Finding Fate: An Intense, Fast-Paced Romantic Suspense Novel

by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  Her back presses harder against me as she arches her neck along the pillow, allowing direct access to the soft skin. At the first press of my lips, her faint, begging moan makes the room spin.

  Fuck, I need her now.

  Each suck of her skin between my lips, each clamp of my teeth, makes her squirm against my aching dick. Cupping her tit, I pull and tease the nipple I'd rather have between my teeth. In an unexpected and very much welcomed move, her hand snakes back to wrap around my base, stroking the tip with her thumb through my boxers.

  Hell.

  "Pops," I somehow grit out. Every ounce of willpower I possess focuses on not strapping her to the mattress and fucking her until neither of us can move. "I need a condom." Good thing I came prepared. Releasing her fabulous breast, I roll over to grab the condom I stuck in my pocket last night before coming up the stairs. But she doesn't release me, tightening her grasp and stroking up and down instead.

  "Fate," I say to the back of her head. Surely she hears the urgency in my voice. If I don't get that fucker on now, I won't at all.

  "No," she says as she turns to face me, still gripping my straining cock. "Just you and me. No more barriers. Nothing else between us."

  So many things run through my head in the split second it takes to decide. With a nibble, I take her lower lip between my teeth. "Don't have to ask me twice." A light push on her shoulder and she falls to her back. In a move I've mastered, my boxers are off in under a second and drop to the floor.

  The heat and slickness I find as I settle over her is almost too much. Shit, this isn't going to take long. Like she knows what I want, her thin arms reach and stretch above her head, fingers gripping the metal headboard. I try to be soft, damn I try, but somehow the urgency of the moment slams my lips against hers. I snake a hand around the back of her head, lifting slightly to press her fuckable lips harder against my own.

  Her tongue dances with mine, and fuck if I don't imagine it doing the same damn thing lower. Beneath me, her hips move and lift to envelop my dick between her folds. The harsh gasp and moan as I stroke up her center almost push me over the edge. Again I flex, but this time I watch those fingers tighten against the metal. Up and down I slide against her until she yanks her mouth from mine and a low curse passes her lips, brushing against my ear as she shudders beneath me.

  Fucking hell. I can't....

  Unable to hold back a second longer, I shift to slide inside her, each inch slow and fucking fantastic. Reaching up, I hold her hands in mine. "Shit," I pant into her pink hair. "I've never—"

  "Faster, Nash," she begs beneath me. Her blue eyes shine bright with an emotion I can't place.

  "Am I hurting you?" She's so damn tight. It’s fantastic for me, but hell it must hurt.

  Her hands shake out from under mine to grip each ass cheek, digging her fingers in and urging me deeper.

  Guess not.

  With each thrust, I savor the slick warmth, but if I keep this up, it’ll only take seconds before I'm spent, and I want this to last. Hell, every second with her I want to last. It's better, she's better, than I imagined, what I dreamed about all those days in the shower. It's different, sex without a condom and not having the leverage from the missing foot, but if anyone can improvise, it's me.

  Gripping her ass, I tilt her hips, giving me a better angle. The loud “Fuck” she yells as she trembles, fingers digging deeper into my flesh, negates all control. With a loud curse of my own, I fall, catching most of my weight with an elbow on the bed.

  Our loud, gasping breaths echo around the room as we smile at one another.

  The perfect moment shatters when a soft whimper comes from the edge of the bed. We lift our heads at the same time to see Dobby's head on the mattress, staring.

  "Kind of creepy, Dobby," I say as I rest my forehead against hers, still high from the best sex ever.

  "He needs to go out." She plants a quick kiss on my cheek and rolls me off her. The mattress dips as she pushes off and heads to the bathroom. Opening one eye, I watch as she walks back into the room naked, self-consciously fiddling with her hair as she pulls on the T-shirt and shorts I discarded last night.

  "I prefer the other way," I say with a smirk.

  Her brows knit together. "Huh?"

  "The clothes coming off, Pops. I prefer your clothes coming off, tossed on the floor, rather than them covering up that body of yours I'd like naked every minute of every day."

  With an unconvincing chuckle, she rushes out the door with Dobby on her heels.

