Bombshell (The Rivals Book 3)

by Geneva Lee

  “Exactly,” he says firmly. “Her dad did that.”

  “And she’s completely innocent? Sorry, bro, I don’t buy it. These people are rotten. Look at how they covered up her mother’s death. That’s fucked—”

  “Enough,” Sterling cuts her off.

  “How does she know about my mom?” I ask in confusion, but as soon as the question is out of my mouth, pieces fall into place. “You sold the story to the news.”

  “Sell it?” Her eyebrows lift. “I did that shit for free. It was a public service.”

  “Goddammit, Sutton,” Sterling mutters, pinches the bridge of his nose, peeking quickly at me. “That was a secret.”

  “It was,” I remind him. He can’t be mad at her for spilling it, since he’s the one who told her.

  “I don’t understand how you came here hating her and now, well, look at you,” she storms.

  “Sometimes we get love and hate confused,” he confesses. “Look, I promise I’ll explain things, but right now, I need to talk to Adair.”

  “But—”

  “Alone,” he adds.

  “I’m going to Jack’s,” she says furiously, grabbing a slouchy suede bag and throwing it over her shoulder. “At least he has booze.”

  “Sutton, don’t do anything stupid,” Sterling says.

  Sutton levels a look of hatred so red-hot, I feel it burning on my skin. “Fine, but don’t go easy on her.”

  The door slams shut behind her, and I close my eyes briefly, as I find myself alone with the man I love—the man I’ve been lying to for months.

  14

  Sterling

  “Fine, but don’t go easy on her,” Sutton says, giving Adair a searing look of hatred on her way out.

  The thunderous crash of the slamming door jolts Adair, who turns to look at me with the strangest expression I’ve ever seen. Regret and fear swirl across her beautiful face, and it’s not clear if one or the other will win, or if both together will kill her where she stands. Her fire—which burns the color of her hair, which sheds light from every pore of her skin, and which I was sure could never be quenched—drowns under tears.

  “Sterling, please,” she says, her face contorting into a wicked funhouse mirror of itself. “I...I can…”

  This life I’ve missed, the one we promised each other all those years ago, it was taken from me. Why doesn’t matter—not yet. What I need is to take it back. Starting with her. “Lucky—”

  “Don’t be mad, Sterling, I can explain. There’s so much you don’t know…” she trails off again when she sees me move towards her, shrinking inside herself with every step I take.

  “You were mine. They took you from me. You let them take you from me. You let them take an entire life that should have been mine!” She turns away from me, but I snatch the point of her chin and force her to look at me. “Did you think I wouldn’t claim what’s mine?”

  Her eyes, wide as the moon but dim as an eclipse, meet mine at last, but she says nothing. After all this time and everything we’ve been through, she still doesn’t understand. She’s been conditioned to expect the worst, especially when it comes to love.

  “Answer!” I command.

  “I thought you left,” she says feebly. “You did leave.”

  “Wrong, Lucky. You’re so fucking wrong. I never left.”

  A flicker of recognition dawns. “I didn’t know. I thought—”

  “I know exactly what you thought. You thought I was gone and wouldn’t return. You thought they beat me. You believed them. But you belong to me.” I watch realization dawn. A ragged sob escapes her lips, but it’s not regret or fear that sends her tears streaming down her cheeks—it’s relief.

  “People lie to themselves their whole lives,” I whisper. “They let others confuse or deceive them. I can’t let that happen to us again.”

  I spin Adair away from me, drawing her backside against me and plunging my hand down the front of her jeans and capturing her mound with my hand. It swells, hot and wet, in my palm, and when my other hand tangles amid the hair at the base of her scalp, Adair melts against me. I twist the handful of her hair, bringing her lips to mine, claiming her with my mouth as my hands possess her body.

  “You belong to me. It’s inevitable. Indisputable. Don’t even try to argue with me. Do you understand?”

  Slick heat answers for her, her body comprehending instantly. I plunge my fingers inside her, releasing the moans of pleasure always there waiting for me.

