by Leigh, Tara
But I don’t think I can.
Somehow he manages to adjust the shower settings again, and some of the lower jets begin emitting more than just a warm spray of mist. One of them in particular hits right between my legs just as Damon pushes past the last of my resistance, his flared tip finally notched inside of me. “The hard part is over. Don’t worry, I keep my promises.”
He already is. The water pressure is just strong enough, and just at the perfect place, to send a shiver of memory through me. A tingling reminder of the pleasure from just a few minutes ago.
Instinct takes over. My hands push against the ledge, my back hollows out, my hips squirm and buck, trying to take more of Damon’s cock. And then this feeling of fullness, of wrongness, of being stretched too much … doesn’t feel bad at all. I want more of it, more of Damon. Deeper, harder.
That jet of water is magic. And there’s something unexpectedly erotic about having Damon’s cock in my ass.
“Fuck, Aislinn. You feel so fucking good.”
Ditto. The word is in my head, but what comes out is a garbled, unintelligible moan of surprise. Of wonder. And as Damon slowly slides all the way in, so deep that I can feel his balls pressed up tight against my pussy, even of pleasure.
He drops kisses on my shoulder blades, bites down on the curve between my neck and my shoulder. “You’re the most perfect dream.”
Surrounded by a cloud of mist, it feels like we are in a dream. Like the events of the past few days never actually happened.
We are living in a fantasy, and I never want to wake up.
Damon pulls out until barely the tip remains before driving back in, slow and steady. His hands pry my cheeks apart and I can feel the singe of his stare as he watches his thickness invading my tiny virgin hole.
Even though the water pressure of the spray aimed at my clit hasn’t increased, the intensity of it has. I try to squirm away, but Damon doesn’t let me. The pleasure of it, the pleasure of Damon entering me in a place where no one else ever has, they slice at me like the sharpest of blades.
Shredding me completely.
I am in tatters as Damon continues his relentless assault. Wrecked and ruined.
Ecstasy is so close, a shimmering snow globe I can’t find a way into.
“Please, please.” I’m knocking on the glass sphere, not even sure what I’m asking for. Faster, harder, deeper. More.
Just … more.
More of this. More of him. More of us.
Just, more.
As if he hears me, Damon slides a hand over my hip and between my thighs. Cupping my heat. Blocking the spray. I am grateful. I can focus entirely on how he feels inside me, in that strange and unexpected place.
I have never felt so full, so overwhelmed, so worshipped, as he drives himself inside me with long, powerful strokes. Nerve endings I never knew I had stand up and wave, cheering at this new experience.
Pure, rolling waves of pleasure penetrate me. An ocean of it, undulating and effervescent. And I dive in.
Behind me, Damon is grunting each time he slams into me, his thighs slapping my ass, one hand gripping my hip while the other is pressed against my pussy.
We are sprinters, our breaths coming in ragged pants as we race toward the finish line. There is a desperate flutter in the pit of my stomach, a definite clench and twist.
“Come for me now, princess,” Damon rasps, removing the shield of his hand so that the water hits my clit at the same time as he bottoms out deep inside me.
My third climax comes at me like a riptide, surging over my head and pulling me deep into the undertow. I cry out as I break apart, caught between the precise aim of a water jet in front of me and the perfection that is Damon’s cock drilling into me from behind. I can’t see. I can’t catch my breath. My arms are trembling so hard they are barely supporting me. It is Damon holding me in place. I feel completely out of control.
His deep bellow merges with the final notes of my own cry. Damon fucks his way through his own climax and I can feel him pulsing inside my ass, filling me in a place that has never been filled before.
And for a long moment, Damon folds himself over my back, his warm breath blowing chills over the naked knobs of my spine, his big hands wrapping around my waist, crisscrossing so that my breasts are captured by his palms.
Our heart rates slow, our breaths easing. We are at peace.
But it doesn’t last. It can’t. Damon pulls out of me slowly, then gently eases me into an upright position. I turn to face him and for a moment all we do is stare at each other, blinking in the moist air. Something has changed between us—and not just because of a sex act.
I slip back into Damon’s arms and he washes me again, adjusting the controls so that the spray returns to full strength and carries the suds down the drain.
After wrapping me in a plush towel, he kisses the top of my head and swings me into his arms. “I hope you’re not too tired. There’s a lot we have to talk about.”
Reality rushes in. Yes, there is so much I need to tell him.
But I am still clinging to that perfect, peaceful moment. The warm, safe haven of Damon’s embrace.
Talk of Los Muertos and Sebastián and my father will destroy it.
I’m terrified it will destroy us too.
22
DAMON
By the time I turn off the water and cover Aislinn with an oversized bath towel, she is a slippery, loose-limbed doll. As she wobbles on her feet, I reach beneath her knees and back, sweeping her into my arms.
With my lust sated, at least temporarily, my need for vengeance has returned to the forefront of my mind. I tuck Aislinn beneath the sheets and slide beside her.
This will likely be the most gentle interrogation I’ve ever conducted—it is certainly the only one I’ve ever conducted naked. But there is so much I need to know.
