But shit, it had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.
She was so fucking beautiful. So fucking responsive. She tasted like heaven, and the way she clung to him, the way she said his name in that hoarse, desperate voice was the most erotic thing he’d ever heard in his entire life.
She was the most perfect thing he’d ever had in his bed and it took every ounce of his considerable will not to crush her down onto the mattress and pound his way into unconsciousness inside her.
Instead he moved with great care, keeping her small, naked, silky body tucked up close to his chest. She shivered and shook, panting and gasping as he eased in and out of her, whispering things like “I can’t,” and “It’s too much,” and “I don’t think I can do this.”
But he ignored all of that, turning to murmur encouragement in her ear then hushing her, stroking down her back to soothe her. Because of course she could do this. She was clinging to him like she never wanted to let him go, and her pussy was doing the same thing to his cock, clenching around him as if wanting to keep him deep inside.
It was good to have her so desperate. To have her need him. To have her trust.
Yeah and remember the last time a woman did that?
Christ, he wasn’t ever likely to forget. But one night wouldn’t hurt. Just for one night, he could pretend that he was good for someone instead of being their death sentence.
He shifted position to mix things up, sitting back on the bed and gathering her into his lap. He had her sit facing him, her legs spread around his waist, easing her down onto his cock again with a firm pressure on her hips. She stared at him with glazed eyes, her mouth slightly open, her cheeks a deep rose. Her hair was tumbling everywhere, strands of it sticking to her damp forehead, so he pushed it back out of her eyes. He took his time with that too, needing the small prosaic movements to distract himself from the insane heat of her pussy. From the tight, slick grip of it around his dick.
Only once she was settled and he’d gotten his own heart rate back under control did he move her again, keeping his hands on her hips and lifting her up and down, showing her how to ride him to give her the most pleasure.
When he tilted her pelvis forward, grinding the base of his cock against her clit, her eyes rolled back in her head and she gave the most helpless, most delicious moan. So he did it again and again, lifting her up and then slamming her back down, watching her face and the raw, open pleasure that played across it.
She wasn’t going to last long and thank fucking Christ for that because he was pretty sure he was going to lose it himself it he wasn’t careful.
He increased the pace until she rocked frantically against him, clearly on the edge of desperation. Then he slid one hand between their slick, straining bodies and found the hard bud of her clit, pressing down at the same time as he drove himself up inside her. Chloe’s head went back and she let out a hoarse scream, her whole body stiffening.
Van caught her hair in his fist at the nape of her neck and held on, covering her mouth, unable to resist the temptation to taste her as she came, take her cries for himself. Then he kept on moving, holding her as she rode out the wave, feeling it gather and tighten inside him too.
There was no reason to hold back now so he didn’t, slamming himself into her over and over again, until his own climax crashed down on top of him like a fucking tsunami and dragged him under.
He collapsed down onto the bed, taking her with him, rolling to the side at the last minute so she wasn’t crushed. She’d turned her face into his neck, her breath hot against his throat, and he found himself lying still in silence for a long, endless minute, listening to the sound of her breathing as he waited for his raging heartbeat to slow down. She had her hands tucked against his chest as she nestled in closer, giving a small sigh. “Thank you,” she murmured at last, her voice sounding thick. “That was … amazing.”
Yeah, it had been. Too amazing. But he couldn’t let himself think about that, because this was a one-time thing. Once only, he’d told her, and he’d meant it. He still did. Perhaps even more now he knew what it was like to be with her.
There was another silence, and it took him a little while to realize that it was because she’d fallen asleep.
It was probably a good thing in many ways, because now he had no reason to linger in bed with her. And he definitely didn’t want to do that, because then he might be tempted to keep doing more things to her. Make her scream again, or alternatively get that beautiful red mouth of hers wrapped around his—
Yeah, best to leave now. There were too many reasons why it had been a bad idea in the first place, and none at all for letting it continue.
Carefully Van eased himself out of her, then, making sure not to wake her, he moved away, pulling the comforter around her naked body to keep her warm. She made a soft, contented sound and snuggled into it, her breathing slowing as she fell back into a deep sleep.
Leaving her there, he picked up his clothes before making a detour to the bathroom to get rid of the condom, then returning to the living room. He dressed quickly then took out his phone, texting Lucas to let his brother know they’d arrived safely at the apartment and everything was secure.
Naturally he didn’t mention anything of what had occurred with Chloe. He had a feeling Lucas would personally murder him if he found out what Van had done.
His cock, the difficult bastard, was very unhappy with the decision to get out of bed, but Van had stopped thinking with his dick back when he was eighteen, and so he ignored it. Instead he checked over the apartment once again, all the entrances and exits, making sure everything was safe. Then he went over to where he’d dropped his black bag by one of the armchairs and unzipped it, getting out the plain black spare hoodie he’d put into it. He tugged the hoodie on over his shirt, pulling the hood up over his head to hide his features, then he headed to the front door.
There was a small grocery store not far from the apartment that he’d spotted earlier, and it had all the basics. So he bought some essentials, keeping the hood pulled down low, returning to the apartment via a pizza place to get a couple of slices for dinner.
