Crazy Beautiful Forever (Dirty Twisted Love #3)

by Lili Valente

  “You okay?” He pinned her to him with one strong arm around her waist, nearly lifting her off her feet as he closed the door quietly behind them.

  “Y-yes,” she stammered, steadying herself with her hands on his shoulders.

  “Just hold on.” His eyes narrowed as his hand slipped down to squeeze her ass through her dress. “We’re going to find the perfect place, Elsa, and I’m going to fuck you so hard I’ll have to carry you back downstairs.”

  He crushed his lips to hers and Harley sagged against him without question, knowing he wouldn’t be playacting for no reason. She clung to him, returning the brutal kiss as he wedged his thigh between her legs, using his grip on her ass to urge her to rock against him.

  “That’s right, baby,” he mumbled against her lips. “You feel how hard I am? I can’t wait to be inside you again.”

  Harley swallowed the moan rising in her throat and fought the urgency twisting low in her body. She was so over stimulated at this point that she barely heard the soft footsteps passing them by and moving away down an unseen hallway.

  But when she did, her heart skipped a beat and her ears strained for signs that there were other people close by. She didn’t hear anything but when Clay ended the kiss, she was careful to keep her voice to a whisper as she asked, “Who was it? Do you think they’re going to tell someone we’re up here?”

  “A maid, it looked like,” Clay said, scanning the space around them over her head. “It didn’t seem like she was in a hurry to go tell tales. But just in case, we should find somewhere else to be.”

  “Let’s start on the third floor,” Harley said, breath still coming fast from a heady mixture of arousal and fear of discovery. “It makes sense that Jasper would be kept as far from the party as possible.”

  “There’s a staircase next to the greenhouse,” Clay said, taking her hand again. “I saw it on the house plans. It leads to the original living room and bedrooms from the 1800s. There’s a separate staircase for the new additions, but I think you’re right. Marlowe would want to keep Jasper away from any rooms where he might be spotted by people on the lawn.”

  Harley followed him past the tables and into an airy space filled with antique couches and chairs. She was dying to ask when he’d looked at the house plans and why she hadn’t been granted similar access, but she couldn’t afford to waste time arguing. She would have to chalk this up as yet another reason she couldn’t trust Clay and simply be glad one of them had knowledge of the house’s layout.

  The staircase turned out to be fairly wide for a nineteenth century home, with mahogany walls lined with moody, landscape paintings that probably cost more than the house she and Jasper had lived in on Ko Tao. The combined effect of the broody paintings and the roomy stairs made her feel exposed, vulnerable, even more so than she had in that swing, with her body bound and at Clay’s mercy.

  In the swing, she’d known that pleasure awaited her at the end of Clay’s erotic torture. Here, every step could be bringing her closer to a run in with Marlowe and swift, certain death. Her makeup and hair wouldn’t fool him. He’d take one look at her terrified expression and know her identity in a heartbeat.

  And then he would kill her and Clay and neither of them would ever see Jasper again.

  “Come here.” On the next landing, Clay spun her into his arms, cupping her breast through her dress as he kissed her neck. “I don’t know if I can wait. I want you so much. I could fuck you right here.”

  Harley whimpered softly as he rolled her nipple in circles through the thin fabric of the dress, even as her senses went on high alert. But this time, she heard no footsteps, felt no eyes watching them as Clay transferred his attentions to her other nipple, making her squirm in the circle of his arms.

  She was about to ask him what was going on when he answered her unspoken question—

  “There could be cameras,” he said as he pressed another kiss to her throat. “Just in case, I figure it’s best to make it clear to anyone watching why we’re snooping around. We’re just two horny partygoers looking for a room.”

  “Okay,” Harley whispered, nodding as he pulled away. “Good idea, but if you want me to be able to hold a clear thought in my head you could stand to be a little less convincing.”

