How did he let this happen?
“Shhhh, Emma, you’ll make yourself sick,” he whispered, trying to give her something before he destroyed her world. It was the least he could do.
Maybe he could send her away with Chris.
Maybe he could put them in the same town, and he’d keep an eye on Emma. He trusted the man to do the right thing, and she’d have a chance.
His child would have a chance.
She stared up at him but said nothing. Her grass green eyes met his stormy gray ones.
She was seeking something.
Answers.
The truth.
He wasn’t sure.
All Greyson knew was he no longer could keep her safe, and that meant that it was time. It was the last option on the table. It was die or run.
He wanted her to run.
“I want you to leave.”
Her heart skipped.
“Greyson.”
“I want you to pack up your things, sign some divorce papers, and escape Vegas. I can get you out, and you can go with Chris.”
She stopped crying.
Immediately.
“No.”
“It’s the only way you’ll survive, and our son will make it. If you leave, and you pretend to hate me, you’ll get away. Tell the media I have a mistress. I abuse you. Tell them anything, but leave Las Vegas!”
She touched his cheek.
That was not happening.
She wouldn’t soil his character because she was scared.
NO.
WAY!
“No, Greyson. I’m not leaving you. I’m not walking away from my commitment to my husband. We do this together. If you leave with me, I’ll go. Only then, and only with you by my side, as my partner. I made that commitment when I stood with you in front of that minister and took my vows. I plan to adhere to them for the rest of my life.”
Tears filled his eyes.
One slipped free.
Emma wiped it away.
“I can’t watch you die. I can’t sit here and pretend that I’m not scared shitless for you. If you die, Emma, I have nothing left to live for in life. I can’t be like Randall Mason and get a painting of you for the mantle and move on. I can’t end up like him.”
And there it was.
It wasn’t lost on Emma that her sweet, gentle husband was fearing that end. No one wanted to be alone, and she understood that fear. It filled her daily.
Emma hugged him.
“I won’t die, Greyson Thaddeus Croft. I’m stronger than this,” she said, wiping her eyes and sitting up. “I am stronger than Viktor Marchenko!”
This had to end.
She couldn’t wallow anymore.
If she did, her husband wouldn’t be focused—she wouldn’t be focused—and they had a battle coming.
Emma knew if she kept mourning, Greyson wouldn’t make it, and she couldn’t let that happen. Her response to all this was weakening him.
He’d lost his best friend.
Dimitri bailed on him.
He was defending what was left of their family on his own, and it was daunting. She wouldn’t give him more worry. She would give him strength.
They could do this, or they’d go down fighting.
Together.
“Please, Emma,” he said, resting on their bed with his eyes closed. “Just go.”
Honestly, it wasn’t all about saving her. That was the biggest part, but the worst part was…he was going to start to play ugly, and he didn’t want his wife to see that.
He didn’t want his wife to watch him really go ‘dark side’ and begin that slippery slide into a bunch of choices he swore he’d never do.
Once he did, to save his family, there would be no coming back from it. He’d have to let himself go. Greyson was about to start killing people and fighting back.
Vegas was his.
He was going to reclaim it.
“Just go.”
She straddled his lap and stared down at him.
“I will never leave you unless you can look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t love me anymore. If you can say it to me, then I’ll go.”
He opened his stormy eyes and sat up. They were nose-to-nose, mouth-to-mouth, and soul-to-soul. Her hand was over his heart, and it was thumping.
“Emma, I don’t…”
She watched him with the calm of a cop. It was there. His wife had dug down and found her reserve of toughness.
“You can’t do it, can you?” she asked, taking his face in the palms of her hands. “You can’t tell me you don’t love me. Love us,” she said, glancing down at the baby bump that was more prevalent.
God save her, but he couldn’t.
Croft couldn’t do it.
“Emma.”
He was suffering too. Greyson was sinking, and with that last bit of strength, Emma reached for him.
“We will get our miracle,” she said. “I know we will. If we’re meant to hold this up, if we’re meant to be here…we will save it. I have faith.”
She ran her thumbs over his lower lip and then sealed his mouth with hers.
The kiss exploded, proving even more that there was nothing but love, heat, and adoration in him for her. She was loved by this man—and he would make the ultimate sacrifice for her.
That was the man she loved.
Her Greyson.
Her sweet mob man.
She dove in, fighting like the mother she was and would soon be. She fought ferociously for his soul, battling back anything that was living in him that caused fear.
She gave him her strength, her will to press on, and her belief in him.
She gave him her love.
Greyson held on, allowing his wife to fill him. He’d been empty since the day Natasha had died. While he loved the woman, as a child, he tried not to think about how his woman was likely next.
It terrified him.
God!
He needed his family to help him fight for this.
Emma pulled his shirt open, sending the little white buttons flying all over the place.
