Blood Script

by Airicka Phoenix

  “Oh my God.”

  “The sight of Annie...”

  He hadn’t realized he’d stopped talking until the cushion next to him dipped. His head came up just as Cora crawled into his lap. The unexpected intrusion into his personal hell momentarily paralyzed him from stopping her. Then it was too late.

  She was straddling his hips, her knees bent under her, her arms hooked tightly around his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered into the side of his neck. “I’m so sorry.”

  James couldn’t move. He sat in his numbness, staring at an ugly painting of a cactus with the daughter of the man who destroyed his life cradled in his arms. There was some kind of sick irony in that.

  But he couldn’t push her off. He couldn’t bring himself to even hate her. She’d been a baby when it happened. She hadn’t known he existed. But how could he forgive her for what her father did to his family? He didn’t think he ever could.

  She raised her head and he found himself lost in the tears clinging to her lashes. The sight of them horrified him. Was she crying for him?

  He never found out. He never got the chance to after she kissed him.

  Her mouth and tongue invaded his senses, temporarily numbing the lingering memories of all his pain with her addictive taste. Somehow, those tender sips of her lips ended with him sheathed inside her, her hips rising and falling in slow gallops as the night hung with their deep sighs and murmured gasps.

  The feel of her enthralled him.

  It stirred awake everything he’d thought dead inside him until there was nothing but her radiating in the place of the darkness. It shouldn’t have been possible, but when she whimpered his name and her body shuddered around him, he knew he was so fucked.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cora woke the next morning to the sensation of having a boulder strapped across her chest. The restriction of oxygen flow had her eyelids prying open to a thick curtain of sunlight from the windows she’d forgotten to close and a bulging man arm draped across her boobs. The latter was attached to a slumbering and deliciously naked man half slumped on top of her, one leg wedged firmly between hers and a scruffy face nestled into her neck.

  He seemed to enjoy sleeping like that, she noted. He liked winding himself around her, crushing her, pinning her to him as if she might disappear in the night.

  Secretly, she kind of liked it, too. Liked the confinement, the feeling of being absolutely surrounded and embraced. How could a girl not relish in the feeling of having a gorgeous man cocoon her like the idea of letting her go was inconceivable? Granted, she would have liked it a little better if he wasn’t suffocating her.

  Blowing out what little air she’d managed to suck in, Cora turned her head into the featherlight wisps tickling her jaw. The silky strands were attached to the man breathing peacefully into her neck, and held the salty tang of ocean and metal. It was such a unique scent, one that could never be found in any bottle, one that was so him, so impeccably him—

  Wild.

  Dangerous.

  Vast.

  Mysterious.

  Hard.

  Impenetrable.

  God, even in sleep, he smelled amazing, and felt even better. Every taut inch of him fitted like a perfect, velvet glove alongside hers. Not to mention that beautiful, hard cock wedged against her hip.

  Fuck, she loved that cock.

  She was obsessed with it.

  Addicted to it.

  It had become her heroine, seducing her to take that one last hit.

  Only, it was never just that one.

  She was perversely fine with that.

  Absently, she skimmed her fingers through the thick mane, marveling at how downy the texture was for a man who faced sea mist and sun every day with some off the shelf bottle of shampoo.

  Mane.

  It made her think of lions.

  The image made her giggle.

  So fitting and yet there was no way to properly define James Crow.

  He was a unique breed of animal.

  An animal that held all the power over her.

  She drew in a breath and closed her eyes.

  Cora didn’t consider herself weak. She didn’t think herself helpless or vulnerable. She was raised by a father who ran an empire and a mother who was probably stronger than he was. She had an honorary aunt who killed people for money. She had a family who came from a very long line of dealers, smugglers, and murderers.

  Criminals.

  It was in her DNA.

  She knew how to draw outside the lines.

  She knew how to evade the police.

  She knew how to step up and take her father’s place.

  But she chose not to, because it wasn’t her.

  She wasn’t capable of hurting another person, and she didn’t want to be.

  Maybe that was her weakness.

  Maybe that was her Achilles’s heel.

  Maybe that was why she was incapable of killing James like she should.

  Throughout her evening with him, over dinner, during the drive home, all she could think about was telling him she wasn’t going to be his slave anymore. That their terms needed to be renegotiated. Being his mistress was a whole other ball game to being his wife, and not just any wife.

  He wanted a crime boss wife.

  That was something else.

  That took trust and loyalty.

  That took love and dedication.

  He couldn’t simply snap his fingers and will it to happen, will her to become obedient and devoted. That level of partnership needed a two-way street.

  She’d meant to tell him that, meant to lay it all out on the table, but then he’d been sitting there, telling her about his parents, his life, and he’d looked so shattered, so broken ... something in her had wavered.

  Her resolve had crumbled.

  All she could think about was comforting him, because there was nothing more heartbreaking than seeing a strong man in pieces.

  Taking him on the sofa, however, had been a surprise. She couldn’t even remember who reached for whose clothes first, but she somehow found herself needing to distract him, to exorcise the demons from his eyes the only way she knew how.

