by SR Jones
“I appreciate this,” I tell him.
“You’re a brother to me. It’s nothing. The main reason I came wasn’t about back up firepower, though; it’s about me using some contacts to try to get your girl here to be able to stay.”
I glace at Roze again. She’s almost keeled right over onto her side. She’ll be stiff when we get out.
“Okay, turn off here, and take this small road that forks to the left,” Cole says.
I do, and he points to the very end of this part of the marina. “There. Go park up there, and we’ll haul everything in, and then I can go park the car properly.”
I cut the engine and step out. My heart fills as I take in a good lung of ocean air.
“Goddamn, I love that smell,” Cole says.
“Listen, you want to sort the weapons while I get AJ inside?” I open the back door and the lights come on, causing Roze to gasp and sit up, blinking like an owl.
“Yeah, take her in and get her out of the open. I’ll bring your bags and the other stuff.”
By other stuff, he means the impressive cache of guns and other weaponry his contact left for us.
“Come here, AJ,” I say to Roze with a smile as she sleepily yawns.
I pull her toward me and lift her out of the car.
Her arms come around my neck automatically, and she snuggles into me. She’s only half awake, brain not properly online yet, but she trusts me. Her body implicitly trusts me, and her like this, in my arms, makes me feel like a god.
I’ve spent my life fighting for a nation. For an ideal. Fighting for a person is different. At first, her hero worship scared me. As time went on, and I realized she wasn’t putting me on some pedestal and giving me all sorts of attributes in her mind I didn’t possess, I came to understand something. She wasn’t hero-worshiping me. She was letting me be her protector, which is something else entirely. It’s one damn heady feeling.
Roze trusts me. She trusts me implicitly to keep her safe, and I’m going to make sure I don’t stomp all over that trust.
“Oh, wow,” she says as she looks around her. “Oh, wow.”
The bay is inky dark, but there are the twinkling lights of various small settlements around the bay. It’s beautiful. Peaceful.
I put her down and step onto the deck of the home, holding my hand out for her and helping her aboard.
“This is nice,” she says.
Yep, it is.
“You have accommodation over three levels,” Cole says as he hands me two bags. “Lower level is where you sleep and the bathroom. Mid-level, there’s a small kitchen, a dining and living space, and upper deck is the outside seating space.”
“I love it,” Roze breathes in awe. “So cool.”
I haul the bags and descend the stairs to the lower deck where I stash the bags. I could do with a coffee, and so I head up to the middle deck where I find the kitchen, and sure enough there’s a fancy coffee maker. Great. I turn it on, look at the controls, and figure it out quickly enough. I have an espresso machine at my cabin, and this isn’t much different.
“Coffee?” I shout to Roze who is looking around.
“God, yes, please.”
“For now, don’t go out on the top deck, okay?” I tell her. It sucks, but until I have some intel that we’ve not been followed; she’d be a sitting duck out there.
“Of course,” she says. “I’ll be careful.”
I step out onto the mid-deck and call out to Cole. “You want a coffee?”
“Please, black. I need waking up.”
Back in the kitchen, I make the drinks while Roze pokes around, inspecting everything. “This is such a cool place. I’d love to live on a boat, a floating home; anything on the water basically.”
Me too. I never thought of it as a serious possibility for some reason. Not sure why.
“I had an idea,” she says.
“Yeah?” I turn to her.
Her blue eyes burn bright in the low light. “You can take those contacts out now we’re inside,” I tell her.
She grins at me. “You don’t like them, do you?”
I shake my head. “I want to see your eyes, baby, not those fake ones.”
“I’ll have a coffee, and then I’ll take these out. They’re sore anyway.”
“So, your idea?”
I hand her the first drink. Coffee, with frothed milk, and some hazelnut syrup that I added for taste.
She sips, and her eyes roll back. “God, Priest, if you ever need another calling, become a barista.”
I chuckle. She sips again, and sits on a stool by the tiny kitchen counter. Hands wrapped around the mug I passed her, she fixes me with her too-bright blue eyes. “So, I chose the course I did to try to understand the criminal mind. I don’t know, I think it was some naïve idea that I might understand my father better. Who knows? The thing is, since I was taken by those fuckers, I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to work with criminals. It gave me a new insight into things, and I thought, why not work with the victims.”
I finish Cole’s drink and put it to one side and start on my own. “You can do that with your degree, though, right? Change focus and work with victims?” I look at her as the beans grind.
“Yes, I can. Then I had this idea. It’s probably crazy, but I can’t let go of it.”
“Spill.”
She smiles. “Don’t laugh.”
“Promise.” I make a cross over my heart, and she giggles.
“I’m at my happiest when I’m out on the ocean. I feel free, but also at the same time tethered, but in a good way; a calm way.”
She’s just described my own feelings on the matter perfectly.
