“Yes.”
I stroke my index finger over the curve of her ass. “Good. Hold still.”
—nineteen—
Tabitha
There’s nothing quite like being ordered not to move. My senses go on high alert and my eyelids flutter shut as he skims his fingertips between my ass cheeks and over my sensitive flesh there, then lower, leaving a slippery trail from one hole to the next.
“So smooth, Miss Leyton. That’s fucking sexy as hell.” He circles my clit, making me bloom, making me want more, before sliding back again.
He’s totally going to finger my ass, the teasing jerk.
I tilt my hips. Do it, I urge him with my body language.
But he just touches me lightly, circling my clenched hole. Not pressing inside.
“I don’t like to be teased,” I mutter.
“Then it’s too bad you told me I could do whatever I wanted, isn’t it?” He drops his hand into the warm water, splashing it against the inside of my thighs.
His next touch is against my pussy again, a finger dipping inside me, then dragging my wetness over my folds.
He turns his hand so his thumb can press into me from behind, and still I hold steady.
Again, this isn’t how I have sex.
I’m restless to move, to fuck back against his hand. To get my self off, to use him.
Taking what he wants to give me and nothing more is foreign. Uncomfortable. Hot, though.
Definitely hot.
The restlessness moves inside me, pushing at the inside of skin. It cues a sharp awareness of his touch, my reaction. The feel of his hand and the sounds we’re both making.
My sighs and his groans as he sinks further into me, stretching me out.
“You like that.”
I do. “You like it, too.”
“I love it.” He stretches his fingers inside my pussy. “Hot little cunt.” His thumb flexes, too. “Tight little ass.”
“Ah, yes…” I give in and roll my hips, but his other hand shoots out, his forearm wrapping around me as he pulls me back against him.
“Naughty girl.”
“Punish me?”
“Not a punishment if you’re begging for it.” He eases his fingers out of me. “I think you’re clean enough, now.” He presses his face into my neck, and this close, I can tell his breaths aren’t as controlled as I thought they were. “Time to rinse off.”
Wilson doesn’t pull the shower curtain closed. Instead, he leans back against the counter and watches me from behind hooded eyelids, his fists white-knuckled in the towel he’s holding.
The second I turn off the water, he’s picking me up. Fluffy cotton and strong arms surround me as he carries me back to the bed.
“At some point we’re going to need to discuss the fact that my legs do in fact work,” I say over a bubbly laugh that sounds nothing like me.
“Hmm. Do they?” He dumps me out of his arms and I bounce on the mattress. “Let me check.”
He picks up one of my feet and rests it against his dress shirt. Naked girl, fully-dressed man. It’s dirty and wrong. I love it. I wiggle my toes as he dries my leg with the towel. I leave wet toe-prints on his shirt as I walk my foot down his perfect torso.
“You work out.”
“Nix does.” He picks up my other leg and casually pushes the first one down and out, making me spread myself for him.
“Who is Nix?”
“A street fighter.”
“Okay... Are you talking about yourself in the third person?”
He grins. “Yeah. Show Nix your pussy.”
That he’s being weird is hardly a reason not to comply with a perfect delicious request. I reach between my legs and run my fingertips over my sex, parting the lips to show him how wet I am.
I’m shameless. I’m a slut. This is nothing.
He works his way up my thigh, drying me off all the way until our fingers brush. And then he keeps going, making me groan, because I want his touch, not my own. He rolls me over and dries my back, my hair. His solid thighs, still clad in denim, rub rough against my skin when he straddles my legs.
When he finally tosses the towel aside, he doesn’t turn me again.
Instead he jerks my hips into the air, so I need to scramble to get my legs under me, and spanks my ass lazily. “Good girl.”
“Try harder.”
“Bad girl?”
“Closer.”
He laughs and leans over me, brushing his lips against my shoulder blade. “Baby girl. I remember.” He curls his hand around my biceps. “I remember everything. And it’s not enough. I want to find out more about what makes you tick, my little Tabitha. My secret girl.”
Oh. My chest heats up. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
I press my hips into the air, suddenly needy for him to touch me. “Please.”
He bites me next, pulling the flesh of my back up and into his mouth. A gentle tug, but the reminder of his intent—to claim and possess me—is clear.
The ache between my legs intensifies.
He works down my spine, kissing and licking and marking me until my thighs are wet from how much I want him. When he gets to my ass, he grips my hips, spreading me open.
“Are you sensitive here?” he asks, his breath hot against my skin.
“Yes.”
He growls.
“Was I supposed to say, ‘I don’t know, Mister, nobody has never touched me there before.’?”
“Always.” He nips at my butt cheek.
I close my eyes as he slowly laves his tongue down my crease. “Ahhhh. Nobody’s ever fucked me there, if that counts.”
His tongue stops for a beat—oh, yes, maybe that counts—then resumes its torture.
Waves of hot pleasure and prickly embarrassment roll over me, twisting my mind upside down. I can’t think straight when he’s doing that, so I stop trying and just grip the blanket beneath me.
