Claimed by Him (New Pleasures Book 1)

by M. S. Parker

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I doubted I’d ever want to tell him what had happened in any more detail than I just had. I liked him, I really did, but it wasn’t going to happen.

  So I gave him the one thing I could.

  Me.

  I crashed my mouth into his, my teeth bruising against my lips. I felt his surprise for a moment, and then he reacted the way he always had when we came together like this.

  He palmed my ass, pulling me tighter against him. I pulled at his shirt, eager to feel his skin, to lose myself in him the way I had before. There’d probably end up being fallout when we were done, but right now, I didn’t care. I hadn’t let myself admit how much I’d missed him until now. We’d only slept together those couple months while we were in Virginia, but he’d been in and out of my life for years. Not enough to be a constant, but definitely enough for me to be able to count on him.

  His mouth made its way down my jaw, his teeth scraping against my skin. His fingers moved across the skin at the top of my jeans before sliding under my shirt, fingers skimming the sliver of revealed flesh there. I thought for a moment that I’d have to remind him that the shirt stayed on, but then he turned me around and pulled me back against him. His cock was hard against my ass, and when he kissed the spot under my ear, a shiver ran through me.

  I closed my eyes, letting my head fall to the side as he kissed his way down my neck. One arm stayed around my waist while he shoved his free hand down the front of my pants. I let out a yelp that turned into a whimper as his fingers plunged between my folds. I was barely damp, and the extra friction took my breath away. I gasped and squirmed, but he held me tight, forcing me toward climax with rough, abrupt strokes.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I panted, reaching behind me to grab at his leg. “Clay…”

  His name ended in a cry as painful pleasure burst inside me, sending electricity racing across my nerves.

  “There’s one,” he said with a smug smile. “Point the way to your bedroom, and we’ll see how many more we can get.”

  The answer turned out to be two more, for a total of three. I had to admit, there was something to be said for not being on a timetable.

  “You’ve got a nice ceiling.”

  I turned to look at Clay. “What?”

  “Your ceiling.” He pointed. “It’s nice.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That is possibly the weirdest post-coital comment I’ve ever heard.”

  He reached over and pulled me to his side. It felt strange for a moment since we’d never really…cuddled before, but then the familiar scent and feel of him registered and I relaxed again.

  “Would you prefer to talk about what happened? About why you never take your shirt off when we’re together?” Clay’s voice was strangely gentle. “There are a lot of other things we could talk about, but I meant what I said, Rona. I’m not going to push. I just don’t want you to kick me out of bed right away.”

  I didn’t look at him, but I shifted so that I could trace patterns on his bare chest. I had to make conversation, get his thoughts off what I was hiding. It shouldn’t have been hard. It wasn’t like Clay and I hadn’t talked before. Even back at Quantico, after we’d started sleeping together, it hadn’t been difficult to talk to him.

  “Mind if I ask what you’ve been doing since I last saw you?” Asking him about himself seemed like a good way to steer the conversation.

  “I finished up my lecture series,” he said, “and then I asked to be assigned somewhere as a field agent.”

  “Really?” I was genuinely surprised. “I thought you loved teaching.”

  He shrugged. “I did, and I might enjoy it again, but I wanted a change.”

  “To field work?”

  “Working as a profiler isn’t exactly the same as starting off as a junior agent,” he pointed out. “Though I’m going the ‘pair up and investigate’ route rather than the ‘sit in the office’ route.”

  “You didn’t get in any trouble over me, did you?”

  He looked at me now, his fingers playing with the sleeve of my shirt. “No.” His eyes widened. “Please tell me that wasn’t why you left.”

  I shook my head. “As far as I know, they have no idea we were…you know.”

  He chuckled and kissed the top of my head. “Haven’t you ever heard that if you can’t say it, you shouldn’t do it?”

  I rolled my eyes, but I secretly enjoyed the fact that he was teasing me. It made the fact that we were laying here together seem less intense.

  “Anyway, it took a while for things to go through since it’s more of a specialized position, but I’ve been officially assigned to the Denver office for the past two weeks.”

  Denver. That was only a couple hours away.

  “Did you request Denver?”

  “No.” He looked down at me again, expression serious once more. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the fact that you’re not far away.”

  “Is that how you knew where I was?” I asked, keeping my tone light. “Inappropriate use of agency resources?” His cheeks turned red, and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. “Really, Clay?”

  “That’s not exactly how it was,” he said. “The agency generally monitors trainees who have left the program, especially ones who…” The sentence trailed off, and he looked away.

  “Who got kicked out,” I finished for him.

  He nodded. “All I did was ask Alphonso to keep me in the loop if your name popped up. He called me back at the beginning of last month to say that you’d applied for a PI license here in Fort Collins.”

  If Clay had just been some random hook up, it would’ve been creepy. Hell, if he’d been someone I’d been in a relationship with for two months, it would’ve been creepy. But after Anton died, he’d looked out for me. It was a completely Clay thing to do.

  It could’ve been more than that, but I wasn’t about to venture down that rabbit hole. I stuck with what was safe.

