Dangerous Desires

by Siren, Tia

  Epilogue

  Abi

  I rolled on my side. The windows were open and I could smell the salt rolling off the ocean.

  “Good morning,” Reid growled into my ear. “Ready to run?”

  I smiled. “You want to leave my warm bed for a workout?” I twisted my body to face him.

  “We could work out here.”

  He pulled me under him and I gasped. We had slept naked. We always slept naked. He pressed his hard erection against my thigh.

  “But you love the beach,” I teased.

  My words said one thing, while my body said another. My legs widened as he settled against my slick folds. He slid back and forth, building my want for him. I arched against his chest.

  “Abi,” he moaned as his cock pushed inside me.

  “Ohh,” I whimpered.

  We settled into a slow rhythm, deepening the thrusts with each stroke. My heels dug into his backside, urging him to move harder. I loved it when he fucked me like this. It was inevitably my favorite new routine of ours.

  My eyes drifted over his shoulder, catching a glint of the awards lining my dresser. It was called a full house. I had swept best actress at every awards show. I was still running off the adrenaline of the season.

  But I wouldn’t have been able to do it without Reid. He was there for every event. Every detail. Not as my bodyguard, but as the man I loved. The man I trusted with my life. With my soul.

  He reached for my ankle, dragging it to his shoulder. He pushed off the bed, angling with intensity. I bit down on my lip.

  “Oh God, Reid,” I mewed.

  “Feels so fucking good.”

  I nodded, knowing I was losing control.

  My breasts perked. They were sensitive and ached for his touch. He leaned forward, flicking his tongue over one and the other.

  I sighed, loving the new ways my body reacted to him. My skin had never glowed like this. My orgasms had never been so intense.

  “It won’t hurt the baby, will it?” he asked. “I’m so deep. I fucking love being inside you.”

  I smiled. “The baby is fine.” I drew my hands to his jaw. “Don’t you dare stop.”

  He grinned wickedly. “Never.”

  He pounded against me as my panting grew louder and wilder. I gripped the sheets as the orgasm sprung from my core.

  “God, I love it when you come.” He watched in awe as I wriggled and convulsed under him.

  I saw the desire light in his eyes and he pushed into me, groaning with his own release.

  Reid collapsed next to me, resting his palm against the new swell of my belly. It was hardly noticeable except to us. I had made it through awards season without a single dress alteration, but my boobs were busting through every neckline I had.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  “Are you talking to me or the baby?” I teased.

  “Both.” He rubbed my belly like a genie lamp. “Sorry kid, your mom is fucking hot.”

  “Language is going to be a thing once the baby is here.”

  He laughed. “I’ll set some kind of alarm.”

  “Language security for new parents,” I mused. “I like it.”

  He laughed. “Have to keep things new at work.”

  “And with us.”

  I rolled on top of him, straddling him. I peppered him with kisses.

  “I don’t even have to try to keep things new with you.” He gazed in my eyes.

  I didn’t know I could be this happy. I didn’t know a man who had shattered my heart could mend it so easily. I didn’t know having his baby inside me would make me love him more than I already did.

  We stayed in bed as the sun started to peek over the horizon. There was plenty of time to get up and go for a run. Reid’s empire could wait. The movie world wouldn’t fall apart.

  Right now, we were home. We were a family.

  And nothing else mattered.

  Whirlwind

  Alyse Zaftig

  1

  Stolen Truck

  I woke up in the bed of my black truck. That wouldn't be remarkable, except I was awoken by the sound of the engine starting.

  "Fucker," I snarled. I slid my window to the side and put my hands around the neck of the man trying to carjack me. He probably hadn't noticed me wrapped in a black blanket on a moonless night. I pressed my fingers on his windpipe as he choked and tried to pull my hands away. We were in a moving vehicle and I hoped that the crash wouldn't kill us both.

  He managed to swerve to the side of the road. He tried to pull me forward, but his strength was fading. Blocking the oxygen to his brain was effective. His attempts to pull my hands away from his neck were weakening by the moment. His head tilted back and he wasn't even trying to breathe anymore.

