by Cari Quinn
“Not you. But the guys you dated definitely were.”
She took a sip of her hot cocoa, then another. Stalling probably, despite how good it was. “You have a mouth. A voice. You could’ve told me you were, I don’t know, whatever it is you claim you are.”
He wasn’t sure if she was suddenly going shy on him now that the moment was at hand or if she still doubted what he’d told her.
Time to make her understand without a doubt.
Stepping closer, he took the wrist of her injured arm, rubbing his thumb over her skidding pulse. “I want you in my bed. And only mine.”
Her lashes came down, fluttering against her cheeks. Another part of herself she was stashing away.
Soon enough, he’d see all of her.
“Is that a line? Is that how you get all those pretty groupies to come around?”
Only because he heard the insecurity behind her question did he give her a straight answer. “Sometimes lines are easier.”
“And now?”
“Now this is the hardest thing I’ve ever said.”
She lifted her head and met his gaze, and for a split second, he would’ve sworn the multi-colored lights of the tree behind him glistened off the sheen in her eyes. Then she blinked and that gleam was gone, replaced by a challenge. “Let’s see how hard the rest of you is too.”
Swallowing hard, he took a long sip from his cocoa—shouldn’t let the whole thing go to waste, right?—and set the mug down on a nearby table as the peppermint and chocolate flavors swirled together on his tongue. Always peppermint lately, so he would never smell that scent again without thinking of Ricki.
Or this moment when he turned back to her and she was gripping her own half drank mug so tightly while she waited for him to make the next move.
“Take another drink,” he told her. “Enough to last you.”
She did as he instructed, watching him all the while. Flicking her tongue out to catch any stray drops as he took the mug from her and set it beside his own.
Then he moved toward her again and swept her up in his arms before she could do much more than squeak.
“What are you doing?”
“Carrying you up the stairs.”
“Why? I have two working legs.”
He was already halfway up to the second floor. At least no one was awake to see what he was doing but her. Of course, she could always use this event for blackmail purposes later. “Has anyone carried you anywhere before?”
“Other than you into the shower, no. And wait. You carried me the night of the accident.” She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and stilled his feet. “You spoke to me when I was out. Or half out. I wasn’t fully either one.”
He said nothing. Couldn’t say anything.
“Stuff’s been so jumbled in my head. Fragments of memories from before that night and then of the accident and lyrics too. Words repeat over and over, and I don’t know why. It’s as if there’s something important, and I just forgot.”
“You were in and out of consciousness the night of the accident.”
“But before too. Like when I used to get high.” She blew out a breath. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation while you’re holding me. Your arms have to be killing you.”
“What words repeat?” He didn’t know why he was asking. It couldn’t possibly have a thing to do with—
“Beautiful nightmare,” she blurted, staring right at him.
Chapter Eighteen
Mal sucked in a breath. It was a fucking miracle he didn’t drop her.
If he’d been a better man, he would have set her on her feet right then and told her the truth. How they’d met, and that she didn’t remember because she’d been on something. Probably also because the overall event hadn’t been as huge for her as it had been for him.
Big deal, he’d helped her climb out a bathroom window to escape from her fuckwad drug dealing ex. She hadn’t understood the full scope of what it meant.
Definitely didn’t remember turning around to kiss him before she ran to safety.
Their encounter had last only a few minutes years ago, months before he joined the band. He’d safely retrieved Ricki from her ex that night and made damn sure to cash in on the benefits Lila had offered him. He hadn’t done everything she’d asked him to do, but he’d done enough that Lila had come through on most of her agreement in spite of his originally bailing on joining Warning Sign.
Michael had approached him later on and asked him to sit in with the band, and he’d had trouble saying no to him. And then when Mal had joined, officially, Lila had finally come through with the money for his garage in Santa Clarita. That extra ongoing little bonus in his contract had meant he didn’t have to touch his dad’s blood money to keep the struggling garage afloat.
It had also almost led to Molly quitting the band when she’d overheard him and Lila arguing about the money.
Someday he’d probably have to tell the band about his other life. He owed that to them. After Randy’s death, he’d realized he couldn’t keep them at arm’s length anymore.
Then why are you hiding out in New York with Ricki?
At first, he’d been dodging the press that was way more insistent back home. And yeah, okay, fine, maybe he’d stuck around because she was in the city too. He hadn’t expected they would even meet up, never mind spend time together. But now that they had—that they were here in this place, right now—he wasn’t going to do anything to make the moments pass any faster. He cared about his bandmates, true, but he cared more for Ricki. What she needed was what he needed too.
If that meant staying away forever, well, then he would do it. If he could figure out a way to get around the fucking investigators breathing hot and heavy on his neck. It was a miracle he’d managed to get a few days out of them before he had to sit down for an interview. Only the fact that he was a so-called victim of what had happened rather than a potential perp had bought him some time. Along with the doubtless stringent string pulling of Lila and Donovan.
He’d been given some time, but it was running out. As it was for Ricki. He had no doubt she could handle talking to the investigators, but he just wanted her to have a couple days of fun away from any reminders of what had happened.
