SweetHarts (5 Book Box Set)

by Kira Graham

  Most likely them, because I don’t like pain all that much.

  “We agreed that you’d back off and let her deal with this before bombarding her again,” Tee hisses, going on a protective tangent in a way that doesn’t deter me in the least.

  Admittedly, I am afraid of Tee when it comes to her temper—I’d be a fool not to be—but when it comes to sheer doggedness and pig-headed grit, I will always win, and that’s just a fact. She may lose it and lash out, but I’m a patient bitch. I always get the upper hand, always, and with these two idiots, the upper hand lies in my logic.

  “No, you said that I had to give her time and space. I told you to fuck off and go eat a dick. This time stuff is all bullshit; trust me, Sin. Time won’t change what you said to Paris, or why. Time won’t make it go away or fix it. Only you can do that, and take it from me, honey, regret is not something that comes in short bursts. It comes because time is up. Don’t waste your time trying to ignore what you did. Spend it repairing your messes,” I say softly, dodging a hit from Tee fast enough that I manage to land a pinch to her left nipple that doubles her over.

  I particularly enjoy her screams of pain, especially when the other people in the kitchen at Helos turn to gape before going back to work when Sin barks out orders.

  “Goddammit! That hurt, you redheaded troll,” Tee whines, rubbing at her boob while baring her teeth at me.

  “It was supposed to. Try biting me, Nefertiti, and you’ll soon learn just why your pop is more afraid of me than he is of you,” I warn, my smile going dark enough that she gulps and zips her lips.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. What did you guys expect me to do? It’d been months and months of constant harassment, Rosetta. Weeks of him showing up at my apartment and letting himself in. He was injecting himself into my life so deeply that I didn’t know which way to turn anymore,” Sin says hoarsely, her eyes going dark with emotion.

  “Why is that a bad thing? The guy is good-looking, rich, smart, and so freaking cool that if I’d had half a brain and seen him first, I wouldn’t be married to Z right now,” I charge, cringing when I hear a low growl and turn to see my husband entering the hot kitchen.

  “Hey, now, Rosie-mine. If I didn’t know how much you loved me, I’d feel threatened. And hurt,” he teases, coming up to kiss me and greet the others, albeit stiltedly. “You’d better thank God that your security called me, or we’d be having a very unpleasant conversation right now. You left work without calling, and then didn’t bother to tell me that you were going out,” he accuses, making me sigh and grimace.

  “Sorry, lover, I guess I’m just not used to having to broadcast my every move. But you’re right. However, what the fuck happened to us having lunch together? If Dana hadn’t warned me about your impromptu little history-dork meeting, I’d have stormed into your office to kick your ass for forgetting me.”

  Pout.

  Married a week, and already forgotten, replaced by a mistress named Work. Sigh. He’s just lucky that my own work is my mental vibrator.

  “Sorry, babe. Got caught up in burial laws and tribal ancestry. Can I make it up to you?”

  “Later. Right now, I’m giving Sin a long lecture about the insanity of not falling for Paris. What exactly is it that makes you think that he’s not a catch?” I ask, purposely ignoring Tee’s snarls and the look of betrayal that Sin throws me.

  I don’t care if she’s feeling hurt and all that other mushy, weak crap that humans feel. Right is right, and logic is logic, and, to my way of thinking, she’s damn lucky that a great guy like Paris took one look at her bony ass and wanted it.

  “This isn’t any of your business, Rosetta. I’ve left Paris a whole bunch of voice messages, and I even sent him a letter because he won’t answer my calls or texts. I regret being so harsh, but the message is still the same. We are not, and never will be, an item,” she says, clearly meaning it because her eyes don’t waver from mine.

  “Why? I get it, okay—”

  “No. No, you really fucking don’t, Rosetta. No one does, because the reasons are my own, and they’re private. You will never understand my reasoning, and you won’t understand the emotional toll that all of this has taken on me, either. First, Cleo gets hurt, then you almost go to prison, and now I have to deal with my life imploding because of Paris,” she sighs, looking so hangdog sorry for herself that I have the urge to slap her silly.