“So,” I begin, settling Aislinn so that her cheek is resting on my chest as I lean back against the headboard.
She releases a sigh, her eyelashes fluttering over my pectoral muscles. “So,” she echoes.
“How did you get away?” It’s not the question I meant to ask. I intended to have Aislinn start from the very beginning. From the moment she stepped out onto the street.
“Ah, well … after I killed one of Cruz’s men—”
I am shocked, stunned, my blood turning to ice at her hesitant explanation.
Aislinn isn’t like me. She wouldn’t hurt anyone unless she was provoked. “You killed … Wait … What the fuck did he do to you?” Bile climbs up my throat as I look at Aislinn’s body, recalling what I’d done to her. I am a fucking animal. What was I thinking? I should have—
“Hey.” Aislinn rises up on her elbow, a hand moving to my shoulder, shaking me. “Damon, stop. Please. Look at me.”
My unfocused eyes find her face, blinking until her elegant contours and symmetrical lines are clear once again. “Spitfire. Did I hurt you?”
“Of course not.” She lays her sweet pink lips on mine, the warmth of her breath ghosting over my mouth an instant before her soft kiss. “You have never done anything to me I haven’t wanted and wouldn’t have begged for.”
“But I—”
“Those self-defense moves came in handy.” Her forehead is still pressed to mine. “I’m okay, really. And Sebastián brought me back to you.”
The churning anger inside my gut returns to a full boil. “He’s why you were there.”
“No. Hugo Cruz is why I was there. Sebastián is no more a cartel soldier than I am a corrupt politician. He and I are both—”
“You’re what? A team now?”
She pulls back, tilting her head to the side. “Damon, I’m here with you. You and I, we’re the team. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m on your side.”
“Why?” The question slips out of my mouth like a nervous tic. It might be the only question that matters.
She sighs, looking at me from beneath lowered lashes as the corners of her lips curl s
lowly upward. “Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
I cup my hands around Aislinn’s face, my thumbs resting in the hollow between her cheekbone and jaw. “That makes two of us.” I kiss the worried frown etched into her forehead, the pert slope of her nose, the pink pout of her lips. “But you’re still not off the hook.”
Silence stretches out as she worries at her lower lip.
I wait, knowing it is often the most effective tactic to gain useful information.
It works. After a few minutes Aislinn begins speaking, her words raining down on me like shrapnel.
Drugged.
Duct taped to a chair.
Threatened.
Slapped.
It takes every ounce of restraint I possess to remain calm. To listen, pressing light kisses against Aislinn’s forehead as I stroke her neck and back and arms and shoulders. All the parts of her that I can reach, using soft soothing touches as her words explode inside my ears.
“I-I think they were talking about you. At first, I wasn’t sure. El rey corrupto. The corrupt king. After what you said about my father, I thought maybe they were talking about him. But that’s not true—they were talking about you, weren’t they?”
I nod. “Yes. That’s what I’m called.”
“Why?” Her forehead nuzzles into my neck. “What exactly do you do, Damon?”
“You don’t know?” After all these years, I’m well aware that my reputation precedes me. I would think Aislinn knows exactly the nature of my business.
“I’ve heard rumors and innuendos. Suspicions. But, no. And there’s no need for me to distinguish fact from fiction if you’re perfectly capable of telling me the truth.”
“I probably shouldn’t.”
“I’m a part of this now, a part of you. I need to know,” she whispers.
I want to argue. Insist that Aislinn is in no way a part of this, even though there’s no denying she’s a part of me. The darkness I thrive in, the corruption I control. The bribes and scheming in back alleys and boardrooms, the evil that exists below paved streets and priceless real estate.
New York is a glamorous city surrounded by a toxic river. Our dazzling skyline is a distraction from what lurks beneath the murky, polluted water.
Aislinn Granville belongs to that world. The glamorous one. She deserves to wear evening gowns at exclusive charity events, champagne in her hand and stilettos on her feet.
Except that right now, she’s here with me. And if I’m unwilling to give her up—she is right. I have to let her in. I have to explain the gritty slice of New York’s underworld that I control. This purgatory that serves felons and politicians, crime bosses and bureaucrats.
She shifts against my chest, sensing the disquiet rushing through my veins. “How … How did a little kid that wanted to save the world become—”
“—me?” I interrupt before she says something I won’t be able to unhear. Only from Aislinn do I crave approval. “I went to prison. And that was where everything changed. My cellmate ran an entire criminal organization from behind bars. He’d been doing it for years, but it was getting harder. At first, I wasn’t interested, but …” My voice trails off as I remember that time in my life.
Aislinn is right there with me. “But then your mother died,” she prompts.
“Right. And that was when I lost interest in ever fitting back into society again. One thing led to another and when I was released, Ace asked me to—” My jaw snaps shut when Aislinn jerks upright. Fuck.
“Ace,” she repeats, daggers of accusation glinting at me from her wide eyes. “The man my mother mentioned. The man you denied knowing anything about.”
“Aislinn,” I groan. “It’s not my story to tell.”
“There’s a story?” She says the word like a curse.
I run a hand through my hair, pulling at the ends. “You should really ask your mother about him.”