  Clay’s eyes darkened and his hand drifted down to squeeze her ass hard enough to make her gasp. “We’re getting one of those swings. When you forgive me and agree to move into my house, it’s the first purchase we’re making for the bedroom.”

  Before she could remind him that nothing like that was ever going to happen—or remind herself that he wasn’t serious, just trying to manipulate her again—he’d reclaimed her hand and started back up the stairs. They passed the second floor, where a cozy lounge filled with leather chairs pulled up before a stone fireplace gave off a faint hint of cigar smoke, and continued up to the third floor.

  As they neared the top of the stairs, Clay slowed again, leaning against the wall and pulling her against him. “Kiss me, but don’t make any noise,” he whispered against her lips. “I think I hear voices.”

  Harley obeyed without question, kissing him as she listened carefully, seeking signs of life from the floor above them. After a moment, she heard the faint drone of what sounded like two men casually shooting the shit. But considering she didn’t speak the language—it sounded like German—she had no idea what they were discussing. It could be who they were going to gang rape after sunset for all she knew. She was dependent upon Clay to make the call.

  “Okay,” he said, his lips so close they brushed hers as he spoke. “Follow me, don’t speak, and try to look like you’re drunk and dying to get fucked.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice. She was desperate to find out where Jasper was being held, but she was also scared.

  What if one of the men up there recognized her? They would surely be armed and she and Clay had come in without any weapons except a collection of syringes and sedatives they’d figured they could sneak past a possible bag check by claiming that “Elsa” was diabetic. If they were made, they would be killed or captured and all hope of getting Jasper out alive would be lost.

  The thought sent a cold wave of terror washing through her, but she didn’t have the chance to ask Clay to give her a moment to pull herself together. He was already drawing her up the last few steps and aiming them both toward the murmuring voices.

  Voices that stopped murmuring as Clay called out something she couldn’t understand in slurred German.

  Harley kept her gaze on Clay and her breath coming fast, praying the sight of her heaving breasts, just barely contained by the thin fabric of her dress, would help distract the two men rising from chairs outside a door at the end of the hall. She was too busy keeping her eyes on Clay and trying to look horny to get a clear look at the security detail, but from what she could see of them they didn’t look terribly familiar.

  Or too terribly dangerous.

  They were both on the shorter side, with dark hair and gently rounded bellies that gave testament to a softer life than that enjoyed by Marlowe’s top tier thugs. Still, they were obviously suspicious—she didn’t need to understand German to interpret a tight, cautious tone or the sideways glances the guard with the thinning hairline shot his partner’s way.

  But after a few more slurred comments from Clay, followed by a pleading whisper, Balding relaxed and his partner grunted in understanding. The three men chatted for another minute or two—paying about as much attention to Harley as the landscape paintings hanging on the walls—and by the time Clay pulled her into his arms, they were all chuckling like old friends.

  Harley giggled drunkenly, faking a hiccup as Clay squeezed her ass again and the guards’ chuckling took on a more suggestive lilt. Clay murmured his thanks—she knew enough German to understand tausend dank—and a second later she found herself whisked away to a room at the far end of the hall.

  She waited until Clay closed the door behind them before she demanded in a soft voice
—

  “What did they say? Are they guarding someone in that room? Is it Jasper?”

  “I said you wanted to get fucked in a billionaire’s house and I needed to humor you because you were such a cock tease,” he said, grabbing her elbow and pulling her across the carpet to the windows on the opposite side of the small bedroom. “I offered to pay them off if they’d turn a blind eye for a few minutes, but they didn’t want the money. They said this weekend was all about helping a brother get his dick serviced.”

  “How generous of them,” she said, glaring over her shoulder at the closed door. Men.

  “But they told me to use a room at this end of the hall,” he said, his eyes glittering. “Just in case you were a screamer. They said they had a guest at the other end who’s too young for the party.”

  Harley’s hand flew to cover her mouth, her heart jerking hard in her chest. “Do you think it’s him?”

