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by Tessa Bailey

  The pain in those two words snaps me out of my post-orgasm stupor and turns me into a scrambling servant. There’s no other way to describe the way I disentangle myself, turn around and drop to my knees, whimpers falling from my mouth as I unfasten his jeans with clumsy fingers. “Y-you can have my mouth.”

  “Had it today, baby, and I’ll damn well have it again.” He reaches behind me and grabs a folded towel off the sink, unfurling it and tossing it to the floor. “But I’ve been watching your tits jiggle around longer than my cock can handle it, so I’ve got a taste for those. You going to let me fuck them?”

  Being that I’ve never done what he’s asking, it actually takes me a moment for my brain to project the logistics. But as soon as the haze clears, I’m lying down on top of the towel, pushing my dress down farther, leaving the bodice around my waist and my breasts on display for his pleasure. In my haste to get on the floor, I neglected to free Will’s erection entirely from his jeans, so he does it now, in the most erotic display of masculinity I’ve ever witnessed.

  There aren’t enough religious figures or saints in the world to invoke here. The girthy root of his manhood is visible in the unzipped V of his fly…and he smirks, as if knowing how the sight of it affects me. But he leaves that teasing peek of flesh right where it is while reaching back to grip the rear of his shirt collar, dragging it off in one, seriously hot, practiced move.

  As he kneels, his pecs and abdomen tighten beneath a sheen of sweat, making my nipples pucker even more. He bares his teeth, nostrils flaring at the sight of my body’s reaction. And I don’t have to wait any longer to see what’s inside his jeans. He reaches in and draws out his swollen arousal, pumping it with his fist while walking toward me on his knees.

  “I might take you to fancy hotels, baby. Might walk you through those elegant lobbies and demand you be treated like a queen.” He drops forward, bending down to lick a path between my breasts, up and down. Again and again, before lifting his head. “But I will always be the man who fucks you nasty on the floor once we’re upstairs, with your thong twisted around your dripping cunt. We clear?”

  Oh hell. I’m screwed, aren’t I? My back arches on a gasp, hands flying to my breasts to push them together. Tempt him. I’m a mess of heat and need, heels sliding on the tile. Can’t stop moving until he’s satisfied as I am. “We’re clear,” I breathe, tossing my head back. “Come closer, please. Have me.”

  His hand supports his erection until it’s just above me, then he lets it go, dropping the substantial weight into the slick cradle between my breasts. An animal groan splits the air between us, the volume of it increasing as I push my breasts in around his engorged flesh. He begins to tunnel through the wet passage we’ve created, his sack slapping the underside with every drive.

  “Fuck,” he grits out, pumping faster. “Stop looking at it like that.”

  My lips are dry, so I lick them, seeing his expression darken. “L-like what?”

  “Like you’re just dying for me to slip and land in your mouth.” His head pitches forward, neck and shoulder muscles straining. “No. Can’t stop, even for a suck. I’m going to put a claim on every part of you.”

  Claim. There’s a part of my brain that knows such a thing is impossible, but right now, with this gorgeous, compelling man needing relief from me—desperate for it—I can’t think of something I’ve ever wanted more. To be claimed by Will.

  Once again, I arch up and squeeze my breasts in around his fat, tunneling inches, watching the head turn purple, hearing his groans grow more and more strangled. “I want you all over me, hot and sticky,” I whisper, giving in to the out-of-body experience. “Get it all over my nipples. My neck. Please, Will?”

  He goes from man on the verge to man in the throes almost immediately. His thrusts become more thorough but less skilled, his breath bursting out of him in a staccato beat. “Horny girl,” he barks, neck veins standing out. “Bad, horny girl. You stick your tongue out for a taste, too. Do it now or I’ll pry your jaw apart.”

  Oh God. I’ve never opened my mouth so fast. Not even for cheesecake. I’m rewarded with salty spurts of wet liquid landing on my tongue, lips, throat, breasts. Will continues to thrust his hips, all while moaning down at me, his eyes alternately blazing and blanking with lust. That large body shudders and quakes and it’s amazing, watching him drain, feeling it happen. Because of me.