She sits up, wrapping the covers around her chest. “I did, remember? You were there. She wouldn’t, or couldn’t, tell me. And according to Chad—”
A scowl automatically pulls at my lips. “When did you talk to Chad about Ace?”
“That night. After we left my mother’s house and I went to the office.”
“Because you said you forgot something. Was that—”
“Oh, no.” A pointed fingernail pushes into my chest. “Don’t try to change the subject. I asked Chad if the name meant anything to him, and he said the only Ace he knew of was a former crime boss who was either still in jail or dead. Which is it? Is he still in jail?”
I glare at her for a beat before deciding to concede the point. “No. He’s gone.”
To my surprise, Aislinn doesn’t look any less angry at my admission. A flush has risen up her chest, her clavicle glowing almost pink below her pale neck. “Gone? Or dead?”
“He was granted compassionate release. I was with him when he died.” I pause. “And so was your mother.”
“My mother?” The suspicion radiating from her face intensifies. “I don’t understand, why would my mother be there?”
“She was the love of his life.”
Her jaw sags, a puff of air escaping. “And did my mother … did she feel the same way?”
“I believe so.” I hesitate, forcing myself to hold Aislinn’s gaze that still swirls with questions and doubt. Questions I can handle. But doubt … I cannot allow her to doubt me. “Ace Byrne is your father.”
23
AISLINN
Before Marisol, I had another nanny, a woman who only lasted a week or so. Colleen was from Ireland, and she pronounced my name Ash-lynn rather than Ace-lynn. I thought my name sounded so pretty rolling off her tongue that way, but my mother corrected her every time. Eventually, Colleen apologized, saying that she was having a hard time because in Ireland, the correct pronunciation is actually Ash-lynn.
When I returned from school to find Colleen gone, her room empty, I asked my mother where she went. Her only response was, “I named you Aislinn for a reason, and if that girl can’t pronounce it as I intended, we’ll find someone who will.”
My mother never did tell me what that reason was, and Marisol appeared the next day.
Ace Byrne is your—
I shake my head to clear the cobwebs before looking back up at Damon. “Does my father know?”
His face softens. “Yes.”
It makes sense. So much sense. But any comfort I might have felt at the pieces finally coming together is far outweighed by grief that wraps around me like a wet wool blanket, cold and itchy. Not because my biological father is dead, although that is a weight poised to fall, sooner rather than later. But because the distance between me and the only father I’ve ever known, one I hoped to close by working together, by becoming a valuable member of his team, isn’t one he’ll ever let me cross.
My biology is something he’s held against me. It’s wrapped up in whatever happened between him and my mother. Whatever bond was broken between them, years ago, is now my fault. My problem. One that, in all likelihood, is permanent. Unfixable.
And that is what I’m mourning right now.
I am still reeling when I look back up at Damon. “How long? How long has he known?”
He smooths a wayward hair from my face with a gentle touch. “I don’t know. That’s something you’ll have to ask him yourself when you’re ready.”
Will I ever be ready? Will my father tell me the truth when—if—I am? Is there even a chance my mother can shed light on their tangled history, my history?
Damon pushes out a heavy sigh and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress. “You need to sleep. I’ll handle things from here.”
I scramble after him, a sheen of tears blurring my vision. “No way. You are not shutting me out. Not now, not again.”
I’ve put my trust in Damon and I refuse to be proven wrong. Too much has happened between us, because of us. I didn’t come back just to be locked in Damon’s apartment like a princess in an ivory
tower. “We’re either in this together, or we’re nothing.”
“I’m not shutting you out. I’m giving you time to recover, to heal.” He wraps a strand of my hair around his finger and tugs on it gently. “And we’re not fucking nothing. There are simply things in my life you don’t need to see. Ugliness I want to shield you from. I’m the corrupt King, remember? Now you know who I am and what I do. You don’t need to see it, too.”
I step in close to Damon’s body, releasing my hold on the duvet I’d been clutching so tightly to my chest. “I see you, Damon. I’ve always seen you. Now I just see a little deeper is all.” Extending my arms, I cup my palms on either side of his face, my thumbs sweeping across the aristocratic crest of his cheekbones. “Even the darkness in you is beautiful to me, Damon. You are my dark prince, my vengeful devil, my corrupt savior. And when you look at me, you only need to know one thing.”
I wait for his eyes to sweep over every naked inch of me. My nipples are peaked with arousal, my normally fair skin flushed from the poignant throbbing between my thighs, my lips parted to allow my tongue to slide between the crease.
“What?” His one word question is a gritty rasp.
“I am yours, Damon King. All yours.”
His features tighten as he pins me with an intense stare. “Do you mean that?”
I don’t expect the question, or the sharp tone of his voice. And I hate the trace of doubt that darkens his gaze, pulling at his lips and leaving shadows beneath his eyes. But I answer plainly, honestly. “I do.”
Damon hesitates, a wash of emotions flitting over his face. Joy cut by pain. Skepticism diluted by trust. “You deserve to live in the light, princess, because you are the sun. You deserve spotlights and chandeliers and flashing cameras. That’s the life you were meant for.”