“I thought, what if I get my skipper quals, and I take women who have been victims of violent crime on yachting trips? I could choose somewhere safe, weatherwise. Don’t want to re-traumatize people trying to get over PTSD and anxiety. I thought of Dubrovnik, but I can’t bear to be there. Then I thought of Corfu, I think because of your friends being based there. Or one of the other Greek Islands, or maybe Southern Italy would be a perfect base to work from. I could do maybe four or five trips a year, at the height of the season when the weather is warmest. I’d set up a charity to fund the trips for the women. I was thinking sufferers of violent crimes, sex crimes, domestic abuse.”
She watches me. “Is it crazy?”
I shake my head. “Baby, it’s not crazy at all. It’s a great idea. You could teach them some of the basics, you know, give them a new skill.”
“Yes!” she exclaims. “That’s what I was thinking. Learning something new is a great distraction if you’re in a bad place. They’d gain confidence from it too.”
“You know, if you based it on Corfu,” I say, my mind making all sorts of connections, “I bet the guys would let you use part of what they’re building, and you could run some self-defense classes from there. Get some of the guys to train the women in self-defense. They could do a few days of that, learning basic moves, and then go out for two or three weeks on the boat.”
“Oh my God. Priest.” She claps her hands. “That’s genius.”
“What’s genius?” Cole asks as he saunters into the room.
“Tell him your idea.” I nudge Roze gently.
She does, and I fill in the bit about maybe using the place in Corfu as a base for it, if Andrius and Konstantin would be amenable.
“You know, I think it would be pretty damn awesome,” Cole says. “You could even throw in some survival shit in the woods. Make it a whole thing about regaining confidence.”
“Yes!” Roze says and jumps up and down on the spot. “This could really work.”
“Okay, you crazy kids. I’m going to love you and leave you.”
Cole slaps me on the shoulder and leaves me with Roze. I’m tired and need a shower. There’s only one.
“Want to share a shower with me?” I ask her.
“God, yes. Sounds like heaven.”
Chapter 23
If I th
ought Priest meant share a shower as a euphemism for have sex, I was disappointed. We showered, and that was that. I washed my hair, and it shocked me that it was dry by the time my skin was and I had pulled on some comfy clothes.
Priest’s took longer to sort.
I run my hands over it, hating the shorn feel. I also hate that the zinging, too-much-energy feeling is back. Anxiety is a fucker.
“It suits you; you know.” Priest comes up behind me and puts those huge arms of his around me, kissing my neck. “Now you have those contacts out, you look like yourself again.”
“Except I hate this hair.”
“Yeah, but it gives great neck access.” He nips the side of my neck, and I shiver.
Letting me go, he walks away and puts some things from his bag into the drawer by the side of the bed. I’m nervous. I want him, so much so that the only part of me not dry now is between my legs. I’ve never done this before. Us, getting ready together. Going to bed together. It’s like we’re a couple, except we’re not. I don’t know what we are. He keeps saying that we’re a thing, that I’m his to protect, but what does that even mean?
Is he the kind of guy to use the term boyfriend? Looking at Priest, all six and a half feet of him, that label seems wrong somehow.
Partner? No, that signifies long-term relationships.
Lover? He is my lover.
I decide to settle on that for now. I like to label things. It makes me feel like I know where I stand.
Lover is exciting, new, fresh. It’s how I feel about him.
“Come here.” He crooks his finger and gestures for me to go to him.
The other night was amazing, but I know he took it gentle with me. He tempered himself because it was my first time. This time I want all he has to offer.
I also want the zinging to go away, and I crave that feeling I had when he made me put my hands on the desk. The in-the-moment anticipation.
“Make. Me,” I say it as deliberately as I can and widen my eyes.
He stills. Hell, the air stills and thickens between us as the atmosphere changes.
“Roze,” he starts.
“No. AJ. Remember? Adrenaline Junkie. So … make. Me.”
“It’s only your second time.”
“Make. Me. I want the real you. Whatever it is.”
“What if I’m into whips and chains?” He quirks an eyebrow.
Shit. I mean, I like being bossed around it seems. I also would love for him to use his big hands to give me a light spanking, but whips and chains? “Are you?” I ask.
“Nah,” he says, all easy charm. Then he devastates me. “I prefer to use my hand,” he says with a wink.
My stomach flips. “I would like to feel your hand on me,” I tell him.
“Where?”
“My ass.”
“Come. Here.” He gestures again. This time I do as he says.
“Now, I’m missing your hair.” He runs his fingers through my short strands. “I’d wrap it around my fist and lead you around the room with it.”
He would?
“This bed is good.” He jerks his chin to it.
It has wooden posts all along with gaps in between as the headboard. Suddenly a moment of panic hits. Is he going to tie me up? I’m not sure I could deal with that, even with Priest, after what those fuckers did to me.
“What’s that?” he asks me.
“What?”
“The panic.”
He saw? “Just the idea of being tied to those posts freaked me out a little. After, you know, being in Korcula.”
“Wasn’t going to tie you up, baby. Was going to make you hold onto them and not let go, no matter what.”
Oh, okay. “That I can do,” I say.
He tips my chin up, and his blue eyes bore into mine. “Anything you don’t want, you tell me.”
“Should I have a safe word?” I ask him.
“Stop works for me,” he says. “For this time, anyway.”
“Okay.”