  “How’s work going?”

  “Great,” he said brightly. “I’ve been partnered with Raymond Matthews. He’s a great agent, responsible for taking down dozens of child pornography and human trafficking rings in the past few years.”

  The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. I filed it away to check in the future and focused my attention back on Clay and the new problem I’d just realized.

  No timetable meant no specific time he had to leave. I’d never had to think about how to ask a guy to leave before. Most of them couldn’t wait to get away after we were finished, as if they were afraid I’d read more into it than sex. Or I’d been the one to leave before things became awkward.

  I’d enjoyed the sex, and I was glad to see Clay again, but now I was wondering if it was such a good idea, making him think that we were going to pick up where we left off in Virginia. Or that we had something to pick up other than casual sex.

  “I’ve got to head back,” he said with a sigh.

  “I understand.” I tried not to sound too pleased with his statement. I really didn’t want to risk my friendship with him, which meant I needed to figure out how to handle things before we did this again.

  If we did this again.

  Eight

  I needed to talk to Clay about where things between us stood, but it slipped to the back of my mind the next day as I took a trip to the Department of Child and Family Services. As a PI, I didn’t have access to the sorts of warrants that I needed to get official information, but being a PI also meant that I didn’t need to worry about making things follow the chain of evidence or be available for trial or anything like that. I needed leads, ideas, guidance. A paper trail would be nice, but it wasn’t necessary.

  Jenna nodded when I explained all of that to her, though I was sure she already knew it. She’d dealt enough with the legal system to understand the difference between what was true and what was legally usable.

  “Did you do some breaking and entering?” She was smiling like it was all
some joke, but I could see the flutter of anxiety in her eyes.

  She was masking, and we both knew it, but I wasn’t going to call her on it. I did my fair share of deflection and hiding, and knowing what little I did about her past, I didn’t blame her a bit.

  “I did not,” I said with a smile. “But I did bring expensive coffee and donuts, which made a few people quite chatty. I can be charming when I want to be.”

  “I’m sure you can.” She didn’t look like she believed it for a moment. “Did it work, the donuts and coffee?”

  “It did.” I lifted a shoulder. “To some extent anyway.”

  “To some extent?”

  I opened my notebook so I didn’t get anything wrong and began with what I’d learned today.

  “The woman known as Marcy Wakefield was what one caseworker called a ‘frequent flyer.’ Apparently, she liked telling people how she ‘helped’ couples who couldn’t have kids, but any time they tried to get information from her about where those couples were, she blew them off.”

  “She told them she helped–” Jenna shut her mouth, pressing her lips together in a flat line. She gestured for me to go on.

  “Are you sure you want to hear this?” I asked.

  She nodded, her expression tight.

  I continued, “Because they couldn’t ever find anything under Marcy Wakefield, some of them thought she was lying to get attention, but a few others thought that she’d had kids under a different name. With this identity, she voluntarily gave up three children. One girl and twin boys. No one remembered exact ages, but their best guess was that the boys should be around ten or so. They don’t have any record of a stillborn, but that wouldn’t be something they’d keep track of anyway.”

  “Why was she allowed to keep having kids?” Jenna shoved back from the table. As she paced, she kept talking, but I got the impression that she wasn’t actually talking to me, but to herself. “I get the point of her body, her choice, but where’s the line? When does it become about the kids’ lives?” She looked at me, her pale eyes glittering with angry tears. “She had so many kids before she had me. It was all about protecting her rights, but what about mine? Who was looking out for me?”

  I wasn’t much of a hugger, and offering comfort wasn’t one of my strengths, but I’d known enough injustice in my life to understand at least a fraction of what she was feeling right now. I stood and went over to her. I didn’t feel comfortable hugging her – and I got the impression that she wouldn’t have accepted a hug anyway – but I grabbed her hand and squeezed it. The fact that she let me hold it told me that she’d needed it more than she wanted to admit.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, held it, then let out the air just as slowly. I waited in silence as she did it a half-dozen times and then opened her eyes.

  “Sorry about that,” she said, releasing my hand. “I thought I’d prepared myself for all the shit this was going to stir up, but I’d only been focusing on my anger at her. I didn’t consider how angry I’d be at the system for letting it happen.”

  I knew some people might’ve argued that the system hadn’t let it happen since it had intervened after obtaining the needed evidence, but I got what she meant. There was no such thing as a perfect justice system, and sometimes, it failed epically. Protecting the rights of individuals was important, but in this case, protecting one woman’s rights had given her a victim to abuse for thirteen years.

  “We don’t have to keep going,” I said. “I can do some more work and pick up from here the next time. Give you a chance to prepare.”

  She shook her head. “No, I want to know everything you have. I won’t say I’m okay, but I can handle it.”

  “All right.”

  We went back to our seats, and I found my place in my notes again.

  “Theresa, the social worker who gave me the most information, hadn’t actually worked on either of the cases. Her mentor, however, had dealt with the first case, so when the twins came in, the mentor had handled that case too, then debriefed with Theresa.”