  “Oh, boo-hoo. A good-looking guy is into you, and he bought the restaurant where you’ve been working so that you finally have a shot at head chef after years of slaving your ass off for no reward,” I say mockingly, my mouth pulling into a frown when she huffs. “Listen, honey, like I said on the phone while we were getting over our tiff, I love you, and that means that I’m with you all the way, one hundred percent, forever. That means that Z is with you, too, and that if you ever need anything, you shouldn’t hesitate to call. Hell, you should call me daily because you know my nosy self will throw a fit if I don’t know everything. But the Paris thing? I just cannot get behind how you handled that, and all that sappy, ‘oh, poor me, I am so traumatized’ bullshit isn’t going to excuse your crap. Put on your big-girl panties, get over whatever crawled up your ass, and make things right with him. If you don’t want him, then fine, I get that sometimes the perfect match, ahem, isn’t necessarily the perfect match.”

  I say this while giving Zeus a soft smile and stroking his ass to keep him calm. The man is as jealous as hell and admits, shamelessly, that he doesn’t like to be forgotten. Heck, what am I saying? According to Zeus, he’s all that my pretty little head should ever think about.

  “But—but that means that I’d have to say…” she begins and grimaces, looking so pained and disgusted that I feel Zeus shake with suppressed laughter behind me. “I’d have to say…” she tries again and then shudders, getting a lip twitch even from Tee, who somehow still manages to shoot daggers my way.

  “Come on, now, bitch—just say it,” I urge, nearly tittering when she gulps, tries to get the word out, and then gags. “Say it!”

  “So…uh…sooo…sooor…”

  I can’t help it. I slap her, dislodging her tongue enough that the full word comes out.

  “Sorry!”

  “There ya go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” I trill, rising with Z’s help and going over to kiss a shocked Sin and high-five a grinning Tee. “See y’all later, you stupid bitches. I’m going home to eat take-out, get a foot rub, and get my sex on with the ole hubs,” I call back, giggling when the man in question growls and palms my ass all the way out the restaurant, ignoring the looks and murmurs that follow us.

  That dark cloud of murder will always follow me, but here’s the sad and completely sick truth. A part of me enjoys knowing that some people believe it, and that it scares them. It was never the gossip and speculation and outright fear that made me nervous. It was just the thought of going to prison and eating my own hair to survive because some ball-hauling behemoth had stolen my food.

  “You’re looking mighty fine in those pants, wifey,” Z drawls as he opens the door of the limo, climbing in after me and never once releasing the ass cheek that he’s squeezing. Talent.

  Me likes.

  “And you will look totally fine out of those pants, hubs. What do ya say? Sex first, food later?” I giggle, squealing my delight when Zeus growls, tackles me onto the seat, and sets about sucking on my neck.

  “As soon as we get home, wifey. I love sex with you, but having sex in the back of the car might scar Joe more than we already have,” he murmurs, as his licking and sucking progresses down to my collarbone.

  I let myself enjoy the tease, keeping my arousal down to a slow simmer until we step out of the car, practically jog to the elevator, and then impatiently wait for the door to close.

  Once that happens, all restraint flees for us both. I find myself slammed up against the wall, my mouth consumed by his, and my body pressed against him so tightly that every fumbling caress and tug of his fingers over
my ass and hips is frustrating.

  Taking the initiative, I wind my arms around his neck and hop up, bringing my legs up to wrap around his waist. It’s not enough, even when Zeus answers my silent plea and uses his hands to move me against him, pressing us together hard every time our hips circle together. My sex, already hot and leaking with readiness, burns with a need that grips me and makes me feel crazed for him. I need him inside me, filling me and chasing away the emptiness that seems to gnaw at me. Not on an emotional level, but almost as if not being connected to him is a physical pain.

  The ding of the elevator breaks us apart, announcing our arrival, and I see Zeus take a step to rush us out before he stops suddenly and, with a shuddering breath, forces me back to my feet.

  “Security,” he snarls, tugging me out as soon as I’m steady on my feet.

  The loss of contact is hard for me, and I am shaking like a leaf, but I give him a look of gratitude for bringing us both back to our senses when I look up to see the security guys filing down the hall, and Heath just coming out of our apartment to give Zeus a nod of “all clear.”