  The thought of Jasper on the same floor, just a few dozen steps away, made her want to run out into the hall right now, but she couldn’t. She and Clay would have to wait, and find a way to get rid of the guards.

  “I’d say the chances are pretty damned good.” Clay rubbed his chin, the rasping sound making her guess that it wouldn’t be long before sunset. If Clay was getting whiskery, it had to be at least eight o’clock. As masculine as he was, he was a blond and didn’t tend to get scruff until after dinnertime. “Marlowe doesn’t have any children and the people who come to this party know better than to bring a kid along.”

  “So how do we get him out?” she asked, chewing on the pad of her thumb. “Drug the guards?”

  Clay smiled. “That’s what I was thinking, but I don’t think we’ll need the syringes. When we leave, I’ll thank them profusely, make it clear they made my weekend, my fucking life, whatever.” He waved an idle hand through the air. “So then, when I come back in a few hours with some drinks, they won’t think anything of it.”

  Harley bounced on her toes, catching his excitement. “You’ll just be a man thanking his brothers for helping him get his rocks off.”

  “Exactly.” Clay nodded. “It will take a little longer for the sedative to work if it’s ingested, but it’s worth it to avoid a struggle. Sound carries between floors in old houses like this. The quieter we can be, the better our chances of getting out without anyone noticing.”

  Harley’s breath rushed out. “You really think it will work?”

  Clay wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. “I do. They drink, pass out a few minutes later, and we’re in. If things go as smoothly as they did on the way up here, we’ll be clear of the house in five minutes. Ten at the most.”

  “But what if there are cameras?” Harley’s brows drew together. She knew she should step back—there was no one here to put on a show for—but it felt too good to lean on Clay to pull away. “They might have let two horny partygoers go wandering around, but they’re not going to let us walk out of here with Jasper.”

  “I’ve got an idea about that, too,” Clay said, bending to rest his forehead against hers. “I’ll fill you in as soon as we get back to the tent.”

  “Okay.” She fought the urge to tip her head back and find his lips with hers. Hugging was one thing, kissing him while they were alone would be something else entirely. “So how long does drunk Lars take to get his rocks off?”

  “Sadly, not long,” Clay said with a wry smile. “Drunk Lars is shitty in bed. In fact I think we’ve probably already been in here long enough to accomplish his idea of foreplay.”

  “Which involves what?” she asked as he moved away toward the bed. “Getting my clothes off?”

  “Just your panties.” Clay grinned as he spread his arms wide, capturing one bedpost in each hand as he wedged his knee against the baseboard. “Feel free to make some noise if you want. I’ll leave it up to you to decide if Lars is scratching Elsa’s itch.”

  Clay pushed forward, sending the headboard butting against the wall. He moved slowly at first but quickly picked up speed. By the time he began moaning in German and calling out Elsa’s name, the bed was hitting the plaster with a frantic thump-thump-thump-thump that made Harley grin in spite of herself. She joined in, making a few breathy, high pitched keening sounds as Clay thrust forward one last time and let out a tremendous groan.

  Harley had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. “You sound like a dying cow,” she hissed.

  Clay winked as his groan ended in a triumphant shout of, “Ich liebe deine Muschi.”

  Harley lifted a brow.

  “I love your pussy,” Clay translated softly, crossing to stand beside her. “Which is true, of course. In any language.”

  Harley’s smile fell away, but before she could tell Clay this had to stop—the dirty talk and the sweet talk and his kinky fantasies about getting her knocked up—he put a finger to her lips.

  “Don’t,” he whispered, the humor fading from his eyes. “Not yet. Wait to tell me how much you hate me until we get back to the tent. Until then we’re Lars and Elsa and we just got finished making your fantasies come true.”

  After a moment, Harley stepped back, severing the contact between them. “Fine. Then let’s go.”

  But it wasn’t fine. She didn’t hate him, not right now.

