by R. J. Lewis
“Head down,” he said. “All the way.”
I pressed my head down on the mattress and he moved. He didn’t hold back. He moved recklessly, pounding into me, making sure the pain was drowned by pleasure. His hands were everywhere. Down my spine. Squeezing at my hips. Groping at my breast.
I came hard again, gripping the bedsheets tightly as I rode through the wave. I felt him move feverishly, burying me with his cock so deep, it grazed against a sensitive part that gave me after shocks of pleasure.
He started swearing under his breath. “Fuck, feisty. Fuck, fuck.”
He lost himself at the end, coming hard inside me, his fingertips digging into my hips.
I was dizzy by the time he collapsed next to me, tugging me down and into his side. He stroked my back, my shoulders, my ass, all the while staring up at the ceiling with a dazed – but satisfied – look in his eyes.
“Round two in an hour,” he declared as I turned to my side and buried my face against his ribs.
“An hour?” I murmured, wryly. “I thought I wasn’t going to keep up with you. Now I’m starting to wonder if it’s the other way around.”
He slapped me hard on the ass. “You’re gonna wish you never said that.”
“Good,” I muttered, already dozing. “I hope so.”
He picked me up and led me to the shower shortly after I’d come down from my high. I had blood down my legs, and I was complaining that it was probably all over the sheets.
“I’ll change them after I get out,” I told Reaper as I stood under the blazing water.
“Shut up,” he said, stepping in with me. “It’s nothing.”
“You don’t like blood, though.”
His head jerked in my direction, not expecting that response. “What makes you say that?”
I shrugged, shutting my eyes as the water ran down my face. “I saw how you looked at my toe. There was blood on it, and you looked horrified. It’s pretty ironic, coming from you.”
He didn’t respond straight away. Instead, he loaded a loofah up with soap and scrubbed me. “You’re right,” he acknowledged. “I don’t like blood, but I’m fine with your blood.”
I smiled. “That’s creepily sweet.”
After he’d washed me head to toe, learning every inch of my body, I reciprocated, enjoying the journey. His body was easy on the eyes. A little too easy. When we finished, he turned the water off and wrapped my body up with the towel and carried me to the bed. We didn’t talk. We didn’t need to. We laid there, sprawled all over each other, not needing to communicate out loud.
Everything had been said anyway.
There was nothing left but learning the language of touch. And judging by the way his fingers began to roam my folds, slipping his finger slowly – teasingly – into my entrance, he seemed to agree.
Twenty-Seven
Shane
Shane sat in the chair and stared at the fire, tuning out the others. Olivia must have gotten married by now. The deed would have been done, which meant the arrangement was now solidified. There was no turning back now.
Olivia belonged to Reaper.
Shane sighed and looked up. Christy was in the chair across from him, her gaze on the flames. Her eyes were rimmed red. Her nose looked puffy. She was gulping down a bottle of beer, crying to herself. This was so fucking pitiful.
He got up and moved to the chair next to her. She looked at him from the corner of her eye but didn’t acknowledge him out loud. Her nose flared, though.
“It can’t be easy,” Shane spoke, sympathetically.
“Fuck off,” she retorted, sniffing back her tears.
He blinked hard by that tear. “I’m trying to be caring –”
“I don’t need your care, old man.”
His jaw tensed. “I don’t understand this ‘old man’ nickname I’ve been given around this fucking place. I’m forty-eight. I’m not old.”
“Reaper named you, it’s set in stone now.”
Fucking hell. “Do you ever think for yourself? Or does a man have to think for you?”
She looked up at him, practically foaming from the mouth. “I’m not here to be torn apart. I’m here to sit and feel sorry for myself for just this goddamn night before I put my big girl panties on and move the fuck on. Stop ruining that!”
He blinked hard again. Torn apart twice in a row. Fair enough. She didn’t need encouragement, then. She wanted to feel sad. He could do that. He could make her so fucking sad, she’d regret ever saying that.