  When Will is spent, I think he’s either going to fall down on top of me, clean me off, or ask me if I want Chinese food. Instead, he does something unexpected. He scoops me up and rises to his feet, setting me on the bathroom sink.

  And he steps between my dangling legs and kisses me. Not like a man who has just finished titty-fucking a woman on the bathroom floor and wants to gloat. Or remind me who dominated the round. No, it’s a grateful kiss. His fingers comb through my hair, caress my face, gently tug down my chin so his tongue can invade. I’m a hot mess, my dress askew, makeup probably all over my face…not to mention his come is sliding down my chest. Lest we forget. But somehow he makes me a goddess with that kiss. A certified deity that he lives to serve.

  “We good, Teresa?”

  Too good. While I was pretending there isn’t a single man alive who could get under my skin or make me want to trust again…that’s exactly what Will did. I’ve been denying my feelings, but with that denial bandage ripped clean off, the full scope of them robs me of breath. He’s not even asking about us—if we’re good—he’s asking if I’m still angry about the palatial hotel room he surprised me with. Right? So why am I suddenly contemplating his possible reactions to the truth of why I’m really here? Am I crazy to consider coming clean about my deal with Silas? It’s too soon to trust him, isn’t it? It’s too soon to trust anyone.

  Right?

  When I don’t answer right away, a worry line appears between Will’s brows. “Something serious happens in my gut when I look at you, baby. I need us to be good. If we’re not, I’ll get us there.”

  My own gut does a somersault. Along with one, all-powerful, severely reckless organ in my chest. “Will…” I can’t. I can’t risk him turning on me and putting my brother in jeopardy. “We’re good. So good, actually.” I give him a saucy smile. He doesn’t return it, the wheels behind his eyes only turning faster. “But I really do need to make that phone call.”

  He holds my stare for a beat. “Yeah. I need to make a phone call, too.” The way he says it sends my heart up into my throat, but I focus on keeping my expression neutral. Before I’m ready to lose his warmth, he drops his hands from my face and turns toward the door. Facing the bedroom, he pauses with a forearm propped on the frame. “You can tell me anything, you know. I’ve been told a lot of shitty things lately. I can handle it.”

  What shitty things? Southpaw’s diagnosis? Or is he talking about the missing puzzle piece, also known as what exactly happened between him and Silas?

  I want to slide off the sink and throw my arms around Will, to kiss him and beg him to confide in me. But the lies hanging over my head render me immobile. I don’t deserve his secrets. Even though a voice is shouting coward in the back of my head, I stay quiet, holding my breath until he finally leaves the room, taking all the air with him.

  And sitting quietly in the dark, I can’t help but wonder who he’s calling across the hallway. Is the jig going to be up any second now?

  Heart pounding, I take out my cell to check the time, then call Nicky.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Will

  I sit on the edge of my bed, staring down at the phone cradled in my hands. Since this morning, my associate in New York has left several missed calls but no voicemails. He knows better. But a significant part of me wishes he had so there would be no one to witness my reaction to whatever he found on Teresa.

  At least I’m prepared for the worst, right?

  Being blindsided is a million times more fucked up in comparison. It hasn’t been long since the last time the fabric of my beliefs was ripped down the middle.
In the short space of time I’ve known Teresa, her mere presence has sutured the wounds I’d thought permanently numb. But with one phone call, I could just as easily be creating newer, fresher ones.

  Thinking of how she withdrew from me in the bathroom, I push to my feet with a curse, pacing toward the wall. As soon as I make this phone call, everything is going to change, isn’t it? There was guilt written all over her, plain as day. And I can’t ignore the possibility that she’s working for one of my competitors anymore. All I can do is find out the truth, confront her with what I know…and after she attempts to claw my eyeballs out for going behind her back, we can work toward a solution. One that involves me exacting a promise she’ll never lie to me again. Preferably while I’m banging her through the cowhide headboard.