  I’d actually been surprised at how willing to share Theresa had been, but I’d gotten the impression that more than a decade of dealing with some truly awful people had left her cynical and jaded. I knew not everyone who had Child Services involved in their lives was a criminal or abuser, but I was sure the negatives far outweighed the positives in this particular job.

  “Obviously, she couldn’t give me names, but she did say that the girl had been born when your moth…” I mentally cursed myself. “When Marcy / Helen… shit, how do people with multiple aliases deal with different names all the time?”

  “Go ahead and call her Helen,” Jenna said. “Or Marcy. It doesn’t matter which name you use.”

  I nodded, understanding what Jenna wasn’t saying. The name didn’t matter, but she didn’t want me referring to Helen as her mother. Not right now anyway. I couldn’t blame her for that. I knew what it was like to not want to claim blood relations.

  “Helen was pregnant when she was arrested in Florida. Part of her witness protection deal was that she would sign the baby over to the state to be adopted. The Marshal service told her that it would be easier for her to settle into her new life that way, but that if no one adopted the baby in a year, they could talk about returning the child to her. Only a few days after she was born, the couple who’d taken her as a foster child applied to adopt her.”

  “Did they? Adopt her, I mean? I know sometimes people think they want a kid, but then the kid’s too much to handle.”

  Although she didn’t say it, I got the impression that she was speaking from experience. She’d been thirteen or so when she’d been put into the system, which was the same age I’d been when I’d gone to live with Anton. The social worker who’d come to talk to me and him had gone over some statistics when she thought I hadn’t been listening. I couldn’t remember the exact numbers, but the point she’d made was that babies got adopted, toddlers got adopted, but the older a kid became, the less likely their chances of finding a permanent home. A teenager like me…if Anton hadn’t wanted to take me in, the likelihood that I would’ve been in and out of homes until I aged out was high.

  “They did,” I said. “She couldn’t give details, but from what Theresa did tell me, they’re a great family.”

  Jenna didn’t try to hide the relief on her face. “And the boys?”

  “They were with Helen for less than a year when she decided it was too much work. She’d considered keeping one and handing over the other, but the Marshal talked her into signing over both. They were in the system for less than a month before a family adopted both of them.”

  “They were kept together.” Jenna’s shoulders slumped a bit more, like another weight had been taken away.

  “The last home visit went well,” I added. “From everything Theresa told me, the three kids Helen had while in witness protection weren’t abused or even neglected.”

  Jenna leaned forward and folded her arms on the table. She rested her head on them, face down so I couldn’t see her expression. She didn’t seem to be crying, but I didn’t say anything. I was sure it was a lot to take in.

  After a couple minutes of silence, she straightened. “Is that all?”

  I shook my head. “There was one more thing. After Helen signed over the twins, the Marshal assigned to her came into Child and Family Services to speak with a supervisor. Theresa didn’t know exactly what was said, but the gossip around the office was that he’d been asking about the possibility of petitioning the court to keep Helen from having any other children.”

  Jenna’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  “It’s speculation,” I reminded her. “But that is a distinct possibility.”

  I didn’t add that if it was true, I was going to look into Helen’s last pregnancy. My gut told me that if she knew she wouldn’t be able to have any more kids, she could’ve been spiteful enough to have done something to the baby, especially since it was only three years later t
hat she’d been arrested here in Fort Collins, when she went back to her old habits.

  “That’s a lot to take in,” Jenna said, leaning back in her chair. “I’d known this wasn’t going to be easy, but…” She shook her head. “Thank you.”

  “I’m just getting started,” I promised her. “Unless you think it’s too much.”

  “No,” she said. “This is good. Knowing.”

  I put my notebook back into my purse and stood up. It wasn’t even noon yet, but that was everything I had so far.

  “Would you mind staying for a bit?” she asked. “I’m not quite ready to process everything on my own. Could we talk for a little while? Nothing heavy or important. Just stuff.”

  I probably wouldn’t have done it for a random client, but I had a feeling that Jenna and I had already started venturing past client / PI territory and into friendship. I didn’t have many friends, and certainly not women. She was someone I both liked and admired, someone I wanted to get to know better.

  “Sure,” I said, taking my seat again. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know,” she said with a laugh. “Something. Anything. Tell me something about yourself. Where are you from? Are you seeing someone? Did you do anything fun this week?”

  I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head, “I saw an old friend a couple days ago.”

  “Oh?” She raised an eyebrow.

  She was interested, but I could still see that shadow in her eyes. I understood the need for distraction instead of discussion, so I continued without any real prompting on her part.

  “His name’s Clay Kurth. He was a friend of my uncle’s.” The thought of Anton sent a familiar pang through me, but I didn’t dwell on it. “He’s kept an eye on me on and off over the years, but I haven’t seen him in months. He works for the FBI and was just transferred to Denver.”

  “A friend of your uncle’s, who works for the FBI stopped by out of the clear blue in the middle of the week.” Jenna got up and went over to the fridge. “And that’s the first thing about this week that you thought to tell me? I’m no PI, but there’s got to be more to the story than that.”