“They’ll have been married by now,” he said, relaxing back in his chair as he eyed her. Her face contorted, and she let out a sob. He kept going. “He’ll have taken her virginity too. They’ll be in each other’s arms now, doing sordid things. I’m very sorry, Christy. He didn’t want you. Never did, according to him.”
She nodded, profusely. “I wasn’t good enough.”
“No, clearly not.”
She wiped at her eyes, sniffing again. “I tried so hard. I really did.”
He looked her over. She was a stunning girl. Surely, the guy had taken her for a spin. “You could find this time to look back on those nights together with him and reflect on all those dashed hopes.”
She scoffed, glaring at him like he was a fucking moron. “Reaper never touched me.”
“But you’re beautiful.”
“He wasn’t interested. Ever. And I thought he was after everything he did…”
Shane sat up now, brows furrowed. “What did he do?”
“He saved me.” She let out a long exhale and took a manly swig of her beer. “I had a hit on me. Can you believe it? All because I was engaged to some fuckin’ asshole with a drug debt. They beat him around, and I saw it once and…that was it. I was suddenly part of the debt, part of the problem.”
“How did Reaper save you?”
“He was supposed to kill me.” She let out a sardonic chuckle. “He didn’t, obviously. But he needed the money so… he killed the men and robbed them clean. That’s how he fixes problems. There’s such a grey area with him. It’s that fucking weird nice gesture to one person, followed by a murderous gesture to another…literally. I mean, on what scale do you put this guy on? Happy to kill an asshole but would do anything to save a victim – that’s…Reaper.”
Shane thought about that for a second. That…changed things. He’d spent this whole time comparing him to Dillinger – Dillinger who didn’t seem to give a flying fuck that his wife had drank herself to death, and then married his daughter off for business purposes. He reflected back on the conversation he’d indirectly eavesdropped, and it made some sense now.
“You were with a man he didn’t like,” he stated. It was better to say it than ask.
She nodded slowly. “Yeah. Jaxon. I was with him for like two seconds. He didn’t want me. Never did. I was just a pawn.”
“To get to the girl.”
“Sara.”
“And he got her in the end.”
“Reaper fought. He fought hard. She tricked him in the end. He risked it all for her. His neck, his position, everything and she fucked him over. Drove him out of town and fucked up a club. Or so I hear.”
“This girl can’t be well liked.”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “She seemed alright. I can’t be bitter about that. It wasn’t my business.”
He nodded. “So how is it your business now, with Olivia and Reaper?”
She opened her mouth to reply but stopped, mulling that over. “Look, I got nothing on her, okay? But she smirks at me in this way that makes me want to tear her fucking eyelids out! She knows I can’t have him, and she rubs it in my fucking face.”
“Are you sure it isn’t the other way around?”
She paused. Shane could see she knew it was starting to make sense. She seethed again, glaring daggers at him. “Am I on fucking Oprah right now?”
It was time to cut the shit. “He looks at her a lot, admit it. He wanted her a while, didn’t he?”
&nbs
p; She shook her head. “No. Never heard of her before.”
“I can spot a liar, Christy. You’re a fucking liar.”
She looked away, not wanting to face him and his truths.
“What did he say to you before he left?” Shane pushed.
More tears fell. “He said sorry.”
Fucking hell, this guy had two faces. What the fuck was his deal with women? Because he seemed like a fucking asshole to Shane and his men.
“And you’re right,” she added, flashing her green eyes at him. “He’d been talking about her a very long time. Had men check on her. Had pictures sent. Things like that.”
Shane nervously wrung his hands together. “How long, would you say?”
“Since I’ve been here. So…two years.”
That was before Reaper had approached Dillinger about the deal. That was long before he’d even begun wiping out the factions in the city. This wasn’t a deal. This was more. This was…affection and need.
Reaper had wanted her a long while.