  "Hell," I say to the ceiling as I stretch my arms over my head and my legs out wide along the mattress. A stab of pain bolts up my leg, making me wince. Pushing up, I start my morning massages to ease the stiffness. Normally these are the first things I do in the morning, but.... A happy smile fills my face at the more important things I had to do.

  I'm so lost replaying the morning’s events that I don't hear her come back into the room.

  "Does it hurt?"

  My smile falls when I look up and find her staring at where my shin and foot should be. I've dreamed about this, though hopefully this plays out better than those nightmares filled with her overall disappointment in me.

  "Only in the morning." Ignoring her wide-eyed stare, I flip the blanket to cover both legs. "Can you stop looking at me like that?" I nearly hiss. "I'm fine. Sorry if you’re disappointed to what you came back to. I had no damn choice. It wasn't my fucking choice."

  "Nash, I—"

  "I'm going to start breakfast." The sheets slide beneath my thighs as I rotate on the bed, tossing my foot to the floor. Fuck. I run a hand through my hair, making it fall like a curtain, shielding me from more of her disappointed stares.

  Behind me, the bed dips and freezing hands grip my shoulders. Pale pink hair cascades down my chest as she leans forward, placing her lips at my ear, she says, "If all the broken pieces of me, the hell storm that comes with being around me, is perfect to you, how can you not see the same in yourself?" She tugs me back to lie on her lap, and I stare up at her sweet face. Damn, how does she not see how gorgeous she is? "Don't you dare tell yourself that I'm looking at you differently." Steady, soft fingers trace the edges of my lips. "I'd never do that, but this, your leg, it's a reminder of your courage. How nothing was going to stand in your way to protect me."

  "But I didn't. Haven't you realized that yet, Pops? I sure fucking have. That night... you shouldn't have had to see that girl and those men abusing her. I didn't protect you from shit. To me, this injury is a reminder of how I fucking failed you. Every day I failed you."

  A smack across the face stings my left cheek. I turn with a hand on my assaulted skin and narrow my eyes at my assailant. "What the hell what that for?" I yell.

  "If I can't blame everything on myself, all this"—she waves her hands in the air like this shitty world is hers to be blamed for—"then you can't think you failed. That's my rule. My only rule. You didn't fail me. You didn't fail anyone. You saved me. Every night you saved me. Every joke, every question, every touch, you saved me. So don't you fucking dare think you did anything less."

  She's across the room, arms crossed over her chest and glaring before I can process it all.

  "Wh-what?" Bending down, I grab my shorts and prosthetic to slide both on. Situated, I stand and inch toward her, palms raised like I'm cornering an angry cat. "Why did you just get so pissed?"

  "I'm not pissed. I'm... proving a point. You can't have it both ways, Nash. You can't demand that I stop pitying myself when you're content with wallowing in your own. Is that what all the beer in the fridge is for?"

  Averting my eyes from her accusatory stare, I look to the clock on the nightstand. "We have an hour before the FBI gets here to start their debriefing. We should get ready."

  "What, no funny lines, no cocky answer? Come on, Nash, tell me."

  Falling to the bed, I stare at the ceiling. "Yeah, okay, is that what you want to hear? That while you were missing, I couldn't move on, so I drank myself into o
blivion every night. Most of all, I was pissed at myself for not saving you, protecting you. The drinking helped numb it all. Helped me get a few hours of sleep."

  "Why couldn't you sleep?"

  "You. Your crying, screams for help, sometimes even my own. Last night was the first decent night’s sleep I've had since I got on that plane to Africa five months ago."

  "You didn't fail me."

  Still unable to look, I keep my eyes trained on the ceiling as she curls up beside me. "Yeah well, Pops, we'll just have to agree to disagree on this one."

  Chapter 29

  Nash

  Today

  The floor creaks under my weight as I pace at the bottom of the stairs, stealing a glance up with each pass. Earlier, our difference of opinions ended in a stalemate, and now here I am having no idea where we stand. Worry churns the eggs and pancakes in my stomach, making me nauseous.

  Was it the revelation of my failures or the mind-blowing sex that caused the awkwardness? Either way we need to talk this shit out, get everything out on the table like Liza always says, because Pops slipping through my fingers due to me being a damn idiot isn’t an option.