  That's when I took a zip tie from the bag of zip ties in my pocket and fastened his hands together, although the position was awkward. I was glad that I’d tied off a few plastic bags earlier today. I couldn't maneuver very well through the window and I'd only blocked his air for long enough to knock him out, not kill him. I slid around and opened the door.

  As soon as I pulled it open, the door came to hit me, knocking me on my ass. I got to my feet in time to see him close it with his zip tied hands and push the gas pedal to the floor. There went the truck I'd saved for two years to get a down payment for. It was gone now. I sighed. I could and would file a police report. My bag of stuff was in my truck. I was lucky enough to have a smartphone and wallet in my pocket.

  Whom should I call in the middle of the night? I didn't want to call the police and spend the rest of the night in a station. I checked the time. Casey was a notorious gamer and stayed up late at night. If I asked nicely, he might agree to leave behind his guild or whatever to let him come get me. I called him.

  "I'm busy," he said as he answered. "Call back tomorrow."

  "Wait!" I said.

  "What is it, Alicia?"

  "I need your help."

  "Can this wait?" he sighed.

  "No. Someone stole my truck."

  "The one that you live in?"

  "Yeah."

  "Fuck."

  "Tell me about it," I said. "So are you going to pick me up or should I call a cab? It's kind of sketchy out here."

  "I told you that living in your car was a bad idea."

  "Whatever," I said. "Are you coming or not?"

  "Fuck this," he said, but there was resignation in his tone that told me that I was going to get a ride. "I'll come as soon as I can. Give me the address of the parking lot where you parked."

  "On it," I told him. I tapped the address into my phone. I heard the faint ding as his phone told him he had a text message.

  "I'll be there in 20." He hung up, cursing me.

  2

  Supermarket

  By the time that Casey got there, I was cold. I had an amazing space blanket that kept me warm on chilly summer nights, but it was in my truck. Without it, I was shivering my tits off.

  "Took you long enough," I grumbled, stepping into the warmth of his car.

  "You owe me," he said. "Probably five gaming runs."

  Casey didn't like breaking his flow to do something as mundane as cooking dinner, so half the time he ordered food to be delivered. The other half, I cooked for him at his house or did the delivery run myself from restaurants that didn't deliver.

  "I appreciate it," I told him.

  "Who stole your truck?"

  "Some Latino guy," I said. "I didn't get a good look at him. He had dark hair."

  "So...basically any guy."

  "Right," I sighed. "But at least I'm not hurt."

  "Do I need to take you to the doctor?"

  "No. He hit me with a door, but all I did was fall on my butt."

  "He hit a woman?"

  "Self-defense," I replied, shrugging. "I'd already strangled him."

  Casey pulled the car onto the shoulder and clicked on a light. "You did what?"

  "My dad enrolled me in martial arts self-defe
nse classes when I turned six. Of course I can do a little hand-to-hand, and he didn't know I was there. We were just both unlucky that I was in the truck."

  "Man," Casey said. "That's crazy." He started to drive me to his house again. "I guess my couch will be occupied." He was extremely unenthusiastic about having a houseguest.

  I punched him lightly in the upper arm. "I'll cook breakfast."

  "It better be blueberry waffles."

  "Depends on whether you have blueberries."

  "I don't."

  "Time to go to the market."

  We dropped by a 24-hour supermarket. I filled up a cart with enough food for breakfast and dinner. Casey paid at the check-out, even though it was food for both of us. I was the one cooking it and cleaning up the kitchen afterwards, so it'd work out.

  We drove to his place. "I didn't interrupt a hot date, did I?" I teased. Casey didn't date much.

  "There aren't that many hot gay men in this area," Casey whined. "And the ones who're single are all drama queens."

  "You'll find the right guy someday," I told Casey. My bestie was tall and had a good job. He was a sweet if grumpy guy with a cute baby face. And I knew that he deserved to be loved.

