by Laura Kaye
Emilie wondered exactly how badly he was really hurting.
The other men exchanged looks and finally nodded.
“Anyone want food from here?” Shane asked. Negatives all around. He backed the truck out of the drive-through lane and headed in the direction of the hotel.
The good news was that there was a huge canopy over the driveway in front of the Marriott’s lobby doors, so they wouldn’t get soaked going in. The bad news was that they were not the first people to have this idea. Shane just managed to fit his truck into the carport behind two other cars. “Might as well make sure they have rooms before we unload,” he said.
“I need to use the restroom, so I’ll come too,” Emilie said.
They all hopped out, and Derek helped her down from the truck and took her hand. She adored that he didn’t mind showing affection for her in front of his friends. What she didn’t like so much was his marked limp. She’d seen him when he wasn’t hurt and knew it wasn’t usually this noticeable. Hell, she wouldn’t have even guessed he was wearing a prosthesis before he’d showed her.
Luckily, they still had rooms available. Shane, Beckett, and Easy decided to share one room, and she and Derek got another. Which was awesome. Except for the repeat round of razzing that it unleashed. Emilie couldn’t help but laugh, though.
Annnd she couldn’t help but wish they could go to their room . . . Right. This. Very. Minute.
Guilt stalked at the back of her mind and paraded all the reasons why she shouldn’t be finding any joy right now. Manny’s breakdown, her shooting Jeffers, and the threats that hung over all their heads topped the list. Honestly, though, those were the exact reasons she needed a little joy. Something to even out the cosmic scales. Something to help her cope and let her forget, even if for just a little while.
“I’ll go get your suitcase while you find the bathroom,” Derek said.
“Take a load off,” Beckett said, arching an eyebrow at his friend. “I’ll get it.”
Emilie nodded. “I should call my mother, too. She’s probably freaking out by now.”
“I gotta park the truck,” Shane said, “so I’ll go with you, B.”
Easy pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call Jenna. Meet you over there?” he asked, pointing to a big open room with lots of tables and chairs.
“Yeah,” Derek said as they all went their separate ways.
Emilie used the restroom, then found a little unoccupied nook off the lobby with a pair of couches. She sat and sagged back against the cushions as her mother answered with, “Are you okay?”
“Hi, Mama. Yeah, I’m okay. Did you get to Rosa’s all right?”
“Yes, but I hated to leave you. What happened after I left? I saw him come running out of the house.”
“He totally freaked out. Just like I thought he would,” Emilie said, telling her the truth without overwhelming her with the specifics.
“Meaning what, mija? I can handle it, you know.” Sighing, Emilie debated—apparently a few seconds too long because her mother said, “I want to know, Emilie.”
“Okay,” Emilie said in a low voice. She hated to recount it—both because she wanted to spare her mother and because she really didn’t want to relive it herself. “He threatened to hit me with a bat.” A gasp came down the line. “A friend I had there in case this very thing happened protected me and then Manny drew a gun. They tried to get him to turn himself in and he wouldn’t. And then he started shooting at everyone and took off.”
“Oh, dear God,” her mother said. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Yes, but not badly.” At least, she hoped Derek wasn’t hurt worse than he was letting on. That limp was really worrying her. They spoke a few more minutes—mostly Emilie trying to reassure her mother she was fine, and then Emilie said, “I’ll call again when I can. I’m not going to stay at my house until this is over. If you see Manny, call the police, Mama.” Jeffers’s image popped into her mind’s eye and she shook her head. “Better yet, call me. My friends will know what to do. Just remember, he’s not our Manny anymore.”
The sadness in her mother’s agreement broke Emilie’s heart.
When the call was over, Emilie returned to the dining room to find all the guys gathered and the bags of food unpacked on the counter by the microwave. Emilie took a deep breath and pasted on a happy face. “Okay, let’s get cooking.”
While a dish of beef enchiladas was reheating, she took the lids off the pasta salad, corn-and-black-beans salad, and ceviche with shrimp. And then she reheated the chicken tortilla soup, the rice and beans, and the corn bread she’d baked.