  “These lips are mine,” I say, nipping the corner of her bottom lip, hard. A single drop of blood trails down her chin, dropping onto the mound of her breast. She barely registers the pain. She trembles, giving up the last remnants of her fear, as she’s reborn in the safety of my possession.

  Releasing her hair, I yank her shirt off with my free hand, my other continuing to massage away any remaining doubt. I throw the shirt across the room, watching her breasts sway in her bra. The sight of her body, even half-clothed, sends blood pumping into my cock.

  “These breasts are mine,” I say again, gripping one tenderly, then roughly.

  “Sterling,” she says, like she’s calling to me from across a pitch black room. “I’m yours.”

  Two small words that mean everything.

  She understands. Her words unlock my cage, unleashing me from all restraint. I spin her back towards me, and our mouths collide with desperate longing. I pop the button and zipper of her jeans, and wrench them down below her hips. She takes over the task eagerly, kicking off her shoes and wiggling out of the skin-tight fabric while I free my eager cock from my pants. Its head thumps against the soft fullness of her stomach, and my balls constrict painfully.

  I coax her backwards, my hands on her shoulders, until she bumps into the wall of the kitchen. My fingers grip the elastic stretching over one hip, and she goes rigid, standing ready, willing, for whatever I want to do to her next. Locking eyes with her, I snap the elastic and a soft moan slips past her lips.

  “You’re so fucking perfect,” I murmur, my hands moving to snap the other side. Her eyes roll back a little and she groans as I slide the ruined fabric across her drenched pussy and bring it to my face.

  Her gaze flickers to the left, pink blooming on her cheeks, and I smirk. “What’s wrong, Lucky?”

  “I…” Her teeth sink into her lower lip, her eyes still carefully looking past me.

  I redirect her chin, so that it’s impossible for her to avoid my stare, then I inhale deeply. “All these years and you still smell like magnolias and vanilla, like new books and forever.”

  Her throat slides as I let the panties fall to the ground, and I lean to kiss her collarbone.

  I bend and lift her, hooking her knees over my forearms and pinning her against the wall. Taking a moment, I appreciate the sight: her creamy thighs splayed wide, a soft thatch of coppery hair, and her, pink and wet and waiting. Her arms circle my neck and lock around it like she’s holding on for the ride.

  “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember anything but my name,” I growl, thrusting inside her, splitting her cleft and eliciting a sound so exquisite I could never in a million years tell if it is more full of pleasure or pain, more full of tension or relief.

  “Tell me, does it feel good to belong to me? ” I ask, claiming all of her with all of me.

  “Yes,” she admits, and if I have any doubt whether she truly understands what I’m telling her, it vanishes when she begs, “Take me, Sterling. Take what’s yours.”

  I bury myself inside her, leaning back to accept the weight of her body so that I can push deeper, until I’m as far inside her as possible. She whimpers needily, her hips swiveling in a little circle to stroke her clit against me. It’s a few short steps to reach the long, broad-armed couch beside the floor-to-ceiling window, and when we arrive I lift her from me, leaving her with an anxious, longing groan. I spin her around, draping her across the arm of the couch, presenting her swollen sex to me like a goddamn work of art.


  “Tell me again. What do you need?” I ask, enjoying the listless way her body moves, unable to find release from the rapturous surge of longing.

  “I need you to take me, Sterling,” she says, the words thick and slow.

  “Take what?”

  “My body,” she says, but I can tell she’s unhappy with the answer. I brush the head of my shaft across her seam, providing a jolt of clarity. “Me. Take me. I’m yours.”

  I slide into her slowly, savoring her every response. The way her muscles loosen. The sound she makes, a thing without thought or intention, as varied and as natural as a storm. The near-hysterical, vibrating thrum she experiences the closer she gets to taking all of me. The utter, blank release of her completion.

  I’m not sure how long we make love. Everything simply falls away. The things in our past. The distinction between her and me. Time itself. She is mine, and nothing will ever come between us again. We’ll take back everything. And God help anyone who stands in our way.