More than fucking anything, he wanted to give her tonight.
Give both of them tonight, because he was a greedy bastard and needed her more than he’d ever needed anyone. And he didn’t care if withholding the full truth about the night they’d met made him a bastard.
This had to happen. He’d never believed it would. That it could. But now it was—fucking finally—and he wasn’t going to let anything interfere.
Especially their past. Or their present.
“Mal? Are you all right?”
He resumed carrying her up the stairs. He’d stopped dead like a damn statue. “I’m fine.”
If he couldn’t tell her yet with words, he’d find a way to tell her otherwise. He’d make her feel what he did, and maybe, just fucking maybe, she’d remember on her own.
And when she does, she’s going to kick your ass for never telling her.
It wasn’t as if he’d ever hidden it, exactly. The subject had never come up. He hadn’t disguised his identity or anything. They just hadn’t exchanged names on the night they met and he’d had actual hair then, his natural brown, and he’d been wearing a ball cap pulled low. In the few moments in the dark they’d spoken, she’d probably barely gotten a good look at him.
And she’d been high. Couldn’t forget that part.
“If you’ve changed your mind,” she began as he reached their room at the top of the stairs. The door was still cracked open from earlier when they’d dropped off their bags.
“I haven’t. No fucking way.” He nudged the door open with his boot and hit the switch for the sconces high on the wall above the bed on his way in.
He waited for her to say something. I haven’t either would’ve worked well.
Instead she went for a different approach.
“Lights?”
“Lights. I intend to see every bit of you.” He set her down on the edge of the bed before returning to the door and locking it.
As he turned back, he noticed the small Christmas tree lit up in the corner. Blue lights and garland shimmered and apple ornaments seemed to dangle from every branch. The rich smell of simmering cinnamon filled the room from the basket of fragranced wood near the fireplace.
Even so, he could still smell her rich, dark plum scent over everything else, including that infernal peppermint bodywash he’d never be able to throw away. Twining through his head, making him dizzy. And hungry.
“You’re sure?” he rasped.
He needed her to say it. To be all the way certain, because there would be no coming back from this night.
For either of them, if he had his way.
She’d already kicked off her shoes and was working on taking off her sling. “What was the question again?”
“Smart ass.” He approached the bed before stopping a few feet away and waiting.
“I’m sure.” She gave him an almost shy smile as she managed to get the sling most of the way off. “Though I do so appreciate your thoroughness.”
Both his heart and his feet started moving again. “You’ll be saying that again soon.”
“Oh yeah? Does that mean you’re going to finally eat my pussy?” She tossed the sling aside and leaned back on the bed on her good arm, jutting out her tits and splaying open her legs. “I wouldn’t say no to that either,” she added when he didn’t reply, running her socked foot up his calf.
Now she was undoing her jeans, flipping the top button open and slowly, so slowly drawing down the zipper. Red satiny material showed through the vee of denim, and he couldn’t swallow, knowing if she drew down her jeans any more, he’d see—
Then she did, and he glimpsed the faintest blond curls curled against the fabric. And beneath them, a shiny wet spot beckoned him forward.
He was halfway to his knees before he caught himself—with one hand on the nightstand and the other already reaching for her. He fisted it and let it fall to his lap as he lowered the rest of the way to the floor.
“You all right?” she asked again, amused now.
No. He wasn’t all right, and what he was about to admit proved it. But he wanted to give her what she wanted, and he was already half crazed to taste her in his throat.
“I’ve only done it once.” He was riveted by that wet spot, and if he wasn’t imagining things, it was growing under his perusal. “I want to learn.”
Her laughter broke the spell. “Yeah, okay, Mr. Stud. I’ve heard you banging the chicks like they were your kick drum.”
“Not that. Of course I’ve done that. I mean…this.” His thumb dipped into the vee, pressing against the damp material of her underwear, and she gasped. Her clit was swollen, just like her lower lips. So full. He pinched them, reaffirming that she liked a bite of pain.
She levered halfway off the bed.
“Christ.” He yanked at her jeans and panties, pulling them down her legs like a man possessed.
Forget easing in. He’d done it once years ago, and he hadn’t been a natural, but this was a different time. Different place.
Different sweet-as-fuck pussy.
“Wait.”
He groaned against her thigh, his hands surrounded by the denim now pooled around her ankles. He hadn’t even intended to get them the rest of the way off before he dove in.
Goddamn, he could smell her. All hot and ready for him.
“I can’t pull your hair, so guess I gotta do this.” She cupped his head in both her hands and his cock jerked so hard he half expected it to rip Hulk-style through his jeans. “What did you mean? You weren’t serious that you haven’t…”
Her hands were on his head, stroking gently, and she wanted him to talk? He was nearly down to communicating in grunts. Soon, he’d be reduced to mindlessly driving into her like a crazed beast.
“Woman, talk later.”
“But how am I supposed to pull you where I want you to go—oh, ahh okay. Guess you know…where you’re going.”