Derek offered to help, but she wanted him off his feet. And, honestly, keeping busy helped her bottle up the sadness she’d felt after the call with her mother. Soon, everything was done, and she found some heavy paper plates in one of the cabinets under the counter.
“Dig in everyone,” she said.
They didn’t need to be told twice.
Emilie smiled at their enthusiasm and at their compliments. She’d always loved watching other people enjoy what she’d made. The conversation flowed around the table, ranging from discussions about the food to joking around to telling old stories. What they didn’t talk about was the situation they were all in the middle of. So she guessed she wasn’t the only one who needed a distraction from reality.
She didn’t eat much—her stomach was too tied up in knots. She mostly sat back and watched and listened. From their easy familiarity, to their ability to call one another out, to the stories they told, it was clear the four men shared a tight bond.
“So, was it better than Taco Bell?” Emilie asked when the meal wound down. Mischief filled Derek’s eyes. “Answer carefully,” she said, smiling.
“Hell, yes,” Shane said, rubbing his stomach. “I’m happier than an old dog with a new bone.”
“Your inner redneck is showing, McCallan,” Easy said.
“I fly that flag loud and proud,” Shane said, grinning.
“Definitely better,” Beckett said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Thanks.”
“Yeah,” Easy said. “Appreciate you sharing all this food with us.”
“I’m just so glad it didn’t go to waste.” She pushed out of her chair, but Derek rose and leaned over her.
He planted a quick kiss on her lips. “Fantastic, Em. Thank you. Now, you sit. We’ll clean up.”
“You sit with me,” she said in a low voice.
A question flashed through his eyes, but he acquiesced without asking. From behind Derek, Beckett gave her a nod. Guess her effort to make him stay off his feet wasn’t all that subtle.
“You two should go settle in,” Beckett said. “We got this.”
Both Emilie and Derek protested, but the guys all insisted. Before long the two of them made their way to the elevators. As soon as the doors closed, Derek boxed her in against the wall and kissed her like it had been months since they’d last touched one another. The kiss was slow and deep and arousing, especially as his erection grew against her belly.
He pulled away and leaned his forehead against hers. “Love in an elevator,” he sang softly and shifted his hips against hers. “Lovin’ it up when I’m going down.”
Emilie chuckled. God, he was absolutely, earbleedingly tone deaf, but she adored that he couldn’t care less. He was fun and spontaneous and playful. There wasn’t an ounce of pretense about him. Derek just was who he was.
And his genuineness was so compelling, so attractive, that Emilie gave into the urge to throw her arms around him and hug him tight.
Ding, ding.
“Come on, pretty girl,” Derek said, grabbing her hand in one of his and the handle to her suitcase in the other. He carried a backpack of his own on his shoulder.
The room was decorated in dark greens and otherwise lacked much personality, but it did have a very comfortable-looking king-sized bed that filled the center of the space.
“How are you?” Derek asked, placing her suitcase and hi
s backpack by the side of the dresser. “I know you were upset after your phone call but I didn’t want to ask in front of everyone.” He turned toward her.
“Better now,” she said, falling into his open arms. “I just hate upsetting her. And there’s not even any resolution I can give her yet.”
“Yeah, but you should be proud of yourself, Emilie. You got her out of that house and away from the danger. You took great care of her in the midst of that moment. I know I was proud of you,” he said, rubbing her back.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
Derek hugged her tight. “I’m really sorry for whatever role I played in pulling you into all this.”
She eased back and met his gaze. “Derek, you have nothing to apologize for. None of this is your fault. Manny’s messed-up life would’ve exploded with or without you. The only difference is you wouldn’t have been there to rescue me if you hadn’t been in my life.”
“Okay,” he said, kissing her forehead.
“So now it’s my turn to ask,” Emilie said. “How are you? Really. I didn’t want to ask in front of the guys.”
He gave her a small smile. “Mostly okay, but my leg hurts.”