  “Place is clean. We’ll be out here in shifts,” he murmurs as we sweep past them and into our home, the door slamming and rocking on its hinges just seconds before I find myself being kissed again, this time so frantically that I can’t breathe.

  What the heck? I think, some distant part of my mind struggling to understand this side of Zeus. We have a lot of sex, naturally—I mean, we can hardly keep our eyes off each other most of the time; hence the offices on separate floors—but Zeus is always careful with me and controlled to some degree.

  This kiss, however, is consuming on a level that turns me on even as I catalogue the differences. And then it hits me. He couldn’t find me, and he was afraid. That cools my ardor somewhat—enough for me to feel guilty, and enough that instead of letting him rip my clothes off and satisfy me, I gentle the kiss and pull away to look at him.

  “Ro—”

  “Shhh. Come on. There’s something that I want to do,” I whisper, standing on unsteady feet and taking his hand to drag him behind me to the bedroom.

  As kinky as it would be to have sex against the wall just inside our door, we don’t have curtains, and the things that I want to do do not need an audience. He allows me to lead him to the bedroom, and, once there, I take a few minutes to strip us both, very aware of the way that he grinds his jaw and seems to tremble, his muscles jumping with every second that he’s forced to stop himself from grabbing me.

  I want to speak, to tell him everything that I want to do, but as aroused and wild as he is, I feel the same way. The only thing keeping me from falling on him and shoving his cock inside my melting core is the fact that I owe him an apology and some sort of thank you for the respect that he showed me by not going nuts on me when he found me.

  With that in mind, I drop to my knees before him and look up into his eyes, a shiver of lust shaking through me when I see the hard look that he gives me and hear the satisfied growl that rumbles from him, as if he knows and approves of what I’m about to do.

  “You owe me an apology, wife,” Zeus growls, his hand stroking through my hair gently while still remaining possessive.

  I feel his anger, still present beneath his love, and see it in the way that he tilts my head and glares down at me.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my core clenching wildly, so turned on by this show of furious love that I have to tense my inner muscles to find relief.

  “Then give it to me.”

  Oh, yeah, I most definitely will, I tell him silently, as I reach up to steady myself, my hands going to his hips, where the deep V of muscle arrows down a path towards his thick, hard length. He’s violently aroused and so hard that the head is purple, throbbing and wet with his pre-come, the fluid running down his length in thick, creamy rivulets that coat my hands when I reach up to encircle him.

  His groan is loud, and he throws his head back when I slowly tighten my hold, forcing my hands to grip his thickness as tightly as I can. There’s no way that I can take all of him—he’s just too big and thick—but what I can’t fit into my mouth when I lower my head, I keep stroking.

  The taste of him when I suck him into my mouth is something that I can’t quite describe. I won’t be like those cheesy novels and say that he tastes like ambrosia or anything. He’s salty, slightly bitter, and tangy, but there’s a sweetness there, too, that balances the flavor and makes it more than a little pleasant. I love the way that Zeus tastes, everywhere, and I kind of get his obsession with going down on me, because it isn’t just the fact that he tastes good, but also the way that he groans and tightens his hand in my hair, that makes it hotter.

  “Fuck. That feels so good, baby. That’s it, suck on my tip. Right beneath the head,” he mutters when I pull my mouth up, purse my lips, and suction them around the crown.

  The ridge there is a guide of sorts, and I do as he says, using my flicking tongue to stimulate the nerves, getting wetter when every minute that passes sees him losing more control and clutching more tightly at my hair. There are many things that I can say about a blow job—I am a woman of words, after all—but it all boils down to…intimacy. Like how Zeus finally snaps, grabs my head, and starts to thrust into me with shallow pumps that push him ever deeper, until he hits a point that makes me gag, before pulling back.

  He’s gentle in his motions, but there comes a point in making love to him this way when he takes over, and instead of carrying out a tender exploration, all I can do is keep sucking as he screws himself into my lips, as if he’s using my mouth for his own pleasure.