  I feel the hot explosion of my orgasm, feel the implosion of hers. I lift her limp form and lay her across the couch before settling next to her. She wraps herself around me instinctively, our bodies tangling together like vines.

  She was mine once, five years ago, and she might have forgotten, but she’s been mine every day since. She always will be. I won’t allow her to forget again. I won’t allow myself too, either. “I love you.”

  “Hmmmm,” she sighs, the curve of her pink lips weaving a contented smile on her face. “I love you, too.”

  “And you won’t forget?” I say, brushing the tip of my nose on the downy spot behind her ear.

  She bites her lip, her green eyes flickering to meet mine. “I’ve never forgotten. I’ve always been yours. All of me. All of you.”

  I smile. “All in.”

  We linger there, knowing that the real world waits for us, cold and hard and unforgiving. Here and now, we shelter together, and nothing can touch us. We’d lost sight of that years ago. I won’t make the same mistake twice. But learning from our mistakes, means we can’t avoid the truth forever.

  I nuzzle her neck, drinking in the intoxicating scent of her one more time. Then I finger her necklace. “You kept it.”

  “I figured a little extra luck wouldn’t hurt,” she says in a soft voice.

  She’s right. We could use more of that. But luck or not, we can’t avoid the past forever. “We should talk.”

  Her languid body stiffens instantly.

  “Don’t panic,” I coax. “I’m not going anywhere.” I’ve imagined every terrible scenario. I might not know exactly what we’re up against, but I can’t fathom there being a possibility I haven’t already considered. Not a single one can shake me. I’ll continue to remind her of that, even knowing that only time will prove it to her.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” she whispers. Her index finger trails my forearm, following along the lines of my tattoo.

  “I’ll start,” I say, earning me a blink of surprise. “Ask me something.”

  “What is this?” she points to the ink. “Jack has one, too.”

  “So does Luca and Noah, but he regrets his,” I say, my mind fading back to a different time and a different place.

  Summer five years ago

  Considering I’m supposed to spend the next three weeks proving that I’m at the pinnacle of physical fitness, it’s a bit amusing to discover most of the dining options at Camp Lejeune consist of fast food. I settle for something they claim is barbecue and survey my situation. There are no empty tables. Quite a few families crowd around tables, moms and dads barking orders and cleaning up spills. It’s a jarring sight after being at bootcamp. I’d come to think of my choice to enlist as a way to cut off the world. It had felt that way surrounded by a bunch of isolated recruits. Now I’m reminded that life—and the world—continues, even for a Marine. I finally spot two of the guys I saw in orientation this morning sitting at a table in the corner. I don’t recognize either of them from Parris Island, so I assume they came from San Diego.

  I walk over and set down my tray. I’ve learned that etiquette doesn’t extend to necessity in the armed forces. If I need to sit to eat, I just sit down. Though it feels a lot more comfortable to do it with two men rather than a family with three kids fighting over chicken nuggets.

  My appearance doesn’t phase either of them. The blond continues devouring chicken fingers, but the black guy shoots me a warm smile.

  “Jack Archer.” He sticks out his hand, and I shake it firmly.

  “Sterling Ford. I saw you two at orientation. You’re here for assessment.” It’s a statement of fact, but one that opens the door to conversation. Whether they want to chat or not, I don’t really care. But I’m not going to just sit here and pretend I’m alone.

  “Yeah, we came from San Diego. Were you at Parris Island?” Jack asks.

  I nod. “Just finished up last week.”

  “Why’d you sign up for more hell?”

  I’ve been told that assessment is going to make bootcamp look like a tropical vacation. I guess I’m not the only one who’s been warned.

  “My instructor saw potential.” I shrug and take a bite of my barbecue sandwich. It makes me miss Tennessee. Never thought I’d feel that way.

  “Luca DeAngelo.” The blond finally pauses long enough to introduce himself. His friend doesn’t shake my hand. Instead, he bumps Jack’s shoulder, his dark eyes lighting up like they’re in on a joke. “Potential, huh? So, you’ve got a death wish?”