Emilie’s heart squeezed—both at his pain and at his honesty. She imagined it wasn’t easy for a guy like him to admit any sort of weakness. The thought made her recall Beckett’s words from earlier. You don’t always have to be too strong to accept help. No one here thinks you’re weak. That Beckett felt the need to say that only solidified her suspicion.
“What will help?” she asked, looping her arms around his neck.
“I have pain meds, but they give me insomnia sometimes.”
“Well, I’ll stay up with you if that happens. But you should take them, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” he said. He patted her hip and crossed to where he’d dropped his pack on the floor.
Emilie sagged onto the edge of the bed. “You know, they probably have a Jacuzzi. Would that help?”
“I wish,” he said, digging in his bag. “I used to love them. But the heat causes the blood vessels in my stump to dilate, which causes my limb to swell up so much it becomes a struggle to get my prosthesis on. So I avoid them now.”
“Oh,” she said, shoulders falling.
Derek rose with an orange prescription bottle in his hands, and then he disappeared into the bathroom. Emilie collapsed backward onto the mattress and luxuriated in the soft bedding against her back. She definitely felt where Manny had bent her over the counter, not to mention the tender spots from Jeffers hitting her. She stroked her fingers over her sore throat and hoped it wouldn’t bruise. She really didn’t want to explain how she’d gotten the marks.
Derek emerged a few minutes later. He smiled, walked up to the bed, and leaned over her, his hands on each side of her head.
“Mmm, I like this view,” she said, his proximity and the position stirring her blood.
“Me, above you?” he asked, heat slipping into his dark gaze.
Emilie nodded, and Derek’s gaze narrowed. “What else do you like?”
Her stomach went on a loop-the-loop. “The way you talked to me. Against the window.”
Derek pushed his hips between her thighs and slowly rocked against her core. “You’re very inspiring,” he said, humor sliding in behind the heat in his eyes.
She didn’t want to ruin the mood, but she needed to check. “Does your leg hurt too much for this?”
A quick kiss. “No, but if it does, we’ll find a position that puts less stress on it.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Yeah? Well, in that case, am I inspiring you right now?” she asked, arching a brow. She loved how free she felt with him to say whatever came to mind.
One at a time, his hands manacled her wrists against the bed. “Definitely.” He circled the bulge in his jeans against her clit, although the tightness of her skirt kept him from getting as close as she needed him.
Her heartbeat took off at the promise of his touch. “Derek,” she whispered, wriggling her fingers. God, she wanted to pull her skirt out of the way.
“What, Em? What do you need?” His gaze bore into hers and scorched the blood running through her veins.
“You.” She lifted her feet up onto the edge of the bed and spread her thighs wide—and almost cheered when the movement drew up her skirt and increased his access to her.
“My touch?” he asked, rocking into her.
“Yeah,” she said, lifting her hips to meet his thrust.
“My mouth?”
Given how amazingly he kissed, she could only imagine the skill with which he could apply his lips and tongue elsewhere. “Yes.”
“My cock?”
“Please,” she whispered.
Derek released her, slid back off the bed, and pulled her to her feet. Her clothes were off before she’d realized what was happening. His eyes absolutely blazed as they looked over her body, drinking in the lacy black push-up bra and thong she still wore. “Take them off,” he said, rubbing his lips. “Slowly.”
Emilie dragged her hands up her stomach and squeezed her breasts, her gaze connected to his, and then reached around and undid the back clasp. She pushed her arms together, plumping her cleavage as the straps tumbled down her arms, and then she dropped the bra to the floor. Enjoying the expression of abject need he wore—hooded eyes, open mouth, shiny bottom lip from how he kept running his tongue over it—she drew out the removal of her thong. Hooking her thumbs beneath the thin straps on her hips, she moved them over her skin, then turned, bent at the waist, and slowly, very slowly, dragged them down her legs.
“Jesus, look how wet you are already.” She rose—only to feel the press of his big hand on her back. “Not yet. Slip a finger inside yourself.” The mattress creaked, and Emilie realized he’d sat to watch her.
