He fucked her hard, brutally, and she screamed his name over and over again as wave after wave of orgasm ripped through her. His gaze never left her as he shot thick, hot spurts of cum deep inside her, his body jerking and convulsing with the strength of his climax.
God, Quilla, Quilla, Quilla …
As they both started to recover, he brushed the damp hair away from her forehead, gazing into those lovely green eyes and said the thing he’d been wanting to say since the night he met her.
“Marry me ...”
It was a little after four a.m. when Parker came to find them. He looked exhausted, but smiled at them. “We got her back. She’s lost a lot of blood, but we’ve stabilized her. I’m afraid it looks like she’ll be here another couple of weeks, at least, but, fingers crossed, she should be fine.”
Grady’s knees went, to his embarrassment, and he collapsed onto a chair, breathing hard. Jean thanked Parker, throwing her arms around the young doctor. Asia rubbed Grady’s back, blowing out her cheeks with the breath she’d been holding in. Grady looked up at her through tear-filled eyes.
“She’s okay?”
Asia smiled. “She is, baby. She is.”
It was a more few weeks until Flori was released and when she was, they flew back to Seattle. Jean had given Grady her blessing and in turn, Grady had promised to fly their daughter back to see them whenever they wanted and vice versa.
“Just call,” he told Jean and Mac, “We can have you together in less than an hour.”
Mac had snorted. “Different world,” he’d said, looking around the sumptuous apartment Grady had bought for Flori and himself. Grady grinned; there had been a definite thawing in Mac’s attitude to him over the past few weeks. Grady suspected Jean had something to do with it.
“Keep her safe, that’s all I ask,” Flori’s father had said gruffly, and Grady had given him his word.
Now, alone, they grinned at each other. Grady had insisted she have her own room. “I don’t want to crowd you. I know how I feel, and that’s not going to change, but when you’re feeling better, you might rethink ...”
He was cut off by her kiss. “Shut up; there’s no way I’m going to change my mind, Grady Mallory. None.”
Later, much later, she had gone to sleep in her room, but just as Grady was getting into his own bed, Flori, without a word, padded into his room and got in beside him. She still had heavy bandaging around her abdomen, so she wore pajamas, but in bed she snuggled into his arms. Grady kissed her temple, then chuckled softly.
“This is a whole new way of beginning a relationship for me.,” He drew a finger down her cheek. “God, Flori, to think I almost lost you before my dumb ass realized how much you meant to me.”
Flori smiled sleepily. “I fell for you that first night,” she said, and he wondered in amusement if her pain meds were making her say these words, but she went on. “That’s the real reason I let that Kahlo go. I couldn’t bear to think of it in anyone else’s hands.”
Grady grinned as her eyes closed and her breathing became regular. He kissed her gently. “I know exactly what you mean,” he whispered and cradling his love, he too fell asleep.
“Everyone here? Good, good. Welcome, everyone, and hello again to Floriana.” Ran Mallory smiled down the long table at them all, and Flori, a little awed by being invited to the family meeting, smiled tentatively back at the patriarch. She had met all of the family gradually, individually.
From the other side of the table, Jakob’s new wife, Quilla winked at her. She felt a kinship with the other woman, both of them having survived Gregor Fisk’s knife, and Quilla had been so kind to her. It was weird, but Flori had loved each and every one of them. She found Skandar and Hayley hilarious. Nan and Joel felt like protective older siblings; Jakob was serious and crazy about Quilla; and Ran—she had adored him at their first meeting. They were nothing like she imagined a wealthy family to be. Only Kit Mallory was absent, still following his beloved Bo Kennedy around on tour.
Ran cleared his throat. “So, what’s on the table is this: we step up the search for Gregor, no expense spared, every possible lead followed. We scour the earth for him, even if it means breaking a few laws here and there. We deliberately antagonize him into trying something, so he makes a mistake. I’m still not sold on that, by the way. I don’t want any of you in harm’s way.”