My orgasm comes quickly once he slides his hand up the inside of my thigh and finds my clit.
And as soon as that one fades, he’s bodily moving me, first to the side, then once he has a condom, lifting me on top of him. I’m boneless, but that doesn’t bother him in the least.
He’s big and hard all over, muscles flexing as he spreads my legs and pushes into me. We both groan, a chorus of sex noises that sound foreign to me. Strange and wonderful. I bury my face in his neck, wanting more of his scent, more of his sweat as he begins to move inside me.
One of his hands holds my arms together behind my back.
The other curves over my ass, and as he fucks into me, he penetrates me there, too, filling both my holes with a ruthlessness that steals my breath.
I latch on to his neck, my mouth open and soft, and I lick up the taste of his sweat-slicked skin. His mouth presses against my temple, whispering frantic single words and phrases as he drives into me fast and furiously.
“Fucking tight. Yes. Squeeze me, babe. Take it. Take me so deep.” His head drops back, stretching his neck open and I kiss my way up that strong, muscled column until I reach the limit of my reach because he’s holding me down on top of him. I press my legs against his, but he chases me, thrusting into me from below like a savage beast.
My savage beast.
Mine.
The word explodes inside me, shattering me to pieces. He said it to me, but it was insane and ridiculous and the kind of madness that comes from the best sex of your life.
I know better.
And yet…mine. I lick him again as my entire body trembles in the remnants of my climax.
I know better.
I do.
He curls under me, every muscle contracting as he loses his edge of control, then slams up, burying himself inside me in more ways than one.
In every way.
He shudders over and over again as he releases my arms, as he runs his hands up to my shoulders, sinking his fingers in my hair and bringing my mouth to his.
My hands shake as I touch hi
m, as I cling and wonder how I’m ever going to let him go.
And even as that fear twists like a cornered snake inside me, I know I will. I’ll have to.
I’m not allowed to have this.
I take it anyway.
For tonight, in secret.
I kiss him over and over again. I slide against his back as he gets rid of the condom, then drag him on top of me, wanting more of his flesh against mine. I push against his hands, urging him to hold me down, and when I feel him get hard again, I reach for a second condom and roll it down his length.
I’ll take everything tonight.
~
“Why do you live in a hotel?”
I turn to the side and look at the red numbers on the clock. It’s nearly four in the morning. “I don’t.”
He draws a lazy circle on my side. “Where do you live?”
“Elsewhere.”
“In Seattle.”
“So asking me wasn’t necessary.”
“I was being polite.”
“You should try harder to pretend you don’t know all my secrets.”
“I don’t know them all.”
The rest of what he’s thinking goes unsaid. But he wants to.
I roll onto my back and his hand slides over my hip and onto my belly. He spreads his fingers wide, finding my scar.
Neither of us say anything for a long while, but I hold still, and he holds me, and that’s something in itself.
When I eventually turn toward him, his hand slips between my legs. We kiss, slow and languid, and in the distance, past the murky goodness of being turned on, I have a vague thought that I might write a song about this. About making love, dirty kisses and soft touches, and the way they crack you open.
We’re way past the point of pretending this isn’t something.
But what can survive the hellfire that is my life?
I pull my lips together, so our next kiss is firm and final. An end to dirty sexy times, because we need to talk.
So not my strong suit. I take a deep breath. “So this thing between us.”
He brushes hair off my cheek. “Yes.”
“You know what I’m going to say.”
“I honestly have no idea. Is this about Grant?”
I make a face. “I was hoping to avoid that conversation.”
“You don’t need to.” He grips my chin, gentle but firm, and brings his face right to mine. “Whatever it is, I’m going to deal with it.”
Unwanted memories roll over me. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is for me. I see you. I like what I see. Every last inch of you. Secrets and pain. And I think you see me too.” He frowns. “Or maybe you don’t.”
I search his face. “What do you mean?”
He traces along my jaw and down my neck. “I hacked into your phone.”
“I know.” And the crazy computer set up is intense, too. “And you’re investigating Gerome Lively. I imagine you break the rules in that pursuit.”
“I break the rules for a lot of reasons.”
“What else?”
“To get things. Do things. See things.”
“You’re a…thief? Conman? Hacker?”
“Sure. Yes. Definitely.”
“What else?”
“I used to work for the government.”
“And not as a park ranger, I’m guessing.”
“Never underestimate a park ranger.” He rubs his thumb up and down at the base of my neck.
My pulse jumps against his touch. “Okay, so…a spy?”
“You could say that.”
“You’re making this whole secret-sharing thing difficult.”
“It’s like washing long, beautiful red hair. I’ve never done it before.”
“I’m special?” I ask it lightly, but the way my heart beat races, I want it to be true.
His thumb presses into my skin. “Yes, you are.”
I think he’s earned a secret. “I ran away from home on my fifteenth birthday. Don’t be sorry, either. It wasn’t a home to mourn the loss of.”
He doesn’t blink.