  She should—Jasper was still locked away and in danger—but when they stumbled out into the hall and Clay pulled her into his arms, she was grateful for the excuse to kiss him. He had lied to her and betrayed her, but his lips were still the best thing she’d ever tasted and his arms felt like home.

  After profusely thanking the guards—who could barely contain their smug, masculine laughter as Clay wrapped his arm around her waist, half-carrying her down the hall—Harley and Clay made their way back to the ground floor. This time, they slipped out a door leading onto a deserted patio and down an outside stair that let out at the edge of the rose garden. They met no one inside the house and only one couple emerging from the dungeon as they passed by, but the two men in matching black leather pants were far too wrapped up in each other to notice that Clay and Harley were coming from the direction of the house, not the party.

  So far, they’d gotten damned lucky. Harley just prayed their luck held long enough to get Jasper to safety. And then, when they were all out of the woods and Jasper was where no one could hurt him, there would be time to talk herself back into hating Clay again.

  But for now, she needed him. She needed his help, his support, and his body making her forget how much danger still lay before them.

  So when he pulled the yurt’s heavy canvas flap closed behind them and swept her into his arms, she didn’t fight him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave herself up to something stronger than common sense or hatred, something as inevitable as the sun rising or death waiting to take her hand at the end of the last bend in the road.

  Chapter Twelve

  Clay

  This can’t be the last time. It can’t be. It won’t.

  Clay crushed his mouth to Harley’s, tongue stroking deep as he laid her on the bed and settled between her thighs, rocking against her through their clothes, drawing a moan from low in her throat.

  After being forced to pull out seconds from the main event in the dungeon, his balls were an aching, throbbing, bruised place that wailed for relief. But this wasn’t just about relief or release or keeping Harley’s mouth too busy for her to remind him that he had lost any chance of claiming her heart. This was about showing her that they were meant to be, that there had never been anything more right or sane than the way they fit so perfectly together.

  He had been made to love her, to bring her pleasure, ease her pain, and assure her that she would never have to be scared or alone so long as he walked the earth. He would do anything for her, anything to prove that he was worthy to be the man she woke up next to every morning.

  His breath already coming faster, he tore off his shirt and pulled her dress up and over her head, baring her still kiss-swollen breasts. P
ain flashed through his chest as he cupped her in his hands and bent his head to worship first one flushed nipple and then the next.

  She was so beautiful, so perfect, so his that it was painful to look at her and imagine a future where he would be barred from her bed, denied her touch.

  “You’re mine,” he said, teasing her nipples with his tongue, alternating swift flicks with longer, softer circles that drew a moan from low in her throat. “Tell me you’re mine.”

  Harley’s hips bucked up into his, grinding against his stomach. “Just fuck me, Clay. Please.”

  “I’m going to fuck you.” He slipped one hand down the front of her panties, breath catching as he slid two fingers into where she was so wet and ready that it was all he could do not to rip her panties away and claim her that very second. “I’m going to fuck you until you realize there’s nothing left that doesn’t belong to me, no part of you that doesn’t have my name written all over it.”

  She made a strangled, half-angry, half-pained sound as her fingernails raked down his back. His clenched his jaw, breath rushing out through his teeth as she clawed deep enough to draw blood, but the pain only made the lust inside him rage hotter.

  “Mine.” He added a third finger and drove into her, hard and fast. “Tell me you’re mine, Harley. Tell me this is my pussy because no one has ever made you feel the way I do.”

  “Let it go,” she sobbed. “Please, let it go.”

  “I can’t. I need you too much.” Capturing her mouth in another bruising kiss, he kept ramming into her with his fingers, deep and relentless, until her back arched and she gasped against his lips.

  At the last moment, he pulled his hand from between her legs and gripped the top of her lace panties, ripping them down her thighs. She cried out and reached for him, raking her nails down his stomach this time before her hands moved to tear at the close of his zipper.