  Unable to put off the call anymore, I hit the speed dial and hold the phone to my ear. Just like this morning, a faceless voice answers, keys punching in the background, before stopping abruptly. “Yes.”

  “What did you find?”

  I close my eyes and wait.

  “Nothing.”

  My eyes fly open. Disbelief crashes into hope in my stomach. “Nothing?”

  “Can’t connect her to anyone at a single New York firm, and that includes employees, family members, known associates. I crosschecked several times, right down to their fucking dog walkers. Still working on getting her airline travel records—give me until tomorrow on that—but she purchased a Greyhound bus ticket online last week. Four more over the course of several days, along with some motel charges between California and Texas. She looks legit.” He clears his throat, a few keys clicking on the other end. “Teresa Valentini. Age twenty-three. Studio City address. Brother Nicholas. Parents deceased. The only information of note is her employment situation. It’s pretty dicey. Underground gambling facility in Sun Valley that has seen an uptick of violence lately, leading to some scrutiny from the police.”

  “Violence.” That word—so vile when associated with Teresa—is the first to cut through my shock. She’s been telling me the truth about everything this entire time? Have I become such a cynical prick that believing in this girl was impossible for me? Lightness crawls into my veins, but a weight drops in my stomach, thinking of how I doubted her. I want to kick her bedroom door down, take her in my arms and apologize until I lose my voice. I can’t do that, though, without letting her know about the background check. Right now, all I can do is vow to do better by her. And protect her. “Do what you can about shutting down the den in LA. Gather intel, tip off the feds. Buy the building and tear it down, if you must. Whatever it takes.” The plan is to keep her with me—not in California—but I’m not taking any chances. “She never sets foot in that goddamn place again.”

  “Consider it done.” A few more key strokes. “There’s a steady diet of calls in her cell phone records from a number listed for her brother. Los Angeles area code.”

  I think of the friend she said she’ll be staying with in New York. “No contact with a New York number?”

  “Not as of this afternoon, no.”

  That doesn’t mean anything. They could have gone through an internet messaging service—one even I can’t get access to. Overall, the information points to her being truthful with me. God, I need to touch her. Now. I can’t apologize with words, but my hands and body can do the talking for me.

  I recall the way she shut down on me in the bathroom. There’s still a lot of mystery surrounding Teresa, but maybe the key is patience. We’ve only been traveling together since yesterday. Expecting to gain her trust in a matter of days isn’t reasonable…even though this thing between us feels like it defies reason.

  Trying to shake the intuition that I’m overlooking something, I hang up with my associate and turn to leave the room. But when Southpaw slinks in through the doorway, I stop on a dime. He’s moving differently than he was an hour ago. There’s a pronounced tilt to his body, like he’s compensating for discomfort.

  “What’s wrong, buddy?”

  When he would normally snarf or head-butt my legs, Southpaw does neither, walking gingerly toward the bed. He turns to look at me when he reaches the side of the king-sized behemoth. And waits.

  Realizing he can’t jump the same three feet he could have yesterday is like being socked in the throat. “You need some help up?”

  He turns his face away, his tail unmoving.

  “All right. That’s okay.” Gravity is sucking me toward the floor, but I force myself to move forward, picking my best friend up as carefully as possible and laying him in the middle of the bed. With an expression I swear is half embarrassment, half grudging relief, he curls up, closes his eyes and starts to snore.

  I can hear the barest hint of Teresa’s voice in the other room. She’s on the phone with her brother. It’s the only thing that keeps me from shouting her name.

  Setting my phone down on the bedside table, I stretch out on the mattress and watch the rise and fall of my dog’s chest.

  *

  Teresa

  Stay in control.

  Stay calm.

  “What the fucking fuck, Nicky?”

  Realizing my pitch is reminiscent of cat having its tail yanked, I march into the bathroom, flip on the fan and close the door. I’m presenting a far different image in the mirror than I did fifteen minutes ago, aren’t I? I’ve gone from sex bomb to atom bomb. My eyes are wide as silver dollars, chest shuddering up and down. The absolute poster child for anxiety.

