LUCI (The Naughty Ones Book 2)

by Kristina Weaver

  “Christ. I want to, baby, so badly I wake up with my hands on your…but the doctors were clear. I don’t want to take advantage and cause you more pain than you’ve already been through.”

  That makes sense. Too much sense. More sense than my bits are willing to see right now, and I tell him so. Screw embarrassment and the fear that I’ve been nursing for days. I want, no need something to stop this drifting feeling that makes me so anxious sometimes I can’t breathe.

  He’s my anchor.

  I need him to keep me from drifting away.

  “I need a connection. Sometimes when you smile a certain way I think I remember seeing that look, but then it all drifts away and I’m left feeling so afraid. And I walk around needing to tell you something, I don’t know what, but it seems so important that when I can’t remember it I start panicking and—”

  “It’s alright, love. Ssh, no, don’t fret,” he says with a croon, taking me in his arms and kissing my face tenderly. “I’d never let anyone hurt you. Not ever.”

  “No. I know. But it won’t go away, and every time I feel that way, I have this need to just, touch you. You make me feel stable and safe, and I need…I want that all back. I want to share myself with you, too,” I whisper, willing him to understand.

  I’m surrounded all the time, never alone, and yet I feel so apart from everyone that it terrifies me. What if I never remember anything? What if I’m destined to go through life with all that time gone, vanished as if it never happened.

  “Oh, Ducky.”

  “See! I can’t even remember why you all call me that, and it drives me nuts! I want that all back, and I know that there’s a chance that will never happen so, I thought we should start making new memories.”

  Maybe then I won’t feel like I’m about to float away.

  Cameron’s sighs and pulls me into his arms, his lips pressed firmly to my temple, his body quaking.

  “I’ll give you anything you want, baby. Anything.”

  “Good. Can I have you?”

  He smiles, a wry twist of his lips that shows me how amusing my question is and sets my nerves zinging in that bittersweet way that tugs at the periphery of my memory.

  “You already have me, baby. You’ve had me since the moment I laid eyes on you; I just didn’t know it. Now go feed the ravenous beast. Tonight. I’ll make love to you tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Cam

  I’m bloody more nervous than I was the first time a girl let me touch her boobs. My palms are sweating, along with every other part of me, and my breathing is racing as fast as my out of control heart.

  I feel like I’m about to go out there and destroy her trust, and yet, even as I try to convince myself that this is wrong, I can’t stop from needing to do this as much as I know she needs me to.

  This intimacy is an opportunity to lay the foundation for the emotions I’m striving to build. I want her to love me. I need her to because, despite my very best efforts to the contrary, I now realize that my behavior stemmed from nothing more than jealousy and the rage that Robert had once again had something that I needed.

  I wanted to be the one to meet her first and fall for all that innocent beauty. I wanted her to see me at the bar, and I wanted her to want to be with me at that moment.

  I wanted it to have been my seed growing in her, declaring to the world that I had claimed her for my own and that no other would ever touch something that perfect.

  I have that chance now because the slate is clean. I’ll be her first, her last, her everything after this, and I need that more than I need to buckle under the guilt.

  I want her to experience this and look at me in wonder and love, as if I’ve hung the moon and sent her to the very stars. And selfish bastard that I am, I will take this, hoping and praying that she never recovers her memory.

  Yeah, it’s wrong, but it’s all I have now that I’ve ripped my chest open and given her my heart, bloody and beating only for her.

  “Cameron? Are you okay in there?”

  I shake myself and take one last look at myself before opening the bathroom door and stepping into the room, my mouth going dry at the sight of her under the sheets, the creamy swells of her naked breasts hinting at the nudity awaiting me.

  “God, you’re gorgeous.”

  Her cheeks take on a pink tinge, and I smirk, feeling ten feet tall when she bites her lip and flicks the sheet away to reveal her lush form, glowing, waiting for me and the pleasure I plan to give her.

  “So are you,” she whispers nervously.

  Her breasts are huge, round globes of blue-veined alabaster, the reddened nipples standing hard and proud, just begging for my mouth. I look lower and gasp at the sight of her slightly splayed legs and the wet heat awaiting me.

  My control is slipping even as I try to rein myself in because I want to pounce and devour her, stamp myself on her so deeply and indelibly that even if the worst should happen and she remembers, she will crave me against her mind’s dictates.

  I say nothing more, because I can’t speak without letting the animalistic growls trapped in my throat escape, and crawl up onto the bed, my nose skimming her skin, smelling and touching her on the way up to her mouth.

  The kiss I give her is a soft melding of closed lips and heated breath, a greeting, a calming caress that soon turns into a gasping, open-mouthed dueling of tongues and scraping of teeth.

  She kisses me back urgently, the way she used to, as if the taste of me is addictive, and I feel myself slip another inch into madness.

  “Slowly,” I rasp, pulling away from the clutch of her arms and legs, gritting my teeth in pleasure when her nails sink into my back and slide into me, making my already hard dick weep with the need to plunder and thrust.

  Claim.

  “No. Please. I hurt here,” she says with a gasp, writhing her hips up to grind her wet heat over the crown of my urgent shaft.

