A Kiss to Keep

by W Winters

  “I don’t want you to know. I want you to be happy and to trust that I’ll take care of it. All of it.”

  “That’s not fair. I don’t want it to all lie on your shoulders. I want to help you. I want to be there for you.”

  He sounds desperate when he tells me, “You do help me, and you are there for me.”

  “How can I, when I don’t know what you’re going through?”

  “I just want you to love me.”

  “You already know I do.”

  “Show me. Kiss me. Kiss me like you love me.” I miss her kisses the most. When she’s angry and she’s holding back, I know she keeps them from me. And all I can think is that she must not need them like I do. She must not feel the same thing as I do when she lets me kiss her.

  I can keep secrets so easily. But I can’t keep her touch as easily. I need to feel it every day. She makes me feel like it’s all worth fighting for.

  “Kissing doesn’t make it better,” she says softly, but her gaze lingers on my lips and the fight in her cadence is weak at best.

  “Fighting won’t either,” I answer her and that’s when her eyes lift to mine.

  “Are you sure about that?” The seductive tone doesn’t go unnoticed, and neither does the challenge.

  One large step is all it takes to dwarf her small frame under mine. She doesn’t back away, she doesn’t reach out to me, but her breathing quickens and her baby blues spark with a heat I’ve longed for.

  “Kiss me, Chlo. Even if it doesn’t make it better, it’ll feel better, and that counts for something, doesn’t it? Life is what we feel. That’s what keeps us alive.”

  Leaning forward, she places one hand on my chest, barely touching me, hesitant and careful. She stands on her tiptoes next, taking her time to plant the smallest of kisses against my lips. Her soft, feminine touch may feel like nothing to her as she brushes her lips against mine, but to me it’s everything, even if it’s only miniscule to her.

  I can feel the faint wetness she leaves behind as she pulls away, her eyes still open. I can even hear her heart running wild so close to mine, no matter if she’s so restrained in front of me.

  “There,” she whispers and tries to move back, but I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her in closer to me, forcing her breasts against my chest, her hips pressed to my thigh, and a small yelp of surprise slips from her.

  “Again,” I command her, barely breathing. Moving my other hand to the small of her back, I keep her pinned to me. “Kiss me again.” Although my voice is strong and the words are a demand, both of us can hear my desperation, so why hide it? “I’m fucking begging you, Chlo,” I whisper the strangled truth.

  It’s only a single beat, a single moment before she crashes her lips against mine, hungrily, greedily, searching for the same thing I need.

  The feeling of being loved. Of knowing it and wanting nothing more than it. I could tell her a million times and she could do the same for me, but it’s only when we kiss like this, raw and with everything we have, that we can feel it burning in our blood.

  Her nails dig into the back of my neck as she parts her lips and my tongue dives into her mouth, massaging hers with swift, powerful strokes.

  Lifting her ass up with one hand, she wraps her legs around my waist and I don’t waste a single moment bringing her back to the sofa, knocking off the suitcase and placing my wife down in its place. She heaves in a breath when I finally pull away from her.

  “Bastian,” she breathes my name, rather than the oxygen she needs. I barely get a glimpse of her as I rip my shirt off and I hate it. I hate that anything gets in the way of what we both need.

  I’m savage as I rip her clothes from her, tearing down the front of her shirt and pulling her pants and panties down as if they’re scorching her skin and she’d be scarred if I didn’t remove them this instant.

  Her panting, her soft moans, the way she lifts her hips to help me and then tears at the button on my jeans, it all fuels me to move faster, to eliminate everything that keeps us apart.

  She stares up at me, watching as I kick off my jeans and then grip the top of the sofa as I move between her legs. “I love the way you kiss me.” That’s all she says.

  Cupping her bare pussy, I find her wet and hot and wanting. Her lips form a perfect O, and her eyes go half lidded as I finger fuck her, bringing her closer to the edge but not letting her get off.