The thrill of knowing his eyes were on her every move nearly made her tremble. She reached between her legs, circled her fingertips in her wetness, and slowly slid her middle finger deep inside.
“Fuck yourself, Emilie,” he rasped. A metallic zip and the rustle of denim told her he was partially naked behind her.
She ached to see him, touch him, go to him, but she did as he asked, finger-fucking herself and adding a second finger when her need for him made her ache. A tingling pressure built up where the heel of her palm pressed against her clit. “Derek,” she said, hearing the pleading in her tone.
“God, that’s sexy,” he said. “I’m stroking myself watching you.”
Emilie looked behind her. Oh, damn. Legs spread, Derek sat on the corner of the mattress, one hand fondling his balls, the other moving over his length, his wrist twisting at the head. She wanted that. She wanted to make good on the promise she’d made the night they’d made out in the shadows of the lighthouse.
Turning, she lowered herself to her knees and crawled toward him, her hands settling on his thighs. She gently squeezed, her left hand feeling a thickness under the denim covering his right leg that must’ve been part of his prosthetic limb. She scooted as close as she could, her hands slowly closing in on his cock.
His skin was hot to the touch. She fisted her hand around him, and he groaned. Leaning in, she opened her mouth, wanting to feel the weight of his cock on her tongue. Her eyes landed on a series of black lines, and Emilie tilted his erection toward her.
Tattoos. He had tattoos on his cock.
“Holy shit, Derek,” she said looking up at him wide-eyed and awed. She’d never seen anything hotter in her entire life. “Didn’t this hurt?”
He stroked her hair, tucking a lock of it behind her ear. “Not too bad. I was still on a lot more pain meds when I had it done. I sorta went through a period where I decided if my body had to be modified, I wanted to be the one to decide how, when, and where.”
She really admired that attitude. “What does it say?” she said, tracing her fingertip over the Chinese characters.
He petted the top of her head. “One stands for life, the other for saving life
.” He stroked her hair again. “Take me in your mouth, Emilie.”
Her core contracted at the command. She swirled her tongue all around him, making his skin slick and wet, and then she sucked him in deep.
Both of his hands flew to her hair and pressed lightly against the back of her head. “How deep can you go, baby?”
Emilie took a big breath and impaled her mouth on him until his head filled her throat.
“Oh, fuck.” His hands pressed harder. “Hold it, hold it, hold it,” he rasped, and then he let her go.
She drew up and sucked in another deep breath. And did it again, and again.
Emilie had always loved the way a blow job could make a strong man lose control, and it was more true with Derek than it’d ever been with anyone else. He was a warrior, a protector, a trained killer if she wanted to be brutally honest about it, and he was shaking in her hands.
“I don’t want to come like this,” he said, voice gritty and deep.
Sucking hard, Emilie withdrew.
“Jesus.” He kissed her, hard, and then he lay back. “Get up here. Straddle me. My fucking turn.”
Heart racing, Emilie crawled up over him, her legs straddling his stomach. She rubbed herself against his cock.
“Not yet, Em. I want you over my face.”
Butterflies tore through her insides. She’d never done this in that position before, but just imagining it was making her wetter.
Derek helped guide her knees over his shoulders, and then he grabbed her ass. “Ride my mouth, Emilie. I want your orgasm down the back of my throat.”
“God, Derek,” she said as she slowly lowered her lips to his. He grabbed her ass cheeks harder and sucked her clit into his mouth, flicking it mercilessly with his tongue. She cried out and grabbed her own thighs for support. And then she let her hips move exactly how her body demanded.
“That’s right,” he rasped against her. “Ride me. Use me.” He plunged his tongue inside her.
The orgasm came out of nowhere. One moment she’d been hanging in a pleasured stasis, the next, she was shattered. He banded his arms around her thighs, holding her tight against his sucking lips and flicking tongue as the inside of her pulsed over and over again. When it was over, she fell forward onto her hands, her head hanging. Good. God.