  “I wouldn’t say a death wish. I just don’t really have much keeping me here.” Is it possible to have disinterest in death? Honestly, I could go either way. Live. Die. It hardly matters to me. It doesn’t matter to anyone else.

  Jack’s eyes narrow as if he’s reading my thoughts. “Yeah, he’s got a death wish. So, what’s her name?”

  “Her?” I repeat, digging into my fries and pretending I don’t understand.

  “Yep,” Luca says. “There’s definitely a her. Look I could give you some lecture about how it’s not worth getting blown up over some pussy, but, honestly, there’s no real reason to get blown up.”

  “Patriotism?” I offer.

  Luca snorts. “Nah. That’s not it. It’s definitely running away from something—like your girl. That’s how we all wind up here.”

  “What are you running from?” I lean forward.

  “Who’s the girl?” he counters.

  “There’s no girl.” Not anymore.

  “Not running from anything,” Luca says, settling back in the plastic chair with a smug grin.

  “Oh good, you’re as stubborn as he is,” Jack interjects. “I don’t think it matters what we’re running from, it matters where we’re headed.”

  “I hear it’s going to be hell,” Luca says.

  “I’ve got nowhere else to go. Might as well go to hell.”

  “That makes two of us,” Jack agrees. “Just another bastard on his way home.”

  “Home?” Luca repeats. “Is your dad the devil?”

  “Mine is,” I say soberly. “You?”

  “Wouldn’t know,” Luca admits.

  “I think I’d like my dad more if he was the devil,” Jack says.

  “I guess all of hell’s bastards are heading home then,” I say.

  Luca laughs and extends his hand finally. I take it. “It’s a regular fucking family reunion.”

  “Nothi in infernum,” Adair reads with a laugh. “Hell’s bastards. I thought I needed to refresh my Latin the first time I saw it.”

  “Your Latin seems good to me,” I say. “We got them done before everything went down—when we were in London.”

  She inhales sharply like she’s been punched in the gut. A memory of her the night of the gala flashes to mind. London had come up then, but what happened there? I wait, hoping she’ll finally start talking. I don’t know how long I wait before I finally whisper, “You aren’t going to scare me, Lucky.”

  She r
emains quiet, and I look down to find her sleeping in my arms. The truth can wait. For now.

  15

  Adair

  I awake in a near-black room, and for a moment I can’t remember where I am or how I got here. My hands shoot out in either direction, trying to find something to help me make sense of the strange surroundings, then they move to my stomach.

  She’s gone.

  Panic threatens to overtake me, but then I feel Sterling there beside me. Slowly, my eyes adjust, sketching the lines of his bedroom in the faint glow from the lights on the street below his building. The dread from my nightmare begins to fade, loosening its grip on my chest. He must have carried me in here. I roll closer to him, tucking myself between his arm and chest, fighting back tears, and he stirs, sensing something is wrong.

  “You okay?” he says groggily, pulling me closer.

  “Just a nightmare,” I say, and even recalling it sends a shudder down my spine. I try to swallow away the raw ache. It’s been a long time since I had that nightmare.

  “You’re safe, Lucky,” he says, hugging me tightly. “I’m right here.”

  “I keep telling myself that,” I admit. “But after yesterday, after everything you found out...it’s like I can’t believe you’re still here. And then...You know what? It doesn’t matter. It was just a dream.”

  I repeat it over and over in my head, tuning my focus to the beat of his heart. He’s here. That should make me feel safer instead of more afraid.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently.

  I start to say no, but as soon as my mouth opens so do the floodgates. “You’re gone, and I’m all alone, somewhere strange, and I’m pregnant.” I nearly choke on the word. We’ve danced around it. He knows. Somehow, it’s still hard to say it—hard to remember it. “And then, I’m not pregnant, and I can hear Ellie crying and I keep looking for her, trying to reach her. I can hear her getting closer and closer, but every door opens to an empty room. I keep searching, but I can’t find my way out and I can’t find her. I’m all alone and trapped and she needs me and…”