  Her little whimper of protest makes me smile. Her pout, the way she wraps her leg around mine and then digs her heel into my ass… Fuck, everything about her makes me hard.

  I wait for her eyes to find mine and hold her stare before telling her, “Don’t stop kissing me.”

  She isn’t given the chance to answer, because I thrust myself inside her to the hilt, making her scream out in pleasure before slamming my lips against hers.

  Our lips crash and our moans mingle in each other’s mouths as I thrust into her over and over again. Moving out slowly, ever so slowly to tease her and then pushing myself into her in one swift stroke. Each time her head begs to fall back, but she keeps her lips on mine, struggling to breathe, to move away from the intensity, to get closer and have more.

  A cold sweat breaks out along every inch of my skin as I pick up my pace, ruthlessly fucking her and claiming her again and again until her tight cunt spasms around my length and I groan as I lose myself deep inside of her.

  Even then, she doesn’t stop kissing me. Her body trembles under me and her nails scratch down my back, but her lips stay on mine. The two of us never parting, my Chloe Rose never leaving me. And we unravel together.

  She’s still panting, still feeling the waves of aftershock when I pull out of her slowly and move quickly to get beneath her, laying her limp body on my chest to nestle beside her.

  “I love you.” She doesn’t moan the words or whisper them, but they get lost in the air just the same.

  I kiss her hair, her cheek, her shoulder until she brings her lips to mine and kisses me gently, but with undenied passion. And it’s only when she breaks the kiss that I tell her, I love her too.

  I always have and I always will.

  I don’t know that she’ll ever know just how much. She is my everything. My only. My hand moves to her belly, to the life we made together. I would do anything for my family. I will do anything and everything to make sure they will never have to be afraid. Our child won’t experience the same life we had.

  I won’t allow it.

  “What do you want to know?” I ask her, feeling her bare skin pressed against mine. Her hair slips through my fingers and I wait for her to ask any question and I’ll answer it. “I don’t want to lose you or lose this ever again, Chlo. If you need to know something, ask me. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you anything.” I breathe in deep before confessing, “But you may not love me anymore when you hear the truth.”

  “Sebastian, you’re crazier than I am if you think I could ever not love you. Right now I want to know where and when you’re working. I don’t like waking up alone.”

  While kissing her hair and running my fingers down her back, I answer her, “I can show you one place I may be a lot.” She readjusts on the sofa, moving her small body so more of her is on top of me. I fucking love it. I love how she wants me and how she shows me that she does.

  When she lifts her head, her brunette hair tumbles down her shoulder, exposing more of her and I lean forward to kiss that crook in her neck. “You love it when I kiss you here,” I whisper against her skin and she gives me a small, feminine moan of feigned protest.

  With her hand splayed on my chest, she straightens and I’m forced to pull back. “I want two things,” she says, staring in my eyes.

  “What two things?”

  “Show me this one place. And tell me something you’ve done that you think will change things between us. Tell me the worst thing, Sebastian.”

  I can’t; I won’t. I won’t willingly lose her like that.

  Her baby blues are bathed in desperation
when she tells me, “I want to show you what I think of that side of you. The side you like to pretend I can’t see.”

  5

  Chloe

  “A club?” I say, and the humor of the word rests in its cadence. “Thought you were tired of clubs?” My brow arches as I look up at Bastian when he opens the doors to The Red Room for me. The second he does, the vibrations of the music hit me, and somehow the dim lighting feels even darker than the night behind us.

  “It’s different when I’m not working in it,” he comments and I have to clarify, “So you’re not working here?” There’s a small sputter in my chest, afraid that he’s holding back. Afraid that he’s not going to hold up his end of the bargain. It doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t; I’m ready to tell him what I know. And that I love him for it. I love my dark knight. He’s always been my hero.

  His lips quirk up as he splays his hand on my lower back and leads me to the long L-shaped bar in the far right of the room. “Not exactly.” Although he’s casual, there’s a tightness in every small feature of his stance and the way he walks.