  "We'll see about that," Casey grumbled. "Those waffles better be kickass."

  "They will be." I mentally arranged how I'd set up the food in his mostly bare pantry and fridge. He always had a few cases of Mountain Dew, but beyond that, he was almost always out of food.

  We got out of the car, and I picked up as many of the grocery bags as I could. He unlocked the door and got the rest.

  "What the hell?" I asked as I opened his pantry.

  "I put the Mountain Dew on Subscribe and Save," he said in a sheepish tone.

  I was staring at a minimum of two dozen cases of Mountain Dew. "Where am I supposed to put the groceries?"

  "The fridge, I guess."

  I turned to glare at him and look at his fridge. Beyond some kind of greenish puddle on the bottom of the shelf and a half-empty bottle of ketchup on the door, there wasn't anything in there.

  "Can't you put food on Subscribe and Save?"

  "I don't know what I want to eat. I change it up, you know? Plus that stuff isn't healthy."

  "And Mountain Dew is?"

  "Real sugar is better for you than that fake crap."

  "High fructose corn syrup is gonna kill you, dude." I glared at him with all the heat I could muster at this time of night after being surprised by a random car thief who stole my home and my ride in one smooth move. "It's so unfair that you have abs," I hissed.

  He shrugged. "That's judo." He might eat total junk, but he also spent a lot of time doing judo when he wasn’t playing games at home. He taught a few classes for kids per week. Moms somehow instinctively knew that he was just a giant teddy bear and loved watching him gently teach kids how to fight. In return for teaching classes, his teacher let him spar and taught him more advanced stuff. Casey didn't even need to trade his time, since he made more than enough money being an IT geek to pay for lessons. He once said something about tradition that I tuned out. I wasn't a tradition fighter, having gone through too many different disciplines of martial arts. The closest thing was MMA, and even that was more rigid than what I did.

  I went to the sink to get out the non-toxic cleaner that I kept there. Casey had a cleaning service come through every Tuesday, but somehow they hadn't opened his fridge. I knelt on the floor to wipe up the greenish puddle.

  "What, your cleaning service can't open your fridge?"

  "I haven't asked them to clean it," Casey said. "Sorry about that."

  "It's okay." I put the blueberries and meat away. I liked some good applewood-smoked bacon. I'd make him as many waffles as he wanted if I could fry some good bacon. Just thinking about making breakfast in a few hours was making me hungry.

  When I put the groceries away, stacking the dry stuff like waffle mix on top of the cases of Mountain Dew in the pantry, I went to the linen closet that his mom had arranged for him and his cleaning service kept organized when they did his laundry.

  "Why don't you have an Alfred?" I asked.

  "Are they even in this city?" Casey replied.

  "I don't know."

  "If you find out that they've opened up, I'll subscribe."

  "You're so lazy," I said. But I was the one suggesting he get a house manager to coordinate food, laundry, and cleaning, so I didn’t have a lot of room to talk.

  "At least I have a house," Casey said. "You don't."

  His logic was impeccable. "At least I don't have to work for the man," I shot back. It was an old argument.

  "The man pays for the roof over my head and the food on my table that you're about to eat."

  "About to cook, you mean."

  He waved his hand. "Whatever. I'm going to bed since you interrupted my game time, and I stayed up until 5 this morning."

  "Okay."

  "Night," he said, wiggling some fingers at me. His bedroom door closed. I beelined for his guest bathroom, which was a full bath. I took off my clothes and jumped into the shower, letting the water wash away my stress. I'd file a police report when I woke up in a few hours. Right now, going up to a sleep-deprived policeman running on coffee and fumes would earn me only a hand wave. At this time of night, they were dealing with drunks and actual crimes, not a dumb carjacking of someone too dumb to have a permanent address or a W-2 type job.

  I dried off and wrapped myself in my towel. I kept some of my stuff at Casey's place, which was lucky since everything in my truck was gone. There wasn't much in there, just a duffel bag with clothing, some CDs, and my iPod.

