Covet Me

by Geneva Lee

  “Stay with him,” he ordered his companion before turning back to me and leveling a finger at my chest. “I hope your story checks out, because I will personally see that the only hospital room you visit is your own.”

  I didn’t bother to respond to his threat. Because I didn’t give a damn. My story would check out, and Roget would get his money. It felt kinder than blackmailing him with the details of his relationship with a certain mutual acquaintance. Although I’d bring Georgia into the picture if it became necessary. I grabbed Belle’s chart from the end of her bed as I went to her side. It was easier to read the status of her injuries than it was to look at her. Contusion to the right eye. Hairline fracture to her right cheekbone. Ten stitches to the temple.

  Inconclusive evidence of sexual assault.

  My knees buckled, and I dropped to the ground. I didn’t believe in God, but I prayed then as I pressed my head against the mattress. I prayed for forgiveness that I didn’t deserve. I prayed for her eyes to open. Not to absolve me—I didn’t want her to—but so that I could look into them and find the strength to leave her.

  Because if I didn’t, I was going to kill her. It wouldn’t be my hands that did the deed, but her blood would be on them all the same. I’d been selfish. There was no denying it now, each beat of her heart on the monitor reminding me that she’d almost taken her last breath tonight.

  “Mr. Price,” a clipped voice greeted me, and I lifted my head to see a young doctor enter the room. She rounded the bed and collected the clipboard. “I’m Dr. Grant. Your wife is going to be fine. We gave her a little sedative to help her sleep. I can see you’ve already reviewed her condition.”

  “Has she been conscious yet?”

  “She woke up in the ambulance and stayed awake for most of the procedures. She was cognizant enough to ask us to call you.”

  A few minutes ago, I would have been throwing that in the nurse’s face. Now I only cared about one thing.

  “The chart says there was inconclusive evidence of…” I trailed away, unable to say the words.

  “Most of her clothing was still intact when emergency crews reached her.”

  “What does that mean?” I choked out, my hands balling into fists.

  “Her underwear was still on,” Dr. Grant said softly, “but we did find evidence that she had recently had sex. I know this is a very personal question, but when was the last time you engaged in sexual relations with your wife?”

  “This morning,” I answered immediately, “and twice last night.”

  Dr. Grant blinked in surprise and glanced down at the chart. I got the feeling she found my answer impressive, but I didn’t give a shit. “It’s very possible then that the DNA we recovered was yours.”

  I didn’t want to consider that it might not be.

  “When will she wake up?” I asked. I had to see her eyes flutter open one more time. I had to tell her that I loved her. Just as I had to believe she would understand why I could no longer put her in this kind of danger.

  But there was one more thing I had to know. “Did you catch him?”

  “No.” She shook her head sadly. “It appears to be a random carjacking gone bad. Her purse was recovered from the scene. I’m sure the police will catch up with him.”

  I gave her a grim smile. “I’m going to stay with her.”

  She didn’t deny the request, which was smart because it wasn’t one.

  Random. That was one word that definitely didn’t apply to this case. A carjacker didn’t attack a woman and leave her purse. This was targeted and purposeful, which meant Hammond had found out about us much sooner than I had hoped.

  Forcing myself to stand, I dragged a chair next to her bed and sank down into it as I dialed a number on my mobile. The time for retribution was at hand.

  I woke to a hand brushing across my forehead. Lifting my head to discover I’d fallen asleep in the worst possible position, my eyes met hers. Belle’s face was swollen, a purple rim circling her eye, and she was still the most breathtaking thing I’d ever seen.

  “Hey, beautiful,” I murmured as I sat up and took her hand.

  “Do I want to ask for a mirror?” She licked her lips as she spoke.

  I shook my head. “No need. You look gorgeous.”

  “Liar,” she accused with a faint smile that didn’t reach her tired eyes.

  “Do you remember what happened?” I asked her, steeling myself for her answer.