  Damn, I want a drink. I take a long look at the fridge, my throat turning dry, but I push the urge away and go back to pacing the room. Damn, if she doesn't hurry in getting ready, we won't have time to work this out before the FBI gets here.

  Seconds later, the perimeter alarm beeps and the phone in my pocket vibrates.

  Fave Sis: You'll never guess what happened last night.

  Me: Mya finished the book Pops gave her?

  Fave Sis: No. By tonight, I'm sure. But not that.

  Fave Sis: My shit of an ex wired me the money. A LOT of money.

  Fave Sis: It's like all the missed child support payments plus some kind of stupid interest amount.

  Fave Sis: Crazy since we were just talking about him yesterday.

  Me: That is odd.

  The crunch of several cars arriving sounds through the open front door.

  Me: Gotta run. Work to do.

  Me: Love you.

  Fave Sis: Love you too. Hey, Mya wants to come back over to see Fate. When can we make that happen? She really liked her.

  Fave Sis: Prob her fabulous pink hair :)

  Me: Soon.

  Slapping the end of the phone against my open palm, I stare out the front door, failing to register movement on the stairs behind me.

  "You look like you're thinking hard. Something happen?" Pops asks, coming to stand beside me at the door.

  "Nah, just Liza." Finally looking up, my eyes widen. "Shit, Poppy."

  Why in the hell did she go and do this? She was enough of a gorgeous distraction without makeup on, but now she’s stunning. The dark stuff on her eyes and lips accentuates her fair skin and makes her freckles pop. And hell if I know how, but the pink hair stands out even more. As I stare at those perfectly full lips, my dick grows, responding with its own approval.

  "What?" She glances down to her Converses and shoves her fists into the pockets of her florescent blue hoodie. "I thought I'd try to look nice since it's an official thing. Do I... do I look bad?"

  I’m an idiot. Nice going, dipshit.

  "Hell, Pops, you look stunning." Blue eyes shoot to mine and a small smile pulls at the corner of her lips. "It's just... fuck, you're beautiful without all that stuff, but this, you right now, I don't want them to see you."

  "Possessive much?" she jokes.

  "With you, hell yes. Someone would be an idiot not to be. And I'm no idiot. You can check my records. I graduated top twenty of my class."

  "Were there only twenty in your graduating class?"

  My shoulders relax a fraction at our back-and-forth, the friction from earlier now nonexistent. "Maybe." I give her my best mischievous smirk that gets me out of, well, everything. Digging in my back pocket, I pull out a hairband and tie my hair back before stepping out to the porch. "They're here, by the way. You ready?"

  Before she answers, I turn to see who all’s arrived. The men stand around their black SUVs, shaking hands. Most I know, one I don't and...

  "The fuck?" Stomping down the steps, I storm toward the fucker who I've dreamed of killing with my bare hands. "No one said anything about him being here."

  Raider steps in my raging path but I shove him aside. Next Drake maneuvers between me and the fucker and grips my shoulders.

  I shoot Drake a seething glare and lunge forward.

  "He needs to be a part of the debrief," Drake grits out, still holding me back from the bloodshed I'm desperate for. "Stop with this bullshit. It happened. We move on."

  "He's not getting anywhere near her," I snarl. "This was not part of the deal. She's FBI, not CIA."

  Mac moves to the middle of the group, clearly confused as to why I'm acting like a rabid dog. "They were a part of the operation Fate signed up for. She asked them to help, not the other way around. What's your damn problem, Nash?"

  I search the group but everyone looks away, avoiding the conversation, except the king of bureaucratic assholes who's smirking with his hands tucked into the pockets of his ugly-as-hell suit.

  "How does he not know?" I say through gritted teeth to Drake, then push from his hold and storm back to the house. Before anyone can follow, I slam the door behind me and grab a wide-eyed Fate by the hand.

  Panting, I lean against the door of my bedroom and pull her to my chest, wrapping my arms around her back. Out in the living room, the pounding of shoes and boots against the hardwood signals they're not leaving until this is done.

  "Who is he?" she whispers against my chest. "Why don't you want me near him? Will he hurt me?" The tremble in her voice settles my boiling anger.