She was still asleep when he got back so he put the pizza in the oven to keep warm, then got out his laptop and set it up on the small dining table near the kitchen area. He needed to figure out how he was going to neutralize the threat to Chloe, but since de Santis’s takeover bid was the most pressing, he had to handle that first, as well as go through the names of various people who could be good candidates for Tate CEO.
He spent the next few hours dealing with his emails, looking at the various strategies for dealing with the takeover that his father’s management team had sent him, including figuring out how much Tate stock de Santis currently controlled.
The lack of clarity about whole situation annoyed him. If he couldn’t figure out how to move against de Santis or even if the guy was actually in a position of power when it came to a potential takeover, then what was the point of appointing a new CEO? Certainly, if he was having trouble figuring out a good defense strategy, then he didn’t trust anyone else to either.
That thought was even more annoying, especially when he didn’t understand why he cared so much. Clearly all the bullshit about the glory of the Tate legacy his father had fed him still had a strong hold on him.
Irritated with himself, Van shoved back his chair and paced over to the windows, reflexively checking the buildings across the street for anything overtly suspicious and failing to find anything.
This was crazy. Why did he care? He hated all that corporate bullshit, hated wearing a fucking suit, and hated sitting behind a goddamn desk. He wasn’t that type of guy and he never would be, no matter how hard the old man had tried to turn him into one.
“Don’t be so selfish, Sullivan,” his father had said, the day Van had told him he’d be going back to base and wasn’t coming back. “I gave you everything and now you can’t even do this one thing for me?”
Van
had just looked at him, knowing his father wouldn’t listen because he never damn well listened, yet saying it anyway. “No, Dad. I gave you everything. And you didn’t want it. So why the fuck would I do anything for you now?”
The old prick hadn’t responded to that. He never had when it was Van who’d wanted something from him.
Van scowled out the window as night began to creep over the city.
Fuck Cesare de Santis. If it wasn’t for that bastard, Van wouldn’t be in this mess to start with. The guy was powerful and successful in his own right, so what the hell did he want with Tate Oil and Gas? Was it simply a case of the one that got away? That because he’d failed to take it from Noah all those years ago, he had to try again? It wasn’t about money, Van was sure of it. It had a more personal feel to it.
More personal than Chloe?
Ah, yes, Chloe. Who’d been taken from Cesare by Noah.
Maybe this wasn’t about Tate Oil at all. Maybe the takeover was simply a distraction so he could make his real move, which was to get Chloe back.
Van stared out into the gathering dusk as something heavy and solid settled down inside him. Certainty. Because there was no fucking way de Santis was getting Chloe. Not while Van had anything to do about it.
You were certain last time, too. Remember?
The heavy feeling turned to ice in the pit of his stomach, memories of Sofia running through his head whether he wanted them to or not. She’d been a prisoner of the traffickers for a long time and had been terrified of him and his team during the rescue. And when things had gone to hell, and he’d had to grab her and run, he’d had his work cut out for him to gain her trust to keep her from running off into the jungle. But he’d done it. He’d told her that she had nothing to worry about, that she was safe with him. That he’d protect her whatever happened, get her home to her fiancé. And she’d believed him. She’d stayed with him, trusted him.
Hell, he’d seen no reason to doubt himself. He was the Tate heir. He was strong and powerful, a warrior just like his father had told him he was. He always did his best at whatever he was doing so he could make his father proud, and this mission would be no different.
Except it had been. He’d gained Sofia’s trust and then he’d failed her. Catastrophically. He hadn’t been safe for her and he hadn’t protected her, and the only place he’d gotten her to was a hole in the ground.
How can you be sure you can protect Chloe then?
Given his earlier failure, he couldn’t be. Shit, maybe if he’d wanted that certainty he should have given her to his brothers to look after.
Yet as soon as the thought occurred to him, that deep possessiveness rose up inside him again, somehow even worse this time. Telling him that there was no way in hell he was giving her to anyone. That protecting her was his job. That she was his.
It was wrong to think that. Wrong to feel it. But just because it was wrong didn’t stop the feeling from sinking its claws into him and holding on tight.
No, he wasn’t giving her to anyone else. He was the one who would keep her safe, the only one.
Are you sure that’s a good idea? You failed Sofia. You failed Noah …
No, fuck that. Sofia had died and sure, that was on him, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. And as for his father, well, that guy had never wanted a son anyway. He’d wanted a paragon. Nothing but the best to protect and serve the Tate legacy
Van had tried to be that once, and he’d failed. And now that Noah was dead, he had nothing to prove to anyone.
“Hey,” someone said, familiar and feminine.
Every muscle in his body tensed, his cock stirring like a goddamn dog at the sound of its master’s voice, and he had to take a breath to get himself under control before he turned, just in case he lost his head entirely and took her back to bed.
She was standing near the dining table, dressed only in the hoodie he’d given her earlier. It came to mid-thigh, her slender legs bare. She’d rolled the sleeves up to her elbows, but she still looked like a little girl dressed up in her big brother’s clothes.