  “Some asshat tried to steal my car, and I was stubborn about it.”

  I swallowed and forced myself to ask the question I didn’t really want answered. “Did he…did he rape you?”

  “No.” She winced as she tried to sit up. I sprung to my feet to help her, part of my burden lifting from my shoulders. It didn’t make any of this okay, but I couldn’t help but be relieved.

  “The hospital wasn’t sure,” I explained.

  “He made it pretty clear he was thinking about it.” Her eyes darted nervously to meet mine. “Would it have mattered if he had?”

  “It would have mattered in how quickly I’m going to end his life.” There was no point in pretending otherwise. Hammond was at the heart of this, but whatever goon he’d sent to handle his dirty work would find himself paying the price as well.

  “Smith.” But the plea in her voice was lost on me.

  “Don’t worry about that right now,” I said in a soothing voice. Leaning down, I brushed my lips gingerly over her forehead.

  “It’s not your fault,” she whispered.

  But we both knew that wasn’t true.

  “Belle, I can’t allow this to continue.” My words came out in halting fragments, each one more difficult than the last.

  Tears welled in her giant blue eyes but they didn’t spill over. “Sorry, Price. I made my choice. You’re stuck with me.”

  “Not if it means—”

  “I know our wedding was a bit unorthodox,” she interrupted me, “but I’m pretty sure we got to the vows and all that stuff about death and parting, sickness and health.”

  “You can’t ask me to ignore this,” I said, more harshly than I’d intended.

  But she didn’t shrink away. Instead she sat up and glared at me. “No, I can’t. But you’re my husband, so you’re going to have to deal with it.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to bite back the smile tugging up the corners of my mouth. “Are you ever going to listen to me?”

  “You like it when I provoke you,” she reminded me.

  I couldn’t deny that was true.

  “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you, beautiful.”

  “And I wouldn’t want to live with myself if I ran away. I guess we’ll have to learn to live with each other.”

  It was reckless to listen to her—reckless to give in to what my heart wanted. But when the doctor came in a few hours later, I was still there. I had put her in this position, and I couldn’t desert her now, not while she was so vulnerable—not while I was still breathing.

  I’d claimed her as my own. She was mine to protect, and maybe it was foolish to covet her after tonight’s events, but she belonged to me and no one was going to take her away until they dragged me to hell.

  As the Bugatti pulled to the curb outside the Westminster Royal I turned to Smith in surprise. We’d stopped by my flat for a few things, narrowly avoiding Jane who was out on an errand. When we had left, I’d expected to return to one of his houses. Not that I had anything against luxury hotels, but I was beginning to think his paranoia was getting the best of him.

  “First, no purse. No identification. No mobile.” I sighed deeply. “And now a hotel?”

  “It’s best to be on the safe side.” He didn’t meet my eyes as he said this. He’d avoided looking at me since we left the hospital. He’d even turned away while I changed in the bedroom of my flat.

  “The police said this was an isolated incident.” I repeated their words, wishing I believed it. It was better for Smith if I, at least, pretend
ed I did.

  He didn’t respond; instead I followed him inside. The penthouse suite was every bit as lavish as one would expect from a five-star hotel. Even though it occupied an entire floor that overlooked the Thames, it reminded me of the suite we’d shared in New York. How was it possible we were only there a few days ago?

  “You should get some rest,” Smith called as he took my bag to the bedroom. “Or eat something. We can order in.”

  He was treating me like a patient, which only reminded me of what had happened. It wasn’t as if the constant stabbing pain that occupied half of my face wasn’t memento enough.

  “I slept at the hospital.” I paused, my eyes finding the floor. “I can’t face another nightmare.”

  Smith reacted almost instinctively, taking me into his arms. He was careful to turn my body so that he didn’t touch any of the swelling. “I’m here now, beautiful. Let’s watch a movie.”

  He didn’t want me. Not like this. Any other time, he would have taken me to bed and claimed me. The fact only made me feel worse, but I forced a smile.