  His answer is one he would have given me a week ago. Hell, even two days ago. He would have left it there, and I wouldn’t have had the balls to push for more. I would have let the unsettling feeling push us farther apart.

  Not tonight though, not as we brush by the crowded room, past high tables and men and women whose outfits range from both custom suits and short dresses, to tattered jeans and thin white tank tops. “I’m working with the Cross brothers, and Jase owns this place, so if he needs me here, I may be here, but I won’t be the bouncer or bartender.”

  His eyes hold a brightness, even though they’re dark and in them I see the reflection of the bottles that line the bar, and more, so much more.

  Passion, desire, a challenge, and … purpose.

  It’s disconcerting in some ways as I take a seat at the bar, sitting down on the leather stool. I could never give him this. I don’t want him to fight, but that’s what dark knights are meant to do.

  “You want anything to eat?” he asks me and I shake my head, telling him I just want a cranberry juice. He signals for the bartender easily, but I can tell he’s on edge like I am. On edge that the wall of mistruths and hidden secrets is breaking down between us.

  “Bastian,” the bartender greets him and then turns to me. “You must be Chloe,” he says without missing a beat. With his sleeves rolled up and his tattoos showing on his forearms, the man looks deadly, even if he’s smiling at me. Italian. Dominating. And sexy as hell.

  “Sebastian’s told me all about you and the little addition,” he says, and his eyes drift lower as he searches for the baby bump. “Congratulations,” he tells me.

  “Thank you,” I respond but I don’t even know his name, and I could cringe at that. I know so little. I don’t know anyone here, but that’s going to change. Sebastian’s only been here a week longer than me, but it’s obvious that he belongs here. That he’s welcome here.

  There’s a small piece of me that wants to be welcome here too. For once in my life.

  “Chloe, this is Seth,” Bastian tells me and Seth smiles broad and wide.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he tells me and then someone calls for his attention, taking him away but not before Bastian orders his beer and my drink.

  “He works with Jase.”

  “Well obviously, since this is his bar.”

  “No, I mean…” Sebastian trails off and runs his hand along the back of his head. “Seth likes being behind the bar when he’s not working. But he works really close with Jase,” he tells me and then pauses. Even the music pauses a beat, as if to let the words sink in.

  “What does he do?” I ask, and Bastian reaches for his beer. I turn around to thank Seth, seeing my drink right next to my hand for the first time. I hadn’t realized he set it there, but he’s already moved on to someone else.

  “He does a lot of things. Whatever needs to be done. Fixes situations that get out of hand.”

  “You like him?” I ask, letting my finger sit on the rim of the glass. It slides along the edge and I wonder if it makes a sound given that the edge is wet, but it doesn’t matter. The club is so loud, the soft sound would drown in it. Bastian nods, not showing me any emotion on his face, but steadfastly observing my reaction.

  “Is that what you do too?” I ask him, not sure if I really want to know, but I damn well know that I want him to know I’ll still love him regardless.

  “No.” Bastian takes a drink and then tells me, “I’ll be staying with Carter, going places with him to make sure things go down the way they’re supposed to.”

  “Situations?” I ask and before he can even say “yeah” again, I ask, “Like what you used to do?” His tax returns said he was a butcher for Romano, but the scars on his knuckles say otherwise.

  This time he only nods, his lips pressed in a tight line. “If it needs to be handled. Yes. I handle it.”

  “So you’re the muscle,” I comment and take a sip of the bittersweet drink. I appreciate having to be sober for this. It’s surprising how it doesn’t bother me. How it even excites me. That’s what surprises me the most.

  “I know it’s not what you thought I’d be doing when we settled down.” He starts to talk, and I don’t bother to let his mind wander down that path.

  “I never thought I could tame you, Sebastian Black. I never wanted to either.”