  Wait a minute. I had that iPhone tracking app activated on my iPod. If I turned it on, I could see where he was and I could get my truck back. I stared at Casey's door. How angry would he be that I disturbed him with this idea when he was finally in bed after a sleepless night?

  I had to remind myself I couldn't go half-cocked at this asshole in the middle of the night. Casey could take me to the police station before work tomorrow and I'd file a report. They'd be able to track the GPS, which was more reliable than the iPod.

  3

  Blueberry Waffles

  “Make me waffles." Casey hit me with a pillow. I opened my eyes to see a very blurry and shirtless form.

  "Coming right up, buttercup," I said, jabbing his stomach before darting away from his grasp.

  "I'd get you back, but you can escape my wrath by making blueberry waffles. I don't know if I had dinner last night."

  He probably hadn't. I sighed. "You can't actually live on Mountain Dew alone. If you don't keep track of me, I'm just going to set up Subscribe and Save for kale chips."

  "Kale chips are gross!" Casey cringed as I mixed the waffle batter. "Please don't."

  I pointed the whisk at him. "You better be nicer to me if you don't want to find a bulk package of kale chips on your doorstep. And I'd make sure to buy it from a seller who didn't allow returns."

  "Is that even possible? Didn't they change that?"

  "Don't know. But are you willing to take that chance?"

  "I hate kale chips," he said.

  "So that's a no. Good."

  I dug his waffle maker out of the corner where he kept it. "You know you could make waffles yourself. It doesn't take that much."

  "Why would I do it when I have you?" he asked. "I like watching you do it."

  I tried to hold back from rolling my eyes but couldn't stop a small huff. "Whatever."

  We waited for the first blueberry waffle to finish up. As soon as I turned it over, Casey rubbed his stomach.

  "I'm starving," he whined. "When is it going to be done?"

  "I'm not the one who bought this slow-ass waffle maker," I retorted. I started rinsing the mixing bowl and whisk. "If you want to make yourself useful, get out the maple syrup." Casey didn't believe in the normal watery store-bought maple syrup, so, in a secret corner of a cabinet, I kept a bottle of the real stuff, the kind that you got fro
m some farmer boiling huge vats of syrup the old-fashioned way. If I showed him where it was, he'd eat it before we got the chance to put it on some waffles.

  "You know that I don't know where it is," Casey said. "I'll get the plates."

  He bent to bring a stack of plates next to me. It helped to lay out the waffles while he was demolishing them so that the next waffle was ready and waiting with a pat of butter on top and maple syrup poured on top of that. As soon as the timer indicated that the waffle was ready, I put it on a plate. He took it and sat down at the breakfast table. There wasn't a lot of fancy stuff around Casey's place, but he had a breakfast nook built in, so he used it. I put the next waffle into the waffle maker before opening the fridge.

  "Orange juice?" I asked.

  He grunted affirmatively. I took out two juice glasses and poured us each some.

  "I'm going to get started on the bacon now." Casey wasn't crazy about bacon like I was. He'd eat a slice or two, but I was the one who savored the aroma that permeated the house while he complained about going to work smelling like cooked pig. He didn't say anything, since he was still shoveling pieces of blueberry waffle into his mouth. I'd keep making them until he couldn't fit anything more in, then I'd make one for me. I didn't have the storage capacity that he did, at just under five feet tall.

  I got out the frying pan and the pound of applewood-smoked bacon I'd bought. I turned the stove on to medium heat, put a tiny drop of oil into the pan so I could tell when it was hot, and opened the package with a pair of scissors. I turned the waffle maker over while waiting for the pan to be hot enough to fry bacon. Casey's stove was an electric one, which meant that it took time to heat up. By the time that the drop of oil I'd put in the pan was dancing, Casey had already eaten two waffles and was halfway through another one.

  I took out as much bacon as I thought that I could eat plus two slices for Casey. He was starting to slow down.