper clothes. So I slid my ass off the branch, stretched out with my toes and—
Oh.
I couldn’t actually reach the next branch down. Well, no problem: I’d go back the way I’d come.
Except...I’d bent that branch towards this one to make the jump and now it had sprung back, beyond my fingertips.
Okay, I’ll go up. But even crouching precariously on the branch and stretching up, I couldn’t reach anything above me.
I was stuck.
Calling for help was out of the question. No way was I admitting to Kian or anyone else that I’d gotten stuck up a tree. I settled down to think. Straightaway, I was brooding on Kian and DC again. What was it that was bothering him?
About ten minutes later, there was a creak on the stairs. My head whipped around. Kian was slowly descending them, looking highly lickable in a pair of suit pants and nothing else. “Emily?” he called in a half-whisper, not wanting to wake everyone. “Emily?”
I sat there drooling over the wide, rugged mass of his shoulders, the way the dawn light played over each hard ridge of his abs. Then he passed me and I realized he hadn’t seen me: he hadn’t thought to look at the tree. He was at the bottom of the stairs before I thought to call, “Here.”
He stopped and looked up. Blinked. “What are you doing up there?”
“I wanted to try it,” I said as if this was the most normal thing in the world.
“Okay. Are you coming down?”
“Yeah,” I said. Then, “You know, in a while.”
There was a pause. “You can’t get down, can you?” he asked, crossing his arms.
I hesitated, then shook my head.
He nodded to himself. And made for the tree.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He looked at me as if it was obvious. “I’m coming up!”
My heart unexpectedly swelled in my chest.
He put one hand on the tree. Started up. Fell back. “You okay?” I called.
Kian gave me a look. “Fine. It’s just...it’s been a few years.” He selected a different branch and began to climb.
Watching him scale the tree, the muscles in his arms and back smoothly flexing, knowing he was on his way to rescue me, made me melt in a whole new and unexpected way. When he heaved himself up onto the branch beside me, it all threatened to burst out of me: I wanted to throw my arms around him and say my hero! But given that we were quite a long way up, and the branch was quite narrow, I settled for leaning in and kissing him. “Thank you,” I said.
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