  To stall her, and myself, since the feel of her need on my dick is enough to send me into a frenzy, I pull away and force myself lower, my mouth bypassing her bountiful breasts in lieu of the heat begging for attention.

  Her taste is exactly as I remember it, and I exalt in her cries of pleasure even as I drink her down and lick in a quick rhythm that is sure to set her off sooner than I would like, but quickly, so that I can get into her and do something about the madness clawing at me.

  I stop licking and sucking only when she rears up and shoves my face closer, her sex exploding in contractions that I feel to the soles of my feet.

  “Oh God, Cameron.”

  That’s my cue.

  Rearing up, I notch the head to her opening and thrust home, my toes curling with delight when the fullness sets her off again and I feel the heavy, sucking pulses surround my too hard flesh.

  “Oh God. Oh God. Too much!” she wails, pulling me closer, biting into my shoulder when I rear back and push in, my body a separate being.

  I’m out of control and going way too hard, and I know it, but I’m helpless to stop the punishing rhythm when she grabs onto my arse and pulls me deeper, her writhing grind rubbing her nub against me, prolonging the contractions.

  When I can take no more and that burning tingle drills into my spine I let go and fill her empty belly with my seed, praying, begging that it takes root and remains there.

  “Oh, wow,” I grunt when my oxygen starved lungs are able to fill again and roll to the side, despising the separation even as I pull her closer and kiss her sweaty brow.

  “Cameron?”

  “Yes, Ducky?”

  “Do you think we can do that again? A lot?” she asks, hiding her blazing face against my neck.

  “Definitely.”

  Because I know what I’m going to do to ensure that I keep her, and I will do it. No matter how terrible it is. Shaw will be carrying my child before the month is out if I have any say in it.

  All I have to do is ensure that I put enough of myself in her that her womb can’t help but take what
I give it.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Shaw

  “I’m so glad you and Cameron are finally on track.”

  I look to Molly where she’s playing on the carpet with Angel and frown, confused and a little annoyed by that statement. Things are great, not on track! He’s spent the last three weeks making love to me as if the weeks of separation had been a physical torture that he’s determined to eradicate with pleasure.

  Know something? I am not complaining. He’s an animal in bed. Focused, insatiable, and so sweet and loving that I sometimes cry because the emotions and pleasure are so overwhelming.

  Just this morning he’d brought me to peak with his mouth over and over before making love to me so gently and sweetly that he’d trembled from the force of holding back.

  “On track?” I ask, smiling softly when she blows a raspberry on Angel’s stomach and starts cooing and making faces.

  I can so see how Molly and I would be best friends. She’s sweet and smart and so freaking sarcastic half the time that we spend almost all our time together, cackling like loons.

  And she’s no prude, often regaling me with her sexcapades and the imaginative things that her fiancé Kent comes up with.

  Way too much information, but I roll with it and throw in a few pointers if Cameron and I have done something similar.

  “Oh, er, you know, you weren’t too happy with him before the accident,” she says slowly, pouting when Margery bustles in to take the now flagging Angel.

  “Time for her nap, dear.”

  They share a look that I can’t see before Margery kisses my cheeks and battles out, leaving us alone.

  “Molly?”

  “Oh dear. I really shouldn’t have said anything. The doctors were adamant about us not telling you anything, and I swear I would never want to do or say anything to upset you,” she says with a moan, wringing her hands. “Please don’t tell. Cameron will have a positive fit.”

  “I’ll keep my trap shut if you tell me what you were talking about,” I say, watching her face pale and her eyes skitter to the doorway. “It’s closed and no one will come in without knocking first. Now tell me. Were Cameron and I having problems before the accident?”

  God, please tell me we weren’t. I’d hate to find out that we were on the verge of collapse and that we’re only together out of guilt or something. I love him, madly, deeply, whole-heartedly already.

  I assume he loves me, too, though he has yet to say it. But if we weren’t doing well before, maybe the reason he hasn’t told me he loves me is because…he doesn’t.

  “Oh no, Shaw! Cameron positively adores you so don’t even start thinking that way,” she rushes to say, obviously having deduced my fears from my expression. “You should have seen how utterly wild he went when he found you at the bottom of the stairs. He was absolutely crazed. Griffin had to knock him out because he went…”

  I breathe a sigh of relief and close my eyes when something niggles at the periphery of my mind, just begging to break free. No matter how hard I try to keep the thought though, it disappears before I can grasp it.

  “I’m so tired of this. Just when I think I’m about to remember something, it disappears. It’s so frustrating not remembering anything or anyone that I love. And you know the worst thing? I have this urgency all the time, like I need to tell Cameron something, something really important, but it’s just not there,” I mutter, rubbing at my pounding head. “I’m afraid for some reason, and I can’t…”

  Molly casts another look at the door before closing her eyes and sighing loudly. When she opens them again, I see fear and no little amount of guilt.

  “I think that’s because your brain is trying to tell you who pushed you,” she whispers, her face going green when I gasp and pale.

  “Someone pushed me?”