  It had worked.

  For a time, in those few minutes of bliss as their bodies came together and aligned, there was only fire in those silver pools, only hunger for her and what she could give him. And that had been enough.

  Maybe that made her weak and stupid, a pathetic excuse for a strong woman, but she knew it wouldn’t stop her from doing it again.

  Cora squinted at the alarm clock. It was a little after six in the morning, which barely gave her any time at all to get ready if she wanted to meet Elise for breakfast.

  Lifting her head, she peered down at the man confining her to the mattress. There was no way to untangle herself without waking him. But she pried his arm out from its anchor around her waist, and was wiggling out from beneath his leg when the arm returned with a possessive vengeance.

  It dragged her back across the mattress and the man reinforcing his hold.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” His gruff, groggy grumble coursed down her spine.

  “It’s almost seven,” she whispered. “Mom’s waiting for me.”

  His response was the sharp nip of his teeth sinking into her neck. Not hard enough to break skin, but she would mark. Possibly bruise.

  A branding reminder of who she belonged to.

  Cora moaned.

  The wounded spot throbbed, a delicious mixture of passion and punishment that rushed straight to her core with the intensity of liquid fire.

  “James.”

  One large palm cupped her breast as his mouth continued to trail languidly along the seam joining her neck to her shoulder. The thumb skimmed her nipple, distorting all thoughts but the ones he was painting in her mind with just his touch.

  “Get ready.”

  His command was followed by the smart clap of his palm against the soft fle
sh of her ass, a sound smack that stole the very air from her lungs. It vibrated through her, agitating already tender skin. The area tingled. It spread up her tailbone and scattered across her spine in a shower of electric ripples.

  “Go, or I’m going to fuck you,” he threatened in a silky purr that did nothing to reinstate lucidity.

  If anything, it had her hips driving back against the hard ridge of his erection nestled against her crack. It had her panting and sinking her nails into his hip, holding him in place while she rutted against him like a kitten seeking heat.

  “Get a condom.” He bit the shell of her ear. “Now.”

  Cora scrambled for the nightstand and the dusty box hidden at the back of its drawer. She tore a packet free from the rest and turned to him.

  James sheathed himself in rubber before reaching for her. His hands closed around her hips from behind and she was dragged back against his chest. Her legs were forced apart. One was tossed back over both of his, opening her to the cock nudging against her opening.

  She pulled him to her. She guided the fat cap past the tight ring and let him sink further and further inside her until there wasn’t an inch left. The absolute bliss of being filled sent her head reeling and her vision blurring.

  “You’re going to be late, Cora,” he told her with each shallow thrust. “All because you couldn’t leave without getting a stiff cock in your tight pussy first.”

  Her moan was infiltrated by the penetration of two fingers breaking past her lips, her teeth to press against her tongue.

  Instinct had her sucking without being told. She wrapped the digits with her tongue and worked it as if it were his dick, partially wishing it was.

  “There’s my good girl.” The pumping of his wrist mirrors the bucking of his hips to the point where she couldn’t tell the difference. “Get them nice and wet.”

  But he withdrew, leaving her lips sore and tender as he trailed slick fingers down her body to where they were joined. He teased her clit, using her saliva to lubricate the hardened little muscle.

  The sensation was surreal. Every flick, every pressurized rub of his fingers pushed her that much closer to the place she desperately needed to be.

  “Come for me, sweetheart,” he beckoned, hot breath whispering in her ear.

  She did.

  She came with a choked gasp of his name. Her entire body bowed into his skillful hand. It blazed along with the rest of the world.

  James groaned into the curve of her jaw. His arms tightened around her, keeping her still, keeping her pinned as he gave three sharp jabs and released. She could feel him twitching and expelling into the rubber. The heat of it burned her channel.

  “Every morning,” she breathed into the pillow. “We should do that every morning.”

  His low chuckle vibrated against her shoulder where his lips were lazily trailing kisses along her skin.

  “Go shower.”

  She peeked at the clock again and cursed.

  Legs like jelly, Cora tumbled off the bed and made an unsteady path to the washroom. She washed quickly and dressed even quicker. She ran a hurried brush through her hair, but skipped blow drying, or straightening. Using the time instead to do her makeup.

  James wasn’t in the bedroom when she returned. The bed was neatly made, their discarded clothes tossed into the hamper in the corner, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen.

  She found him in the kitchen, next to the brewing coffee machine ... and Nicholas. The presence of the other man momentarily faltered her strides before she remembered why he was there.

  “Hey!” she said, stepping deep into the cramped bit of space dominated by a rickety table with two chairs, and two massive men.

  Nicholas inclined his head in his usual muteness.

  “I just need my coat and purse,” she told him.

  James glanced sideways at his friend. It must have been the signal for something, because Nicholas left the room without a word.

  James pushed away from the counter and ambled his way over to her. He extended his hand, long fingers open and inviting. Cora set hers into his without hesitation.