“That’s how I ended up in Seattle. Seemed like a decent place for a teenager to winter on the streets.”
Still no reaction. That’s good. If that broke him, I’d never get through the rest of it.
I take a deep breath. “It didn’t take Grant long to find me. And he changed my life.”
“But you hate him.”
“Yes.”
“What did he do you?”
I can’t say it. Instead, I take his hand and press it to my belly. Under my fingers, his muscles tighten. His entire body goes tense, coiling tight, and I start to shake.
“You were fifteen?”
I nod.
He wants to ask more questions, but I can’t. And as the tears start to fall, silent, wet slides of regret and anguish, he cups my face in his hands and kisses each of them away, until his face is just as wet as mine.
“I’ll take that secret to my grave,” he whispers against my mouth. “You have nothing to fear from me.”
“I have everything to fear. From you, because of you…” My breath hitches, but I get it under control. “Mostly from myself. I have a lot to fear about my own impulses and desires.”
He holds my face, not saying anything for an agonizingly long time, then he brushes his fingers through my hair. “I have no doubt that if you need to, you’ll be able to walk away to protect yourself. And I want you to. Never put me before you, you understand that? I don’t want that. I want you safe, no matter what.”
“I need to tell you…the Grant thing.”
“Another time.”
“The marriage is real.”
“Do I look like a guy who gives a fuck about technicalities?”
“I…”
“Are you out of protests?”
I don’t know what to say to that.
He holds me in silence, maybe until he knows I’m not going to say anything else. “Once a month I'll find you. I’ll try to limit the amount of contact in between.”
“That thing on my phone?”
“It’s not traceable. Nobody will know I’m reaching out to you.”
“You can’t.”
“I can. Nobody will know.”
“That's not possible.”
“Oh, babe. No. Actually, anything is possible.” He kisses my forehead. “And we’re going to take advantage of all of it.”
My head is spinning. For the first time in a decade, I feel a weird kind of hope. It’s got a crazy number of strings attached to it, and it feels fragile as fuck, but…this might just work. I might get to have this, at least for a little while.
I lean in close and brush my lips against his skin. “For the next time we get together, you should know I can’t get pregnant.”
He swallows hard. “Good to know. I’ll make sure to get you an up-to-date health check.”
Holy shit. I grin. “I’ll do the same.”
—twenty—
Wilson
New York
August
When I get back from L.A., we’re suddenly slammed with work. Apparently the lazy heat of summer means people make bad decisions and do stupid things.
But when Tabitha schedules a twenty-four hour trip to New York, there’s no question I’m going to make time to see her.
I’m pretty mobile. I run a dark web browser on my phone that lets me connect to my private servers, and in turn, any of the monitoring I’ve got set up. Right now, that’s just Tabitha’s. Before I left, I gave her a few things. An ereader with a secret built-in browser, a GPS tracker, and a few apps on her phone that looked innocuous but allowed her to message me if she needed to.
She didn’t for three weeks.
I have the patience of a fucking saint.
But then she gave me the heads up about the trip, even before her credit card was used to book the flight.
At some point I’m going to have to stop lurking in her digital foot
print like a tech-perv.
Not today, though.
Not any time soon, either, because I don’t trust Derew as far as I could throw him while he was weighted down with a lead full-body cast.
It is some fucked-up bullshit to trap a teenager in a weird psuedo-marriage in order to control her career. And there might be more to it than that—the thought makes me ball my fists in rage—but no amount of theorizing spits out an explanation that’s not disgusting.
My bots are searching for him, though. If he drifts the wrong direction on the internet, they’ll find him.
And in the meantime, I have a date with his wife.
003-3000: Where are you?
Tabitha: Lord & Taylor on Fifth Ave. But I bet you know that already.
003-3000: You always rain on my attempts to be polite.
Tabitha: Are you here already?
003-3000: Ten minutes away.
Tabitha: I’ll meet you on the main floor.
She’s on her phone when I step inside from the sweltering heat. I stop and look at her. She’s wearing a floral dress under a tiny denim vest and knee-high lace-up platform sandals. Her hair is piled on top of her head and she has an oversized bag slung over one shoulder.
She looks like a teenager, like an innocent little rebel, and a flash of anger stabs through me before I can lock it down. She never really got to be that innocent little rebel in real life.
Neither did I, though, and we both fucking survived, so the sentimentality isn’t necessary.
I find myself needing to harden my heart far too often lately. It’s a strange sensation, that softness in my chest. I don’t like it.
But then she looks up and gives me a playful smile, and I’m mush again.
I’ll go back to being heartless in eighteen hours.
“Hey,” she says as I stop in front of her.
There’s a calculated risk in being in public, but nothing I’ve looked at indicates that her manager is having her followed or watched in any way. He wouldn’t know where to start to effectively do it, either.
So I kiss her. I reach out and pull her to me, one arm wrapped all the way around her waist, the other hand holding the back of her neck, and I kiss the fucking daylights out of her.
Dirty Love (Forbidden Bodyguards #3) Page 8