  Smith arranged the suite’s sofa so that I could stretch out next to him. We settled in, his arm draped carefully over me as he flipped through channels. Finally he found an old black and white classic playing late on a BBC channel. But I wasn’t interested in the drama on-screen, not while my whole life was in turmoil.

  I was in a strange place under the influence of a cocktail of drugs that seemed intent on luring me back to the nightmarish realm of my memories.

  “I’ve never seen this,” I announced, wanting his attention on me.

  “Seriously? We’re going to have to educate you in Humphrey Bogart then.” He stared down at me with a look of such pure love that my heart constricted, feeling as if it might explode.

  He still loved me, despite what had happened. But another man’s hands had been on my body tonight, sullying the bond that I shared with Smith, and no matter how hard I tried to escape that, it clawed at me. I felt raw. Vulnerable. I didn’t want to sleep, and I didn’t want to be awake. I couldn’t face this, and he seemed content to pretend nothing was wrong.

  But everything was wrong, terribly so. I clamped a hand over my mouth and then scrambled up to the bathroom. I sank down in front of the toilet, positive that I was going to vomit. My stomach heaved, but nothing came out except desperate gasps and dry, choking sounds. Smith rushed in and knelt at my side, gathering my hair.

  “Are you sick?”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t, not physically at least. That this was all in my head made it harder to bear. The heaves of my chest turned to sobs that racked through me.

  “I’m sorry.” But my tears cracked my voice, making it hard to speak.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He released my hair and dropped to sit next to me. “Nothing.”

  “Then why are you so scared to touch me?” I was being hysterical. I knew that, but I couldn’t control how I felt any more than I could take back what had happened.

  “Do you think that I don’t want to?” he asked. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you or…”

  “Or?” I prompted. I needed to know how that sentence ended, needed to know that his every thought wasn’t caught up in how to extricate himself from the mess we were both in.

  “I want nothing more than to make love to you right now,” he said in a hushed voice, brushing a finger down my forearm. “Not fuck. Not dominate. I just want to feel myself inside of you, but that’s not how this works.”

  “Why not?” I challenged, growing angry at the idea that we were both denying what we needed.

  “Because it’s my job to take care of you, and I’ve already fucked that up enough.”

  I couldn’t stand the anguish pooling in his green eyes.

  “I need you to show me I’m still yours. That you still want me.”

  He stood and my heart splintered along the fissures that had barely healed from the last time he had broken it. Someday there would be no heart left at all, only scar tissue. But tonight, my heart could still feel and the agony Smith inspired was far more acute than any physical pain I’d endured.

  But then he bent down and lifted me to my feet before scooping me into his arms. He carried me slowly into the bedroom, whispering the vows he’d said to me only nights before. Laying me carefully across the bed, he stripped off his clothing until he was bare. His cock bobbed as he approached me and hooked his fingers over the waistband of my pants. He drew them off in one fluid motion.

  “In the hospital, when I saw you there, and you were breathing, do you know what happened?” he asked as he palmed his dick. “I got hard. I wanted you so badly that I had to hide my erection with a pillow. You know why, beautiful? Because I always want you. Because your very breath is mine, and it hadn’t been taken away from me. I needed to stay away from you—needed to not touch you—because I couldn’t bear to make you suffer.”

  “Don’t stay away,” I cried, my hands struggling to slide off my panties. “I need to know you still want me.”

  “This time when I say we have to do this on my terms”—he lifted my leg and bent to kiss the softness of my inner thigh—“it’s not because I want to dominate you, it’s because I won’t be able to forgive myself if I cause you pain.”

  Our relationship had always been about pain commingling with pleasure. It was what had brought us together, and now that intimacy had been robbed from us. More than anything, I wanted to pretend nothing was wrong. I wanted to crawl to the edge of the bed and take his cock into my mouth, but I knew he wouldn’t allow it. And his control over this situation was the only remnant of what we had shared only this morning.