Question was, why?
And did Dillinger know from the start?
Twenty-Eight
Liv
I woke up the next morning with his tongue between my legs. I sucked in a breath, startled and already wet by the time I opened my eyes. The room was dark, cool and quiet. The only sounds were my breaths, coming faster as his mouth sucked gently at my clit. I quivered, shocked at the feeling, addicted already to the warmth of his tongue.
My hands found his head. I tugged at his hair, encouraging him to keep going. I lost myself in the darkness, his strong hands keeping me held down as he tasted me, enjoyed me, learned my sounds. He prolonged the sweet ecstasy, until I was bucking my hips, feverishly seeking that release.
“Remy,” I chanted again as I began to come, squeezing at his hair so hard, I was sure it pained him. The feeling was always better than the last. I tensed, unmoving, gasping as it took me over. It always felt long in the moment, but afterwards it was like it’d come and gone and I hadn’t savoured it enough. I wanted it back the second it died down.
As I lay there, gobsmacked, eyes glossed over, he crawled up my body and kissed me hard, settling himself between my legs. He didn’t let me recover like before. He was hard and straining and completely unapologetic as he pushed inside me without warning. I gasped at the fullness he delivered. My legs shook.
“Hold onto me,” he demanded. “I’m gonna go hard this time, babe.”
I wrapped my arms around him and braced myself.
He thrust into me, eyes glazed over, a look of pained pleasure on his face as he went. Deep. Hard. One angry thrust after another, like he couldn’t get deep enough. I couldn’t stop myself from moaning. I was dick drunk. Possessed by his ridiculously big cock. Unapologetic either as I encouraged him to go faster, telling him to, challenging him to let go.
He came inside me hard, but he didn’t stop moving. He thrusted repeatedly, watching me writhe beneath him until I came again. He swallowed my sounds, swallowed his name that I couldn’t seem to stop chanting like a prayer every time I got there.
We both lay on our backs, wide awake. He had a hand wrapped around my breast, held possessively, and it wasn’t going anywhere. My hand was on his lower stomach, lightly skimming at the tip of his poor dick. It stirred beneath my touch.
No words, yet again.
The whole day was spent wordless.
Clothes were provided. Food was delivered. There was no reason to leave the lodge. We were going to be here for one week straight and for a week straight he was going to fuck me nonstop. It was our honeymoon. We could get carried away.
“Do you miss where you grew up?” I wondered, curling into his side.
Equally buried in thought, his fingers ran up and down my spine. “No,” he answered. “I don’t miss that hellhole. Do you?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you miss?”
I thought long and hard. “I miss feeling hope. I miss being ignorant. When I was small, my world was so big inside that apartment I used to live in. I didn’t know any better.”
“You’d stand at the window and wave at strangers, you said.”
“Yeah, they’d wave back.”
“Do you remember them, the people you waved to?”
I shrugged. “Some of them. There were regulars. They used to stand by the cross walk, waiting for their turn to cross the street to go to work or whatever, and they’d look up and wave hello.”
Remy let out a deep sigh. “I guess I miss some things too. Like riding my bike. Playing with Kieran. Taking care of my sister Rita. Being hugged by my mom. Even Brett before he ditched us for juvie.”
“Are any of them still in your life?”
“No,” he answered, his fingers pausing at my spine. “None of them. Not the way they used to be, anyway. It’s just me.”
I poked his ribs and he looked down at me. “And me,” I added, pointedly. “You know, the girl whose cherry you’ve popped. The girl you kidnapped to marry for reasons I’ll never understand.”
He chuckled. “And you.”
My chest warmed. Surely, he felt the ache between us. That sweet, sweet burn. It couldn’t have just been me. I was becoming entwined in him. I ached for him. For his touches and his looks.
I didn’t know how long I could keep my distance, or my emotions out of it. I’d already begun finding cracks in his walls. He was letting go – it was happening – but he was fighting it.