“Do you know what I want?” he whispers in my ear before biting the shell.
I shake my head.
“Control of you. You giving me your surrender.”
“I can do that,” I say, then can’t resist adding, for some unknown reason. “If you deserve it.”
He laughs. “See, that’s what I fucking love.”
“What?”
“You. You like giving up control, but not fully. You fight back. Push back.”
“And you like that?” I ask as he walks around me as if he’s inspecting me.
“It would be boring if you gave it up without a fight, princess.”
Oh, god.
Something comes to me. A fantasy I’ve long had of being held down. Not a fantasy about being forced, per se. Just held in place, immobile, while a man, always nameless and faceless, took control. Priest’s face fills that hole in my fantasy now, making the man flesh and blood.
“Arms up.”
I do as he says, and he takes my top off. My back is exposed to the cool air of the room, no hair to swish over it and cover it. It feels kind of nice. Even better when feather-light fingers trail down my spine. Soft kisses follow, right down to the hollow of my spine.
Hands grip the sweatpants I only just donned, and they follow the same fate as the top. Gone in an instant. I step out of the material pooling at my feet.
The same feather-light touch trails across my ass, down my thighs, and back up over my hips into the curve of my waist.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Priest murmurs as he caresses down my arms.
“I feel it right now,” I tell him.
There’s a rustle, and I know he’s taking his own clothes off.
“Get on the bed, all fours.” It’s an order, not a request.
I do as he says.
“Move up toward the headboard.”
I shuffle forward, achingly aware of how exposed my sex is like this.
“Grab a post with each hand, and do not let go.”
I grab a post and hold on. I’m on my knees, upper body straight as I hold onto the post, ass and lower back pushed out by the position.
“Damn, that would make a fine picture,” Priest says.
I wonder what I look like to him? All exposed like this. It feels depraved but delicious too.
“You like being a brat?” he asks me.
“Maybe I do,” I answer and wiggle my ass.
I want him to smack it.
He doesn’t disappoint. But he doesn’t give it one whack like I was expecting. No, he smacks each cheek five times, in rapid succession.
I’m panting when he’s done as he smooths his palm over burning flesh. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt badly, but it stung, and now it burns. I like the burn.
Hot lips cover the flesh, and he bites where he spanked. It’s a sharp, stinging pain, and I like that even more.
I gasp and push back, wanting more of it. He does it again. And again.
Each nip goes straight to my clit. What the hell? Who would have thought having their ass bitten could be hot?
He slaps my left cheek and then soothes it with his palm.
I’m so turned on now; I need more. As if he knows just what I crave, when, clever fingers reach around the front, he slides his thick middle finger between my folds and over my wet clit.
He strokes me as he holds me in place with his other arm around my belly, keeping me still when I want to squirm.
“Stop moving,” he orders. “Stay still and take it.”
I do as he says, although it is exquisite torture. I can’t move into the touch or away from it. Like this, immobile, I can only feel. And there’s so damn much to feel.
His finger slips inside me, and I sigh, my head falling back. His hand around my middle moves up and wraps around my throat. He doesn’t apply pressure, but he holds me still with that huge hand around my throat, and his other working my pussy like he’s the conductor and my body is the orchestra.
He rubs my clit
with his thumb and pumps his middle finger slowly in and out. I’m going to come. I can feel it. Just as it’s about to break over me, he withdraws his finger and takes his hand away. What?
I turn to look at him, and he licks my throat and then kisses it. “Not yet, AJ.” He kisses me again. “Face forward.”
I do as he says. He lines himself up behind me. “If this hurts at all, tell me.”
I nod. I’m so desperate to have him in me, I can’t think beyond that.
Priest pushes inside me, claiming more than just my pussy. He’s claiming my damn heart as he fucks me, slowly at first. His fingers are back doing their magic, and he’s fucking me so good it’s like an out of body experience. I’m almost coming, but each time I do, he takes his fingers away, and slows his thrusts.
After a while, I get irritated. I mean, come on, let a girl finish for God’s sake. I push back against him, grinding, trying to take what I need.
A sharp, hard slap to my ass stops me mid grind. Ouch, that one hurt.
“Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
“Priest,” I moan. “I need…”
“What?” he growls in my ear. “What do you need?”
“I need to come,” I say softly.
“Say it louder.”
“I need to come.”
“Please,” he says.
“What?”
“Say please.”
The asshole. “No.” I shake my head.
“Okay.” He laughs and goes back to torturing me again.
How can he hold off himself? Jesus, the man is a machine. Some sort of sexual torture device made of flesh.
It gets too much when he stops just as I’m about to come again.
I break. I break, and I beg.
“Please, Priest. Please. Let me come.”
“Come for me, princess,” he orders.
His fingers pinch my clit, and he thrusts deep and hard, and I scream.
His massive hand that was around my waist slams over my mouth, muffling my noise.
I bite into his flesh as I explode. My pussy contracts so tightly around his cock, it makes me see stars.
“Jesus fuck,” he grunts as he loses his rhythm, and his hot seed fills me.
We’re rutting like animals now. No control, no rhythm, no finesse.