Greyson needed this.
He needed that battle for his soul, and she would fight for him.
Yes, Dimitri left them.
Yes, Chris was gone.
Protecting them was now their job, and she’d start with her husband.
He moaned when he felt the pricey shirt give way, baring his body to her. Emma’s hands moved down the spattering of hair to the belt and buckle.
She had it undone and open before he could catch his breath. As she pulled her mouth away, she stared into his eyes.
“Let me heal you.”
His heart kicked.
Once.
Twice.
Then the thundering began.
She was the one hurting more, and here she was, offering him what was left of her.
“Emma.”
“We do this together, Greyson Croft. We hold them back together. Have faith in me. Have faith in our family. Something will bring them back. We weren’t put here to fall apart. We were put here to win and clean up this city.”
He prayed she was right.
It was the only hope he had left.
His wife, she was his everything, and she was generally right. He couldn’t lose faith.
Not in them.
Not in the family.
If he did, he’d lose it all. He was still Greyson Croft, and this would be the wild, Wild West. He would take back his town any way he had to, and he would get Viktor Marchenko out.
“To find him, Grey, we have to find us.”
She was right.
He reached for the top of her dress, and then tore it down the middle, freeing her body from it. Croft wanted to see his wife.
HIS wife.
He wanted to run his hands over her body and relish in the beauty of what they had made together.
They were the king and queen.
They would rule together here, or in the fiery pit of Hell to
gether—but it would be as one.
Nothing would stop them.
“Take me, Greyson Croft. Take what’s yours and help me reclaim our town.”
The artery in his neck throbbed.
As she stroked his dick through his dress pants, he began to focus on the need and not the pity party.
It was over.
They were ready to regroup.
All they needed was that one miracle, and they would get it. He knew it. Greyson wasn’t a man of faith, not in a God, but he did have faith in his wife and their relationship.
She wouldn’t let him down.
They’d fight together.
“I need to heal, Greyson. I need my husband to make me forget,” she whispered. “Make me feel. Make me come alive again!”
That was all he needed.
If she had needs, it was his job to make sure they were met—for her and for his son.
Maximillian Atticus Christopher Croft was his.
MAC was his.
Gone was a broken wife, and instead, his sexy kitten was there asking for something, and she could have it. He’d give her anything she wanted.
He was her provider.
He was the man.
The knowledge that she was so dependent on him was enough to pull him out of his funk. It was time to make sure his wife was satiated. It was time to feed both of their needs.
Pushing her off of him, they knelt in the center of their big bed, and immediately, his mouth sought hers. He plundered, taking everything that he wanted from the kiss. Tongues slid heatedly across each other in need and fire. His hands wandered until he found the back clasp of her bra. Instead of undoing it, with one tug, he tore that, too, from her body.
Now Greyson was being Greyson.
The wild was covering the storm.
The need was there.
His wife knelt in tatters on the bed, and she was his. He wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“We will survive,” she promised, as her heart thumped erratically in her chest.
Emma shook against him as his hands heated her flesh and drove her wild.
“Greyson, touch me,” she whispered, knowing that to get him focused on them would be the first step. The last two weeks, all they had was mourning.
It was time to live.
It was time to fight.
“Like this?” he muttered, teasing her throat and ear. The delicious taste of wife was cathartic after nearly two weeks of hell.
“Yes,” she replied, as he tugged her ruined dress from her body. He tossed it across their room and didn’t even slow down.
He was hungry.
Hungry for her.
When his long fingers slid through the wetness housed in her panties, she moaned.
Deep down, Emma wanted to shout in joy. This was what she needed to get past it all. This heat between them was still there.
Divorce her ass.
The man she loved still wanted her, and she would fight to stay by his side.
She needed to revel in the fact that they both were still strong and that their family needed them. They couldn’t give up on that or each other.
“My love,” he said, running his mouth down her neck to her collarbone.
Greyson was going to reconnect them, heal her heart, and refill all the emptiness in both of their bodies.
Emma needed him.
“Please,” she begged.
He loved her breathy little gasps. They were the most craved purrs from his sexy kitten. It turned him on, forcing him to focus on what he had—not what they lost.
They were still together and that was important.
He didn’t lose his wife.
Turning her around on the bed, he yanked her back against his chest, so her back was pressed against him. He wanted Emma to feel what she’d done to his body.
He was hard.
Only she had this effect on him, and he loved every damn second of it. She brought him to life. In the last two weeks, they’d forgotten to reconnect.
Mind.
Body.
Soul.
Emma was the fuel to his fire, and he couldn’t wait to burn it down with her.
“Oh, Emma, my wicked kitten,” he whispered as his mouth began tormenting her. As his lips tracked the long line of her shoulders, she shook. When his hands found her breasts, she moaned in pleasure.
That was what he needed.