  If he were any other man, and if I didn’t love him so desperately, I’d have pulled away and kicked him in the balls for this dominant display. But he is my man, my husband, and the more he thrusts, fucking me harder and using me, the more turned on I get. Just when I feel him tense and taste the salty evidence of his impending release, he rips himself away, tosses me onto the bed, and whips me around, moving my body like a rag doll until I’m half-kneeling, half-dangling from the foot of the mattress.

  I don’t get a chance to protest or say a word. I scream instead because he fills me fast and hard, tunneling so deep that he hits a point inside me that I don’t think he’s ever touched before. It sends stars shooting across my vision, has light bursting through my core, and sets me off instantly, thrusting me into an orgasm that isn’t just an orgasm, but a full-bodied explosion that rips me apart.

  He keeps thrusting as I shatter, and then reaches down to thrum my burning clit even when I cry out and try to wiggle away, the pleasure intensifying to the point of near pain.

  “Zeus!” I cry out, the sound a choked scream as I come again and try to fight the buildup of more.

  “You’ll come until it hurts to feel me,” he snarls, his hammering thrusts turning violent as I feel him sliding more deeply and more forcefully inside me, his cock easily slicing through my copious juices and using the slippery liquid to his advantage.

  I don’t know how many times I come—I lose count—but by the time I shatter apart for the last time, my thighs drenched with my release and his freely flowing pre-come, I know that I can’t take a moment more. He must feel it, too, because he speeds up, his hips slapping against my ass, his fingers now digging into my breasts where he’s cupped me, almost as if he’s anchoring me. Harder. Faster. His growls and shouts fill the room, and then he explodes inside me, the heated spurts filling me completely and then running out to drench my thighs.

  I fall to the bed then, gasping, spent, and dazed, my back taking the brunt of Zeus’s weight when he finally stops twitching and falls down over me, catching himself on his elbows.

  “Apology accepted,” I hear when he nuzzles into my neck, using soft, lapping kisses to bring us both down from the height of bliss.

  “I’ll have to be naughty more often. I think I like apologizing,” I murmur, a giggle escaping me even as I sigh and start to drift off.

  Yes, indeed. I thi
nk I should apologize much more often. Maybe daily.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rosetta

  Marriage reminds me of that time I bought my first car, absolutely certain that I would always, always drive it and never want a new one—until I had it for two years and hated it so much that I may or may not have accidentally run it into a guard rail, thereby collecting the insurance to buy another one.

  Now, don’t go getting all gaspy on me and shaking your head in shock. I don’t want a new, er, husband. I see myself riding that model for the rest of my life and then into the afterlife, which means that I am more than good with what I bought. No regrets. No returns. If he ever leaves me, I will kill him, store his body in the freezer, and bring him out on holidays when I get lonely.

  But back to what I was saying.

  Marriage is a slow, creeping progression that sees you lose your inhibitions until you ask yourself, “When did that happen?” Right now, I am screaming those words both at myself and at Zeus, because it is not okay that I’m in the bath while he takes a fat one on the toilet barely five feet away. I did that one time while he was in the shower, but in my defense, I had eaten bad Chinese food that proved to me unequivocally that even the best things in life can be bad for you. Or toxic to the point of death.

  “Stop being a baby. Cleo does her business in front of Adonis, and you almost killed us both two weeks ago,” he mutters, finishing up with a wiping process that makes the planning of the space missions look like a haphazard mess.

  “I’d eaten bad food and gotten my period. It was a double whammy that I couldn’t have avoided unless you wanted me to pop a freaking squat on the bedroom carpet,” I say grouchily, rising from the tub to grab a towel.

  “What was so special about that time?”

  God help me. Marriage. Removes. All. The. Mystery. Mystery that should be there for eternity, and never, ever be revealed. It turns rose-colored glasses into crystal clear vision, showing you things that you don’t really want to see, and it turns that soft, gentle adoration into a “Loving you is hard work sometimes” situation. In short, I’m finding it hard to love Zeus right now, knowing what lives inside him. On the bright side, maybe he’s cleared the pipes enough not to gas me in bed tonight. And, to be fair, I practically have to diaper my panties with pads if I don’t want to bloodbath his crotch every month.