  “Tame?” he says and huffs a humorless laugh. He swallows thickly, staring at the ring of bubbles on the edge of his glass as he adds, “I just want you to know … who I am.”

  “I’ve always known who you are.”

  Shaking his head slightly, he stares blankly ahead. “I’ve hurt a lot of people,” he tells me in a voice so cold and low, as if I still don’t get it.

  “You killed them. You didn’t just hurt them; you killed them.”

  The club life seems to get louder, but it bleeds together when he looks at me with that intense icy gaze.

  “I know what you did,” I choke out, needing to finally tell him the truth. “When we left, I know what you had to do before we could leave. I heard you talking about it on the phone.”

  “What?” Disbelief lays in the breathy syllable. His stern gaze hardens; the depths of the man he is showing. And I love it. I love this side of him. Dare I say, I may even love this side of him more. Not because I love what he does, or the actions. But because he’s willing to risk everything to fight for what he believes in. I don’t know what Carter’s gotten himself into, but back when we were only kids, Sebastian did something I know I never could. He made an injustice just.

  “We hadn’t been gone long, maybe a few weeks?” The words race from me, so willing and eager to finally be heard. “Something happened with Carter and you wanted to go back. I thought we were coming back here, but we didn’t. They told you not to. You were talking to someone about the people who were murdered, about the list … about Marcus.”

  “Chlo.” Bastian says my name like he’s daring me to tell him it’s a lie, but the words keep running from me, running away like we did all those years ago.

  “And when you came back to the bedroom, I waited for you to tell me what had happened. I wanted to know if Carter was all right. And you didn’t say a word.” Tears blur my vision, but I don’t cry. “You never told me anything, even though I knew you were hurting.”

  “All I needed was you and you didn’t need to know,” he tells me in a single breath, the impact of my confession hitting him and turning his jaw hard.

  “Did you think I wouldn’t love you anymore for it, Bastian? Did you think I would leave you?”

  “Chloe,” he says, my name strained like it hurts him to say it.

  “You would have never told me, and I get why. I get it.”

  I don’t wait for him to respond before I continue on.

  “And what you did after. When someone came for us.” I barely get the words out, because I know that night changed
him. It was right after he got the call about Carter, so we’d been gone maybe three weeks, constantly moving from place to place, not stopping anywhere. “The night after you got that call, there was a knock on the door.”

  “Chloe, don’t.” Bastian’s words are only a breath of a wish. A wish to not just keep me safe, but to make it so I don’t even know about the danger. It’s an impossible task and he needs to know that, even if that means he thinks he failed me.

  “I was awake when you grabbed the gun. And I hate that I pretended to be asleep. I know that’s what you wanted, you didn’t want me to know.”

  “It was Romano. I knew he’d send someone.”

  “And I heard everything.” I whisper the confession that tears down the wall of pretenses between us. “I heard you nearly beat him to death, I heard the message you told that prick to give to Romano…” I swallow my words about how I heard him in the bathroom, cleaning up the mess and trying to hold back his own emotions. There’s more than anger and rage inside of him. The fear that he couldn’t protect me was almost palpable. “I was there behind the door with your other gun, Bastian. I was ready to fight with you, but you’ve never wanted that.”

  “No, Chloe-”

  I cut him off before he gets carried away, before he can focus on something other than the problem that’s keeping a wedge between us. “I don’t want to be in this world, Sebastian. I belong here nonetheless, and I don’t want to fight. But I won’t be left in the dark, and I don’t want you to think that I shouldn’t know the truth or that when the time comes, I wouldn’t be able to be at your side. I know it’s my fault to let you think I don’t know what you do… but you need to talk to me. I need to know what’s going on.”

  His head falls back and the air leaves him as I grip his hand and beg him to listen to me. “It’s one thing to let my mind run wild and think these things. It’s another for me to know it. But Sebastian, I know. I know you.” He turns to look at me as my last word cracks. I whisper, “How could I not?”