He pried her legs apart even farther, nudging her backward so he could hook her heels on the edge of the mattress. Thank God there were a million pillows on the bed and more in the closet, because they’d be using every damn one.
“Grab one of those,” he instructed.
“Why?”
She would never do a damn thing he asked without questioning it. Which only made him enjoy her more.
“So you can bite it when I do this.” He ran the flat of his tongue up her slit, covering the lack of technique with enthusiasm. He definitely had that, since she tasted like she had in every frigging wet dream he’d ever had about her. And there were many.
Peeling apart her lips, he did it again, slower now, savoring the way she raised her hips and pushed her pussy against his mouth.
Shy? Nope. Not for more than a second. Then she was all in and going for hers.
He palmed her lower belly and rubbed his thumb over her proud little clit, so openly begging for attention. The calluses on his fingers had to be providing just enough friction because she was biting that pillow as requested—and still making the sexiest noises around it—while caressing his head with her other hand. She kept her injured arm on the bed, but she didn’t need it to hold on to the pillow since her teeth were doing just fine.
Her other hand was all over his scalp, nails scraping, fingers wandering. She ran her hand down the base of his head and pulled him against her, figuring out just fine how to direct him even without the option of hair.
Just as he was starting to figure out what she liked. What made her thighs quiver on either side of his head and what stroke of his tongue against her needy little clit made her swear into the pillow and rock into his licks.
He drew his thumb from her clit, using it to trace her swollen pink flesh down to where she was already quaking. He sank inside slowly, earning every one of her gasps, then ratcheting them up a notch as he used his other thumb too. Slowly, so slowly he wedged inside, opening her up for his tongue. Short, quick laps made her ass bounce against the mattress and she was stringing together combinations of words he’d never heard used in that way before. Goddamn pillow. He wanted to hear them clearly. Wanted every one of her moans imprinted in his memory for life. But his grandparents were sleeping, and apparently, beginner’s luck was a thing. She was so goddamn close. He could taste it every time he swept his tongue up to circle her clit. Those manic pulses were making him nuts, especially when he started to move his thumbs and even the pillow couldn’t keep her quiet.
When she was right there, he swapped his thumbs for his first two fingers, thrusting them into her hard and curving upward while he sucked on her clit. He wasn’t sure what kind of pressure she liked there, but he damn well knew what to do inside. That spot swelled under his fingers and she was gasping, scrabbling up the bed, trying to get away, and he wasn’t about to let it happen.
“Soak my fucking face,” he growled before latching his lips back on her clit and fucking her that much faster with his fingers.
She was crying out loudly now, the pillow no match for her sounds. Her nails were gonna leave freaking marks on his head, and he’d wear them proudly. Everyone was going to know what they’d been doing.
“Malachi.”
It was his full name that made him lift his head. He never stopped stroking into her. Couldn’t. Her walls were so tight and wet around him, and he wanted her to drench the bed.
Bright, frenzied blue eyes stared into his. “I’m so…”
“Look at me. Watch me while you come.”
Her nod was frantic, as was the flex of her pussy against his hand. He lowered to her again, gaze synced with hers, never looking away as he rubbed inside her even harder and covered her throbbing clit with his tongue.
She threw her head back, her body arching so that her
tits strained against her top. Her nipples were poking through the fabric, and he wanted nothing more than to be sucking them at the same time. But his mouth was needed elsewhere.
“Look at me,” he commanded again, pausing until she complied. Her pupils were dilated, her cheeks dusky pink, her lips red from her teeth.
One more pump of his fingers and she was done.
She scored her nails into the back of his neck, holding him in place as she shook, flooding his tongue. Her thighs clamped around his ears and he kept right on driving into her, coaxing the dirtiest sounds from her pussy as he flicked his tongue over her clit. When she shoved his head away, he didn’t stop finger-fucking her. He was on autopilot now, wild to hear and see her come.
Shaking her head, she tried to move up the bed again, but he stopped her with his arm across her belly. He didn’t let up on the pressure inside her for a minute. His hand was so wet, and he still wanted more.
“Jesus Christ.” She turned her face into the pillow, her shoulders shaking as her breaths shuddered in and out. “Can’t. Can’t.”
“Listen to that. So fucking beautiful.” The slickness of his movements might’ve made other women duck their head, but not her. She leaned up on the elbow of her good arm, pushing a hand through her hair, now half out of its ponytail, and arched into his strokes. It had been too much at first, but she was eager for more already.
She pulled up her tank top and impatiently shoved down the cups of her bra, grasping first one breast then the other. Her touches were rough, unsteady. Capturing a nipple between two fingers, she tugged so that the tight brown tip peeked through. All the while, she watched him working her pussy hard.
“Getting me ready for your cock?” she asked breathlessly, her pupils so large they were drowning out the blue. “Not sure you can. Fucking monster.”
“Nothing can get you ready for my cock.” At her muffled laughter, he twisted his fingers and dragged them out over all those sensitive nerve endings. Then he gave her clit one hard rub.