“Too late, Pops,” Grady said, taking Flori’s hand. “The harm’s been done. Let’s nail this fucker.”
There was a murmur of assent. Ran rubbed his chin. “Then we have to decide what will antagonize him the most.”
Jakob leaned forward. “Gregor’s weakness is his own ego; that’s pretty obvious. So we target that. We’ve had news corporations reaching out to both Quilla and Floriana to do interviews on their ordeals. They can tell their story and we can plant things about his lack of success with women, in business, his drug taking.”
“My experience was nothing compared to yours, Flori, but if you’re up for it, we could do that together.” Quilla smiled at her, and Flori nodded.
“Anything to help, really … put me in a room with that asshole and a baseball bat; I swear to God he’d regret it.”
Skandar laughed. “Ninja.”
Grady grinned back at him. “You have no idea.”
Ran smiled, but his eyes were serious. “Let me be clear. None of you is to deliberately put yourself in danger, do you understand?”
He might be a gentle giant, Flori thought, but Ran Mallory’s words carry weight.
Later, at home, she and Grady lay together in bed, kissing, Grady careful not to hurt her. They had yet to make love, due to her injuries, but every night they spent together, skin next to skin, she fell in love with him more.
Grady drew his hand down her body. “Sweet thing, are you okay? You were quiet in the car on the way back.”
Flori smiled. “I am, I truly am. More than you could know.”
She wasn’t lying. She truly was better than she had been for months.
He didn’t need to know about the nightmares.
In Sydney, Australia, Bo Kennedy’s final sold-out night at the Opera House had just concluded to rapturous applause and she and Kit, having just made wild love in her dressing room, escaped their public and made their way to the restaurant, which was staying open late for them.
The meal was raucous, Bo, still high from performing, was making Kit laugh so much, he had barely touched his food.
Eventually, he caught his breath. “God, baby, have you any idea what it feels like to watch you up there? It’s better than any pharmaceutical high. You soar.”
Bo kissed him. “Well, babe, home tomorrow, then ...”
Kit grinned. “Seattle. At last. I can’t wait to introduce you to my family. Jakob tells me Quilla and Hayley are already fangirling you, so you know they’ll give you a warm welcome.”
Bo looked nervous, and Kit kissed her. “I swear, they’ll love you as much as I do.”
She leaned her forehead against his. “I ’ope so, darlin’.”
As they were leaving, just after midnight, some paparazzi found them, and they had to run the gauntlet of flashing lights to get to their car.
Kit yanked open the door and tugged Bo towards him ...
Which was the moment the shots rang out …
Part Seven: Threaten Me
Seattle. 6 a.m.
Nan groaned loudly as the alarm clock went off. “Shut that thing off.” She burrowed back under the cover.
Joel, already up and showered, chuckled and bent over the bed, tugged the covers from her face and kissed her. “I hate to tell you this, but you have class in an hour, and I have to go close on the new sports club. So, up and at ’em, beautiful.”
She stared at him sulkily. “How about if I go sign some paperwork, and you go deal with some feral eighth graders?”
Joel reached under the comforter and grabbed her ankle. “Ha. No deal,” he said, dragging her from the bed and hustling her into the shower. Sh
e stood obediently while he stripped her, then wound her arms around his neck. “You know what would wake me up?” she purred as she nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth. Joel feigned innocence for a second. Then, growling, he scooped a giggling Nan into his arms and under the shower.
Sydney, 11:00 p.m.
“Oh, of course, the paps are here,” Bo Kennedy grumbled as Kit helped her into her coat. She kissed him. “Thanks, babe, and thanks for dinner.”
“Anything for my girl.” Kit leaned his forehead against hers. “I love you, smushface.”
“And I love you, you big American gobshite.” She grinned widely. “Now, take me back to the hotel and screw me into next week.”
“As you wish, your majesty,” Kit grinned, holding open the door. “Here, take my hand.”
He pulled her through the throng of flashing lights to the car. He turned back to grin at her.