He cupped them, enjoying the weight in his hands. His thumbs found her nipples, and they were swollen and ready for him to touch, torment, and tantalize.
“Greyson!” she shouted, as he drove her insane with just that touch. The feel of his rough fingers was erotic and so delicious.
“There will always be this.”
“So, you don’t want to divorce me then? You’ve changed your mind?”
His heart skipped.
“Never. I’d die without you. I just wanted you safe.”
That she understood, but Emma was safe here…with him. There was no better shelter in the storm than in his arms.
Emma gasped as one hand teased her clit and his other played with her super sensitive nipples.
“I want all of you,” he admitted.
Emma shook against him.
When her breathy gasps made him even harder, he knew that he wanted more.
“I want to touch my husband,” she admitted. While she loved feeling his hands on her body, Emma wanted to give him some of that pleasure.
So he could forget too.
“Are you asking for permission, kitten?” he teased.
“Yes, I am.”
That made his heart thump wildly.
“Then do your worst.”
Emma moved from the bed and dropped to her knees as she waited for him to understand what she wanted.
It looked like someone was getting a blowjob to kick it off. He wanted to cheer.
Emma licked her lips and never broke eye contact.
“Oh, God,” he muttered before she even touched him. It was the whole picture.
His wife was kneeling, her torn dress and bra were on the floor, and she looked…hungry.
Yeah, he was going to get one hell of a ride.
“I’m going to rock your world,” she promised as he moved to the side of the bed.
Oh, he didn’t doubt it.
At first, she pulled him free of his pants and stroked him with her warm fingers and palm. That, in itself, was enough to make him want so much more.
It had been a few days.
Greyson was hornier than hell in that moment. He was wild, feeling wicked, and needed this to reconnect with his wife.
When her mouth found him, he dropped back to stare up at the ceiling. As Emma’s lips and tongue moved across his dick, he began praying for control.
It was heaven.
He’d missed this.
Then she started stroking him with her hand as her mouth worked him hard.
Yeah, that was just wicked and totally his wife. Greyson loved every second of it.
“More,” he begged. “Give me all you have, Emma,” he added, needing to feel. This…it would help him refocus on what he needed.
Control.
Greyson needed to get back in control.
With each glide of her mouth, he was one step closer to cumming. The pleasure wrapped around him in a vice, and he was helpless to fight it.
He was on the edge.
His wife knew his body and she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
“Emma,” he whispered.
If he looked down at her, he was done. The only sounds in the room were of him moaning and the wet slide of her mouth across his very hard dick.
It was a beautiful symphony of sexy sounds.
It was perfect.
Croft wanted to cum in the worst way to chase away the demons, but he fought it. He battled back so he could stay in that pleasure for a little longer.
When he was on the edge, teetering, he sat up and pulled her up his bo
dy.
Emma held on as she was tugged against him. There was no place she’d rather be.
When her mouth was near his ear, she tormented him.
“There will always be this,” she vowed. “No man makes me wet like you do, my wicked Greyson Croft. Only you can make me feel this.”
His heart pounded.
“My wild kitten,” he warned, slapping her on the ass. “If you let anyone try this, I’ll kill them and then put you over my knee,” he admitted as she rubbed against him.
She loved being his.
“Make me forget,” he whispered. “Make me forget everything but my wife.”
Oh, she could do that.
Emma slipped him into her body.
The moan that escaped his lips said it all. There was nothing like a tight, wet wife sliding down his dick to make all his troubles disappear.
And it worked.
“Kitten, make me cum,” he said, staring into her eyes.
She smiled wickedly at him.
“I love you,” she whispered, as she began to move.
Greyson held her as she rode him like a storm. Glancing down, it wasn’t lost that his pants were still on and her panties were tugged to the side.
Yes, this was how he liked her.
Just.
Like.
This.
His hands found her hips, and he pulled her down harder and harder.
They must be a sight.
His shirt was open, missing its buttons, his pants were going to be wet from her riding him, and his pregnant wife was bouncing in his lap.
Yeah, perfection.
“I love you,” he muttered, watching his erection disappear into her body.
All he was thinking about was getting off.
Greyson needed that in the worst way. Picturing it got him hot and bothered.
“Grey,” she moaned, as she began shaking around him.
He knew she was cumming, and he sealed his mouth to hers in preparation for the explosion.
His wife came.
And came hard.
As she tightened down on him, he held his breath through the kiss. He didn’t want to fall yet. He loved his wife on her back, legs spread, and him buried in her.
That was his end goal.
That was his plan.
When she resurfaced from the pleasure, he rolled, placing her on the bed and stood.
He was wearing a little too much to be doing this right. Croft began stripping.
Emma watched him and couldn’t help but get wet all over again. Here was her big, strong husband—the father of their child. He was taut and his erection was there and throbbing.
True Justice Page 7