  “I…you and I were partnered for the treasure hunt. We were searching for the next clue upstairs, but the place is so bloody big that we decided to split up to make up time. You were determined to win this thing because you wanted to rub her nose in it. You weren’t gone five minutes when I heard a scream and ran out to see you…you were falling, and I saw…someone had pushed you and then ran away…I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there because it would never have happened if I…”

  “Oh, Molly, no honey. No. You can’t blame yourself.”

  But someone is to blame. Some disgusting animal had shoved me down the stairs without so much as a second thought to the fact that I was very pregnant with my dear little Angel.

  Some animal had cared so little about the innocent life growing inside me that they’d pushed me anyway, not caring if my baby survived or not.

  Someone is going to die. Painfully.

  I’m going to find that person, that filth, and when I do, I will hurt them so badly before cleaning their clock that they’ll understand the meaning of the words mama bear.

  “You think I saw who did it?” I ask, reining my temper in with a force of will I didn’t know I possessed.

  “Yes, most definitely. The hallways were dark because Millie only kept minimal lighting to make things harder, but that section near the stairs was well lit. There’s no way you couldn’t have seen who it was.”

  “Good.”

  I need to remember who that someone is and I will, even if it kills me. No one but no one is getting away with endangering my baby. No one.

  “Why didn’t Cameron say anything?”

  “Oh, Ducky dearest, he’s been so concerned that you would have a relapse, and as I said, the man adores you. He’ll do just about anything to keep you safe and happy.”

  “I need to remember, Mol. I have to. You need to tell me as much about that night as you can remember. I need to jog my memory. Please.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she says with a groan, wringing her hands and eyeing the door with desperation. “Cameron will murder me if I do anything that hurts you.”

  “Cameron needs to stop smothering me and worry about himself. Now spill it. Or I’ll tell Kent you told me anyway,” I say, smirking when she scowls and narrows her eyes.

  “Well, at least one thing hasn’t changed. You’re still a bitch, Ducky.”

  “Yup. Some things don’t change and never will. I want it all, starting at the beginning. And Mol? If you mess with me…”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Cam

  She’s pregnant. I know it. I feel it in my heart, in my very bones, and I’m so fucking relieved that I almost collapsed when she raced from the bed to throw up, her moaning and retching a sick song that made me want to cry in joy.

  I’m a bloody bastard for doing this too her so soon after her ordeal, and yet, I can’t regret it, not knowing that I now have a solid, indelible connection to her even if she regains her memory and realizes how wrong I’ve played her.

  “Ducky. Baby, are you okay?”

  She’s green and swallowing convulsively over a breakfast of dry toast and sweet tea that seemed to help her the last go round.

  “Fine.” She’s swallowing again as she says it, her face so wretched I wince with guilt.

  “You look quite pale, darling. Come, let me take you back to bed.”

  “Oh, Cameron, I don’t think I can…”

  I chuckle when she colors, recalling quite a few mornings when I’d said those very same words to get her back in bed and under me.

  Of course, my cock goes hard, demanding immediate attention at the thought of my woman in bed, but I give the fucker a strong set down and swing her up into my arms, my chest tight as I take the stairs quickly and get to our room.

  She sighs when I place her back between the crisp sheets, her brow furrowed and creased with worry.

  “I think it’s from these headaches I’ve been getting.”

  Headaches?

  “You’ve been getting headaches?”

  Oh, God. Please, no. Don’t let her memory be coming back. I’ve done everything I can, threatened everyone that even comes in contact with her.


  “Yeah. I’ve been trying to remember. Now don’t get angry, Cam. I need to know who pushed me, and I won’t stop until I figure it out.”

  “Who told you?” I demand, shoving away to start pacing at the thought of Shaw actually trying to remember.

  I’m relieved that she hasn’t because that means I have time to rectify…. Oh, who am I kidding? The woman is and always has been a bloody dog at a bone when it comes to something she wants. She sees a goal and she works at it till she achieves it, consequences be damned.

  “Er—”

  “Who the fuck told you that you were pushed?” I yell, feeling my world spin out of control at the ramifications of it all.

  I have a failsafe in place in the form of the baby I know is growing in her, but that in no way calms the rage and fear sweeping through me. I need more time to make her love me.

  I need more time to convince her that what I feel for her isn’t just as the result of my attraction to her body, or the fact that I want Angelica as my child.

  “Cameron.”

  “Who. Told. You.”

  “Molly,” she whispers, her eyes wide and moist as she struggles not to cry.

  “I fucking warned them all.”

  “I know Cam, and she wouldn’t have said anything, but I told her how scared I am all the time because I know there’s something important I need to remember…but I just can’t,” she says, her eyes spilling twin tracks down her pale cheeks.

  “I don’t want you to remember, Shaw. I don’t ever want you to remember what it must have felt like to know you’re falling and can’t stop it. To know that the baby…”

  I pause because I feel every second of the terror she must have felt, every split second of bone numbing anguish, and I hadn’t even been there to see the horror of it.

  Shaw must have been so terrified in those moments that just thinking about it still has the power to make me want to decimate whole cities in my quest to find the culprit.