I wondered if this was going to be our biggest challenge of all.
Twenty-Nine
Liv
I stayed up most of the night, trying to figure myself out. The last few weeks had happened in a crazy blur, and I felt like a different person. I watched Remy sleep next to me, and I tried to find it in me loathe the guy. It’d been so easy to hate him in the start. I tried to go through the same memories. I tried to tell myself he’d disrespected and violated me, but as I said those things in my mind, I didn’t feel the anger that should have accompanied them.
Had I become weak? Wasn’t this what Shane warned me against?
When I woke up the next morning, I found Remy gone. I threw on my robe, jumped out and checked every room, eventually following the cool breeze that came from the deck backing the living area. I saw him straight away. He was leaning over the railing, staring off into the jungle. It was raining quite heavily. He was drenched head to toe, but he made no move to leave.
I wasn’t sure if I was disturbing him. I saw his profile, saw the frown on his face. Something was wrong. I stepped out despite my better judgment. I pressed a hand against his back and he stirred, turning to look at me. He’d been out here a while. He felt cold.
“Remy,” I said, quietly. “Is everything okay?”
“Tryin’ to answer that myself,” he replied, looking off.
“Talk it out with me.”
“I shouldn’t have taken you,” he declared, shaking his head.
My brows furrowed. “Why do you say that?”
“Look where you are.”
My laugh was empty. “Look where I could have been. Locked in a room by that sadist –”
“You’ve been locked in a room here.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
I looked at him carefully, trying to understand what exactly the point of this was. “It happened, Remy, and we’re here now. Do you regret that?”
His face fell. “I don’t know.”
My heart dropped. “You don’t know?”
“At least you knew your enemy,” he said.
“I know you better.”
His eyes narrowed. “No, Olivia, you don’t know me at all,” he bit out, angrily. “You think because I’ve had my hands clean these last few weeks that I’m not like those others, you’re wrong. I’ve killed people with my bare fucking hands. Think about that for a second.”
I shrugged. “I just thought about it, Remy. I get it.”
“You get it?
”
“You think my father doesn’t have a kill count? Or Shane? This is our world now, Remy. I’ve lived it the last sixteen years. Just because people whisper about what they’ve done behind closed doors, doesn’t mean I didn’t hear. I heard everything.”
“Is that the life you want?”
“What fucking choice did I have?” Honestly, was he seriously asking me this?
“I can give you a choice. If I said to you that you can leave and live your own life, what would you say?”
I scoffed, bitterly. “You can’t say shit like that.”
He turned to me, towering over me. His anger was palpable. The water cascaded over his face, over his lips. He looked like a dark prince. “I just did, Olivia. Would you leave?”
I swallowed hard. “You’re regretting the marriage, Remy? Is that it? Have you tired of me already that you’re willing to kick me off the boat and have me swimming in shark infested waters, because that’s exactly what’s waiting for me if I leave this life. We have enemies. Everywhere. If you’re trying to get rid of me, do it like a fucking man.”
“I ain’t trying to get rid of you,” he snapped. “I’m trying to give you a fucking life. No more of this constant moping bullshit of how you had it so fucking bad growing up!”
I took a step back, stung. My lips trembled. “Is that what I’ve done? I didn’t realize I was such a whining bitch.”
“Did you ever stop to think about the things your father did for you?”
“Now, you’re being funny.”
“Am I? He gave you a roof over your head, you had the best education, and you lived a lap of fucking luxury. What the fuck didn’t you have, Olivia?”
“Freedom!” I yelled out, eyes burning with tears. “You wouldn’t fucking get that, would you, Remy? It all sounds like such a fucking opulent life when you’re surrounded by people who look at you like you’re a fucking insect, but I guess I sound like a victim to you, don’t I? I’ve heard it all before. Because that’s what they did when you spoke up about something you didn’t like. They called you a victim, an attention seeker, a spoiled princess.”