  “I want to see you,” he rasped. He leaned over me, hovering to keep his weight off me. I wanted to pull him down and force him to release the primal masculinity he kept from me now, but I remained still. Smith ran his fingers down the neckline of my camisole, his eyes pinned to my face. “I want to be careful, so I hope you aren’t attached to this.”

  He pinched the fabric in both hands and stretched until the threads gave way. He had no way of knowing that another man had ripped my blouse from me tonight, just as he had no way of knowing that simple act done with the utmost care and concern had erased that memory, replacing it with an image of love. He opened it gently, freeing my breasts to the air and then slowly slid the tattered remnants away.

  His fingers danced over my skin, dodging the bruises left behind by the attack, and then he began to kiss me. Smith’s mouth moved lower, his lips and tongue flickering across my skin with a light touch that reminded of the tip of a feather. Tonight there would be no playful whips and smacks though, but there would be want. Want that consumed me like a flame blazing into a fire. Want that vanquished any fear I felt.

  There was no fear at Smith’s hand. No trepidation. He’d taken my body and given me his very soul in return.

  “I’m going to make you feel good, beautiful,” he whispered, his breath tickling over my abdomen. “I’m going to take all the pain away for as long and as often as I can.”

  My head fell back against the sheets as he dipped his tongue between my thighs. He licked along my seam with a reverent patience that drew the attention of my nerves until all sensation in my body was centered there. He kissed the plumping flesh of my mound, sucking the whole of it fervently into his mouth. A low moan emanated from his chest, and I bucked against the vibration it sent trembling through my skin.

  Oh god, this man. This sinful, cocky, broken, perfect man was going to make me come without ever breaching my folds.

  He drew back as soon as my abdomen tensed and hooked his arms under my thighs, yanking my legs over his shoulders. His hands slid down to cup my ass, holding me in the air as he kissed my tortured pussy.

  “I’m not through with you yet. I only wanted to make sure I had your undivided attention.”

  That sounded a lot like a promise. I grabbed the sheets and held on.

  “I love burying my face in your ripe cunt
, tasting your sweetness on my tongue. I just had to stop and admire how pretty you look with your legs around my neck and your pussy plumped and ready for me. I’m going to take good care of you both. Forever, beautiful.”

  He kept his eyes on me as he lowered his mouth to fuck me. I watched, white light creeping into the edges of my vision, as his tongue parted my slit. The tip of it flicked across my clit until I was gasping and pleading. But he wasn’t ready to let me go yet. He flattened his tongue, stroking the length of my sex languidly. I writhed beneath him, nearly vaulting out of his grip. Digging his fingers into my hips, he rocked me back and forth against his tireless tongue.

  “Please, please, please.” The word fell from my mouth with each sweep of his tongue over my clit.

  He paused just long enough for my want to throb painfully through my core, and then his mouth clamped greedily over my engorged nub.

  My back arched off the bed as I ground myself against his mouth. There was nothing but him and the pleasure he poured through me. My anchor. My release.

  When he finally lowered me to the bed, I sagged bonelessly, my legs sliding from his shoulders and my climax still pulsing at my core.

  “You got so fucking wet when you came.” He groaned as he nudged the head of his cock against my slick entrance. “I’m going to be tasting you for weeks.”

  I bit my lip shyly, my eyes drooping as I prepared myself for more.

  More and never enough. That seemed like a pretty solid foundation to build a future on.

  “I can feel your cunt squeezing my tip. Does it want more?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I panted.

  “No, not tonight. Tonight you’re my wife—my partner.”

  “Your equal?” I teased.

  “You’re always that.” Smith licked his lower lip. “I only hope I’m yours.”

  He was in every way. I wanted to tell him that. I wanted to press my body to his and feel this man who belonged so entirely to me, and I to him. But before I could find the strength to move, he slid inside me, effectively destroying any possibility of me moving. Not when he was piercing me to the core. Not with him rooted fully inside me.