  Or stupidity. Because I have an absurd wish for Will to storm into the bathroom and hold me against his chest.

  Which is ridiculous, considering his father is one of two people on the line—and Will isn’t even aware I know his father, let alone that the stakes of my cooperation have just been upped. Big time.

  My brother’s voice is choked. “You there, Resa?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.” I shove a hand through my hair, which already looks like a disaster, courtesy of the bathroom floor. “I—we were just going to talk. You and me.” I swallow hard, striving for flippant. “I’m not allowed to talk to my own brother in private anymore, Silas?”

  There’s a heavy stretch of silence. “You got away with disrespect once, but you won’t twice.” The whip crack in his warning spears my veins with ice water. “Think hard about the way you address me in the company of my employee.”

  He won’t be one for long. My throat aches to scream those words, but knowing Silas is with my brother forces me to swallow them. “I apologize.”

  “Good.” Just like that, he’s back to being the grandfather-type who needed eyeglasses to look at Instagram on his phone. “I’m inclined to forgive you, since it appears you have my son moving back in the right direction. I hear Arkansas is lovely this time of year.”

  How does he know—oh, right. Instagram. With my brother in reaching distance of that monster, my instinct is to assure Silas everything is going according to plan. That I’m well on my way to having Will back in New York. But God—God—the disloyalty crams into my throat, making my eyes water. Focus. You’re here to save Nicky. That was always the plan, you selfish idiot. His life is at stake. “Yes. We’re moving in the right direction.” Self-disgust closes my eyes for me. “I don’t see that changing any time soon.”

  Silas’s laugh is like nails on a chalkboard. “You must be as good as you look, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” Nicky snaps. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

  I have no time to brace before I hear a sickening slap echo down the line, followed by a pained grunt. Stumbling feet.

  “Nicky.” Panic erupts in my chest, but I clamp down on it hard. “Shut your mouth. Do you understand me? Not another word. Not one.” Seconds tick by and all I hear is harsh breathing. “Apologize to him.”

  “Sorry,” says my brother, his tone suggesting he’s barely moving his lips. “I’m fine, Resa. I just can’t believe I dragged you into this shit—”

  Another thud of bone and flesh
. Another. My brother grunts—a harsh, wet sound that tells me he’s bleeding. No. This can’t be happening. Helplessness wracks me in the form of shudders. “Leave him alone,” I whisper, imagining my brother lying on the floor being punched, maybe kicked. Impossible images. He’s the boy I used to hang up in a tree wearing wings and a halo. I’m supposed to protect him. “Don’t you want to hear how things are going here?” I blurt. “Talk to me.”

  “Ahh.” Silas is breathing heavily. Winded from hitting my brother. “You’re going to entertain us with details?” I cringe at the leading question. There’s no way I can let him touch these real feelings inside me that continue to build like an out-of-control bonfire for Will. I search for something to say that will distract him from Nicky, but after a moment, he keeps going, sounding perturbed over my lack of response. “I’m more impatient than I realized, you see, Teresa.”

  I slump sideways against the bathroom door and slide toward the ground. “What do you mean?”

  “Your brother has been lifting an easy load, but as you can tell, that’s changing. And there’s a little problem that needs taking care of on Friday night, Teresa. He’s going to handle it for me. Prove his worth.” There’s a smile in his voice. “I really don’t like problems. You know what I mean by a problem?”

  God, I wish I didn’t. But I know the way he emphasizes the word problem, he’s talking about a living, breathing human being. One who needs to be taken care of…by my brother. No. This is my worst nightmare. “Y-yeah. I know what you mean.”

  “Smart girl. I might be persuaded to relieve him of the responsibility if Will is back behind his desk where he belongs by then.”

  My stomach drops. “You told me I had a week.”

  “And now I’m cutting it in half,” he returns. “When a man is holding all the cards, that’s his prerogative.”

  I’m missing something, right? “There was no giant rush when we spoke in Staten Island. Now getting Will back to New York is an emergency?” I shake my head, my heart silently apologizing to the man across the hall. “What happened?”