Nice analogy there for you. Since you’re the big brother.
Van thrust his hands into his pockets, forcing his libido to calm the fuck down and his conscience to take a damn chill pill. “Hey yourself. Had a nice nap?”
Her mouth curved and it hit him all of a sudden that this was the first time he’d actually seen her smile since she’d arrived. It was … beautiful. Hell, she was beautiful. And so fucking sexy he wanted to cross the room, pick her up, and take her back to bed for the rest of the night.
His hands curled into fists in his pockets. Christ, he liked that smile. Liked that she felt relaxed enough to give it to him. And it was he who’d done that for her, wasn’t it? He’d been the one to make her feel good. He’d been the one to make her smile.
And he wanted to do it again.
Once and once only, remember?
Of course he remembered. But did that really mean he could only have her once? Because what difference would it make if he’d meant one night? What difference would it make if he crossed the distance between them now and took her back to bed?
It would make no difference. No difference at all.
Van took his hands out of his pockets and moved toward her before he was even conscious of making a decision, reaching for her, pulling her small, lithe body up against his. Her smile deepened and she lifted her hands and wound them around his neck, pressing herself delicately against him. The color in her cheeks made her eyes glow and he had no idea why he’d ever thought once would be enough.
“Are you hungry?” His voice had gotten rough, but he didn’t care. “There’s pizza in the oven if you are.”
Slowly she shook her head. “I like pizza, don’t get me wrong. But…” The blush in her cheeks became brighter. “It’s kind of not pizza I’m hungry for right now.”
Fuck, he couldn’t tell himself he didn’t like that. Couldn’t tell himself he didn’t love her honesty, or the way her eyes went dark as he curved his hands over her ass, slipping beneath the hem of her hoodie, feeling silky bare skin against his palms. “Are you sure?” he asked, squeezing her gently, watching desire unfurl over her lovely face. “It’s pepperoni.”
She gave a soft gasp as he squeezed her again. “Can we stop talking about pizza? I actually don’t care about that right now.”
“Sacrilege.” He bent his head, caught her mouth with his, biting down on her soft lower lip. “You should always care about pizza.”
Chloe shuddered. “Shut the hell up, Van.”
He laughed then shut the hell up as he gathered her into his arms and carried her back to bed.
CHAPTER TEN
Chloe bent and picked up her clothes from the bedroom floor. It was late and she knew she should probably try to sleep, but that wasn’t going to be happening. Not after the last couple of intense, desperate, hungry hours in bed with Van. No, after all of that, she was starving, and the idea of the pizza he’d been teasing her about earlier was suddenly extremely appealing.
He’d already gotten up and left the bedroom to make sure it hadn’t burned to a crisp. She’d suggested eating it in bed, but he’d been very disapproving of that idea, which was a shame since it was going to mean getting dressed. Or at least semi-dressed.
Reaching for the hoodie that had somehow ended up underneath the bed, she pulled it over the top of her head then made her way to the kitchen/living room area.
Where she stopped, because Van was standing at the dining table, looking down at the screen of the laptop he had open in front of him, and she wanted a quiet moment simply to stare at him.
He wore only a pair of soft, battered jeans with frayed holes in the knees that sat low on his lean hips and somehow highlighted the stark perfection of the rest of his incredible body.
Her hands itched, wanting to touch him again, run her fingers all over the oiled silk of his skin, follow the lines of carved muscle and the black tracks of those mesmerizing t
attoos. This, despite the last two hours where she’d occupied herself with doing exactly that.
So. Freaking. Hot. She almost didn’t know what to do with herself.
“You can keep staring. I don’t mind.” Van didn’t look up from the laptop, but she could see his mouth curve.
Dammit. Busted yet again.
“How do you keep doing that?” She moved over to the table, hoping she wasn’t blushing too badly. “Knowing I’m there, I mean. I didn’t make sound.”
He glanced at her, gold glinting in his eyes. “You don’t have to. I can smell you.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks heated whether she wanted them to or not.
“Don’t worry. You smell delicious.” He grinned. “Plus, I can also hear your breathing.”
Great. So all those times he’d caught her staring, he must have heard her getting all breathless too.
“That’s not creepy at all,” she muttered, feeling herself blush even harder.
He laughed, the sound so unbelievably sexy that when he reached for her to pull her to him, she didn’t protest. Instead she leaned into him, loving the hard, reassuring strength of his body against hers.
“I’m a SEAL, pretty. I’m supposed to notice these things.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” She couldn’t look up into his face for some reason, the sight of that smile of his somehow blinding. So she kept her attention on his chest right in front of her, on that tattoo inked into his skin and the chain of his dog tags. Reminders of who he was. A protector, a guardian.
Something tight inside her, something that had been slowly uncurling over the past couple of hours, relaxed utterly and she found herself leaning her head on that broad chest of his, taking in his heat, his strength.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself to be held and she’d forgotten how good it felt to have another person’s arms around her, to have some simple, human contact.
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