  Cupping her face, I force her to look up. "No one will hurt you while I'm here. Do you hear me?" She nods, but tears well in the corners of her eyes. I'm scaring the shit out of her. "That man is the reason we were left to rot as long as we were. He kept the guys from extracting me, both of us. It all could’ve ended the fucking day after I was captured, but that motherfucker—"

  Unable to finish, I pull her lips against mine, eager for the reassurance that she’s really here. We got out. We're here together, and this moment, us, is real.

  Desperation leaches from my lips to her as I flip us, her back now pressing against the door. I snake a hand into her pink hair to hold her in place as I attempt to transfer a fraction of her strength to me. Her teeth sink into my lower lip, shooting desire through my veins. With a groan of approval, I pin her hips to the wall with my own.

  Long, comforting strokes of her fingertips up and down my back calm the building fury to a manageable level. Hesitant to let reality settle around us, I pull back and rest my forehead against the door. "Sorry," I breathe. “I needed that. Needed you.”

  Gripping my knot of hair, she angles my face down to meet hers. The intenseness behind her eyes, a new kind of fire, glows brightly. "Well let's go meet him, shall we?" she says with a smile I could almost call sinister.

  I swipe her hand from the doorknob as I search her eyes. "You're kind of intense right now, Pops. It’s damn hot, but—"

  "It's fine. I'm fine." The smile she offers before pulling the door open is a mix of fury and hate.

  Ah hell, what did I unleash?

  There's no hesitation in her steps as we walk into the living room where Drake, Raider, Mac, FBI Idiot 2, and Sr. Bastard CIA Fucker wait. Scanning the room, she smiles at Mac, who looks to me wide-eyed. He must see it too. She's about to snap.

  "Fate." I take a step toward her, but the look she shoots back makes me retreat. No way in hell I'm stepping in to save that fucker’s life. She'll bury him in the grave he dug himself.

  Drake and Raider monitor her every move across the room, their hands casually shifting closer to their sidearms. Tension crackles in the awkward silence pulsing through the room as she meets everyone.

  Standing in front of Sr. Bastard CIA Fucker, her smile drops. "Have we met before?" she asks and ex
tends a hand.

  "The initial meeting, I was there," he says with a cocky smile. His gaze lowers to her shoes, then trails back up with a chuckle. What. The. Fuck. He’s dead. "Good to see the time in Africa didn't do too much damage. You're still as beautiful as you were that day."

  I’m mid-step to beat the shit out of the idiot when she slams her tiny fist into his balls.

  "You motherfucker," she screams and slams her knee into his face as he’s bent over, holding his ailing nuts. "You could’ve gotten him out. Piece of government shit."

  Before she can land another blow, he shoves her back. Blood flowing from his nose, he takes a step toward her, sending every other man in the room toward him.

  "Don't you fucking touch her," I growl, pulling a trembling Pops behind me.

  "Fucking bitch! It was all her idea. What happened over there, everything that happened over there, including your fucked-up op, is her damn fault."

  Over the pounding in my ears, Pops’s shocked, broken whimper floats through loud and clear. Pretty sure it's his cheekbone that sends the crack echoing through the living room and not my knuckles, but the idiot doesn't back down. Instead he balls his fists and takes a swing of his own.

  Eating breakfast, drinking, wallowing, and punching the shit out of that damn punching bag are all I've done for three months. No way this fucker can hang with me.

  Ducking his first blow, I shoot a big smile for him to see with his good eye, the other swollen shut. "Damn, man, you gotta be better than this. You're CIA. At least put some effort into it."

  At the next swing, I lean to the side, which causes him to stumble at the force of his missed blow.

  "Enough," Drake shouts, stepping between us. "Snowflake, you got your hit and your girl got hers." He leans to the side to wink at Fate. "Remind me to never piss you off."

  "Don't leave him in the fucking jungle next time and I think you'll be fine."

  He muffles a coughing laugh behind a fist against his lips. "Never a dull moment with you, Snowflake." Turning back to the bloody mess of Sr. Bastard CIA Fucker, his lips curl in a sneer. "Get yourself cleaned up and let's get this shit done. You’ll stand in the corner to listen only. If you say one damn word"—he angles his head to Fate and smiles—"I'll let her have another go at you."