One gunshot, then two more. Quick. Decisive.
Final.
Seattle, 6:30 a.m.
Skandar Mallory grinned up at his gorgeous girlfriend as she moved on top of him, her vaginal muscles tightening around his swollen cock, gripping and pulling, sending almost unbearable pleasure ripping through his body. He gripped her hips as she breathlessly thrust harder onto him. He came before she did, his body arching up, and as Hayley moaned out her own climax, he gathered her to him and kissed her deeply. They lay facing each other, catching their breath.
“Why can’t we just do that all day?” he said, puffing, “Instead of all of this adult responsibility and work and that crap.”
“Making billions hitting a ball around some grass,” she intoned back at him, then grinning.
“Hey,” he said, smiling, “There are clay and hard courts too.”
She rolled onto her back. “It’s probably best we don’t fuck all day; there might be some chafing issues.”
Skandar laughed out loud. “Well, that ruined the moment. You are the best part of my day, Hayley Applebee, even if you’re killing my hard-on.”
Hayley laughed and rolled back on top of him. “That thing would survive nuclear war,” she grinned. “At the end of time, it’ll be cockroaches, Twinkies, and your boner.”
Skandar groaned. “Stop. It’ll retract into nothing if you carry on like that.”
She giggled and reached down to stroke him. “Hmmm … wonder what we could do about that?”
Skandar rolled her onto her back and hitched her legs around his hips. “I wonder...”
Sydney, 10:30 p.m.
Blood. Blooming red on white. Screaming. Panic. Paparazzi scurrying away from the scene, security desperately looking for the gun.
And in the midst of the melee, brokenhearted pleading of “No, please, please ...”
Seattle, 8:00 a.m.
Her small hand on his chest was one of Jakob Mallory’s favorite ways to wake up. He looked down at Quilla’s divine, serene face as she slept beside him. My wife. After he’d proposed to her on the island, they’d flown to the big island and found a justice of the peace to marry them the very next day. Jakob had told her it was entirely up to her whether she wanted to keep her own name and she told him that she would.
“Just so I don’t disappear into being a Mallory wife,” she grinned, but her eyes were wary.
“That would never happen, Ms. Chen,” he grinned.
“How about I’m Mrs. Mallory when it’s just you and me and the family?”
“I like that.”
Now, he took her hand in his, rubbing his finger over the small platinum band. His wife. He never thought he would be married, especially not after he’d started on the drugs, spiraling down so fast it was almost unbelievable. Then Venice, then Quilla, hauling his ass out of the drink and making him fall so in love with her, then Gregor and his knife. They’d been through so much together in the space of a few months.
Quilla stirred and opened her eyes, smiling up at him. “You’re still here,” she said sleepily. “No work today?”
“Nah.” He kissed her. “Thought I’d take the day off, hang with my woman.”
“When’s she coming over?”
He laughed and covered her body with his. His cock was already stiffening as she hooked a leg around his waist, arching her body up into his. He buried his face in her neck, trailing his lips down across her collarbone as Quilla slid her hot sex along his thigh. He looked into her eyes and she smiled.
“Take me now,” she whispered, and grinning, he launched into her— God, that gasp when his cock found her center—and began to thrust, his cock thickening and swelling inside her. He kissed her throat as she threw her head back, lost in the sweet sensation of their fucking. He knew he would never get tired of making love to her, talking to her, laughing with her. He’d told her once he didn’t want kids—he didn’t even remember that person now—he wanted a hundred little Quillas running about the place.
Afterward, they showered and screwed again under the hard pelt of water, Quilla shrieking as he turned the cold water onto her hard nipples—Christ, the sight of the water bouncing off them made him so hard, he had to have her again, against the wall of the shower.
She was making breakfast when he finished dressing—Spanish omelets and fresh fruit. He sat across the breakfast bar and studied her as they ate. She finally was looking like that girl he had met in Venice again, happy, relaxed, even though the threat to her life was in no way diminished. Gregor was still out there, still obsessed with her, with killing her. Jakob risked it and asked her.