  She was drawn to him, a fish lured by the seductive allure of a fishermen’s hook. He didn’t stop until their clothes had tangled and his front was perfectly aligned with hers. The impact had her chin tipping back, had her heart thumping between them. Her lips automatically parted for his, obediently waiting to taste him.

  He flicked a gaze to it, seemingly amused.

  “I have something for you.”

  His gaze shifted upward to capture hers. His free hand disappeared into his pocket. She watched as it was removed, dragging with it a long glimmer of something delicate and silver. It sparkled as it hit the light. It dangled between them, the most stunning charm bracelet she had ever seen.

  Cora gasped. “James!”

  She reached to touch the neat interlocking series of hearts forming a delicate chain. The cluster of tiny diamonds hugging the curves twinkled like tiny sparks of fire, drawing the eyes to the only charm hanging off the end, a tiny anchor shaped in a J.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, mesmerized by its sheer beauty. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “It’s yours,” he said. “But I want something in return.”

  Cora looked past the gift to the man watching her, eyes dark and hungry.

  “What?”

  He barely waited when striking. She found herself forced against the wall with his mouth a demanding lock over hers. His tongue tasted of cool mint when it invaded, pushing past her willing lips to sweep against hers. The flavor had her taste buds tingling and her fingers reach up to close in his hair. She gripped him to her as he kissed her with a raw vengeance of a man possessed. Every brutal coax was more punishing than romantic.

  But she accepted it.

  Needed it.

  She opened to him.

  Relinquished all for him.

  She was so lost that she didn’t react right away when his free hand snapped open her jeans, when it slipped inside until his fingers were forcing apart her lips.

  “James...?”

  His name faded into a welcoming sigh with the first invasion of his fingers. Two sank inside her already wet heat to the knuckles.

  Cora responded by widening her stance and rolling her hips into his palm. Her eyes closed and her head dropped back against the wall with a dull thud.

  “I need your come,” he murmured into her ear. “I need it on my fingers. Come for me, Cora.”

  It took the assault of his thumb grinding into her clit, but she came with a choked little whimper and a rush of heat that he pumped all over his fingers.

  Soaking them.

  Coating them.

  He caught her against him when the removal of his hand had her sagging on her feet. He held her pinned between the unyielding front of his body and the wall.

  “Look at me.”

  She forced her eyes open, forced them to find his face and stick.

  Fingers wet with her release were brought to her mouth, a mouth that automatically opened. But he had no interest in that. The tips were used to paint her lips, coat them glossy with her own juices. Once he was satisfied he’d done a proper job, he slipped them into her mouth to suck clean. Each blunt digit rested heavy against her tongue and tasted of her own salty tinge.

  “You can have the bracelet,” he told her in that dark, husky murmur of his. His fingers slipped out of her mouth. “But only if you return with your lips tasting exactly like they do at this moment. I want to lick them clean when I see you.”

  Cora sucked in a breath. “All day? What ... what if I drink, or—”

  “You have fingers.” He caught her wrist and brought the hand to his mouth. He nipped on a finger lightly, watching her over the knuckles the whole time. “Reapply, but no coming.”

  “Jesus...” She stared at him, horrified, and turned on to the point of pure delirium. “You’re so fucking twisted.”

  “Am I?” His eyes glittered
menacingly. “Then why are you getting wet?”

  She was wet, or at least, wetter. She was almost certain it would start leaking through her jeans.

  “You’re turning me into a pervert,” she decided, painfully conscious of the moisture drying on her lips.

  One slender eyebrow lifted. “Complaints?”

  Cora expelled a ragged chuckle. “Not even one.”

  That only served to amuse him. His lips bowed in an almost Cheshire cat smile.

  “You better go,” he told her. “You’re already late.”

  The bracelet was securely fastened around her right wrist. The button and fly of her jeans were closed securely, and he tugged the hem of her sweater neatly around her hips.

  “Be good,” he warned her. “I’ll see you when you return.”

  She was forcibly turned and nudged from the room.

  She found Nicholas by her front door, head bent over his phone, expression excruciatingly blank. She wondered how he did that. She couldn’t keep a straight face if her life depended on it.

  But he lifted his chin when she approached.

  “Sorry,” she said, quickening her pace.

  He said nothing, not even when he tugged open the door in indication.

  Cora paused only briefly to grab her purse and coat off the peg, and glance back.

  James was already in the doorway between the sitting area and kitchen, one shoulder resting on the frame. His hands lost in the bowels of his pockets. He seemed so out of place amongst her things, so vibrant and lethal.

  She waved, not trusting herself with words.

  “Tine-o în condiții de siguranță,” he said in Romanian to her companion.

  But his gaze never left hers. Their merciless indulging of her sanity pitched through her with an intensity that hit every pleasure point in her body. Her swollen core panged in response.

  “What did he say?” she asked Nicholas as they descended the stairs.

  The man said nothing the whole way down. He continued in his silence right up to the car. He opened her door and waited until she was properly in her seat.

  “Keep her safe.”

  He closed her in before she could press with questions. Not that she could think of any over the hard crack of her heart. Her mouth was painfully dry by the time he took possession of the wheel.