Quilla shrugged. “Talking about it helped, and now that the FBI have given up on him saying anything when he calls—and I don’t have to listen to it— I’m feeling optimistic. Stronger. I don’t underestimate the threat; rather, I’m living in the moment.”
Jakob was silent for a moment. “Quilla … my love, I said once to you that I didn’t know if I wanted kids. That was monumentally selfish of me and … no, let me finish,” he smiled as she started to protest. “What I should have said is this. I didn’t want kids then. With anyone else. But I do want them with you. I want a bunch of ’em. If you want them with me.”
She was staring at him, bemused. “What brought this on?”
Jakob grinned. “Just me, growing up at last. I might be catching you up in emotional maturity. What do you say?”
Quilla laughed. “Today on Mallory—life-changing decisions over breakfast. Can I think about it?”
He clinked his juice glass with hers. “Of course. And I don’t mean right now, of course, just something to think about for later.”
Quilla sipped her juice to hide her grin. “Charlie Chaplin had kids in his seventies.”
“I’m not that old, Quilla Chen,” but he laughed. He reached over and stroked her cheek, and she leaned into his touch.
“We made it, Mrs. Mallory. We really did.”
Sydney, Australia, 11:00 p.m.
Red and blue lights. Paramedics and police. SWAT scouring the streets. The press, the paps, starting to drift back towards the scene, arguing with the police blocking them from taking pictures, shouting that they were there, they got shot at, too, they could tell them what happened—all to no avail.
The paramedics listening to lungs filling with blood, horrific gargling sounds, shouting instructions to each other, compressions and air. The lifting of a prone body into the ambulance. The comforting voices, the fake optimism.
The sound of someone dying.
Seattle, Washington, 9:15 a.m.
Floriana Morgan sat on the couch gazing out of the window at the panoramic view of Seattle. Grady Mallory had bought this apartment for her; she couldn’t quite believe it. Of course, now it was their home; they shared a bed, a life together. It was all so new and unreal somehow.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat; her injuries from the brutal attack Gregor Fisk had unleashed on her. The healing muscles and organs and flesh were the reason she and Grady had not yet made love … and it was frustrating as all hell.
She sighed
unconsciously. Flori looked around her, everything she could want—except to climb all over Grady’s incredible body, feel him inside of her … God …
“Hey, cutie.” Grady, dressed in a vintage tee and blue jeans, was coming through from the reception hall—obviously having been chatting to their security team. Yup, she thought, we have a security team.
“Hey, gorgeous.” She held her hand out to him, and he took it, flopping down next to her, then looking aghast as she winced. Damn you, torn abs— she gritted her teeth against the pain. Grady stroked her hair.
“Still in pain?”
It was useless denying it, but she tried to lighten the mood. “Damn belly doesn’t want me to get laid,” she grumbled and he half smiled, but she could see the concern in his eyes.
“Hey … I’m okay. It’s just taking more time, probably because of the embolism. But I’m still here.” She touched his face and then brushed her lips against his. “Still here.”
“Forever. Promise?”
Her heart missed a beat and she smiled, tears in her eyes. God, this man … “I promise. For as long as you want me.”
“Forever.”
“Forever, then. I love you, Grady Mallory.”
His kiss became more urgent, and she moaned and pulled away. “I can’t, not yet. God, I wish ...”
“Ssh, it’s okay. I want you so bad, but I’m not prepared to risk your health.”
He sat back and ran a hand through his messy mop of dark blond hair and sighed. Flori held his hand. “What did Riggs and Murtaugh want?” she asked, nodding towards the reception.
Grady smiled. “Nothing to report. Look, Jakob gave me an idea, and I want to run it by you. I know you want to see colleges and decide where you want to finish your Ph.D., but what do you say to a vacation first?”
Flori looked excited. “You mean that island? The one I’ve been dreaming about since Quilla told me about it? That island?”
Filthy Commitments: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel Page 43