by M. S. Parker
I followed her gaze. “Want me to stop?”
“No. Why else do you think I locked it?”
“You really do want to drive me crazy.” I continued on my mission of getting her naked, and once I had that slip of material off, I tucked them into my pocket. She remained where she was, half lounging against the desk, her dress pushed up over her hips, wearing a pair of sexy heels while her hair spilled into her face and eyes.
Leaning in, I nuzzled the neat thatch of curls between her thighs, then licked her.
O moaned, her head falling back.
I did it again, grabbing one thigh and pushing her legs open so I could taste her more completely.
She whimpered and rocked closer, hampered by her angle, the desk.
I boosted her up to sit on the edge, and she gasped.
Shooting her a look, I asked, “We okay?”
“The desk…granite. It’s cold.” Her eyes were hooded, smoky with hunger, hidden with…other things.
“You won’t be cold for long,” I said softly.
Then I began to feast on her like she was a banquet and I’d been denied way too long.
She muffled her moans behind her hands, and when I knew she was about ready to come, I lifted up and braced myself over her. “You got a condom?”
O shook her head, her hands coming down to rest on my chest a moment before starting to slide in a southerly direction. “But we don’t need it…unless you’ve been misbehaving since your discharge. I…” She touched her tongue to her upper lip then shrugged. “I started taking the pill about a month ago.”
“That a fact?”
She nodded. “Everything else is fine too. Are you?”
I spread my hand out over her throat, used my thumb to tilt her chin up. “There’s a hell of a lot of reasons we should use a rubber, aside from the obvious. But I don’t give a damn. Take me out. I want to feel your hands on my cock.”
O’s gaze went hotter, sultrier, and if heat alone could do a man in, I would have come all over her in that moment.
She took her time, dragging my zipper down before sliding her hand inside my pants, closing her fingers around me, stroking down. Teasing, taunting little moves that had me driving into her hand, and she responded by twisting her wrist when the head nearly left her grip. It was erotic and intoxicating, and if we’d been someplace else, anyplace else, I might have stripped her naked, straddled her and had her stroke me until I came, then stroke me hard again so I could make her come.
But we weren’t in a good place for all of that, so I shifted around and caught her wrist, dragging it up over her head. “You keep that up, and you won’t be able to leave this office without looking like you’ve been anything but good and fucked.”
Her mouth parted and her eyes went dark. “Maybe I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Don’t tempt me, O.” I bit her lower lip and thrust into her, hard and fast.
She cried out, the sound smothered against my mouth.
I swallowed it down as I drove into her, shifting high on her body so each drag of my hips had me riding against her clit. A subtle flush appeared along the neckline of her dress and rose higher, along her throat then her cheeks.
She jerked against my hold, even as her body pushed against mine.
A battle – the best damn kind.
Catching her other hand, I stared into her eyes as I pinned her down, looking for some sign I should let go. There was no letting go. Instead, O just reared up from the desk and sank her teeth into the pad of muscle along my shoulder.
Control threatened to shatter, then break.
Her pussy gripped me, milked me with each thrust and I thought I just might die, she felt so good.
When she finally started to come, I buried my face in her hair and released her wrists, wrapping my arms around her torso, half lifting her from the desk in an effort to get even closer.
She moaned my name.
Just as my cock pulsed inside her snug cunt, I heard it.
My name on her lips, a low, sweet moan.
“Adam…”
7
Reaper
The restaurant was a pretty little place across the river.
We’d taken the walking bridge and had already been seated for several minutes when the man finally approached.
I sat with my back to the wall so I could see him coming. I pretended otherwise, feigning an interest in a menu, although the minute I looked up from it, I had absolutely no idea just what I’d been reading. It could have been offering dead cat brains and rotgut for all I knew.
James Clarion kissed O on the cheek after she’d risen to greet him then insisted that she seat herself before he took his own chair.
That was the chair directly across from mine.
It was a small, three-seater table, and I wondered briefly if O had requested one of the chairs be removed so we’d all be seated at an equal distance from each other.
Now, sitting there staring at James Clarion, I tried to figure out what to think, what to feel.
I knew a little more about him now. His name had rung a bell – or twenty – and it would have taken more willpower than I had to resist digging around to see what I could find.
And I had to wonder…just how distant had he really been from my life?
There had always been enough in my life. When Mom’s car broke down, she had the money to fix it. If I was playing ball, I had the money for the equipment I needed. Then I started receiving offers from schools I’d known we’d never be able to afford – except Mom had told me if I wanted to go, she’d make it happen.
I’d chosen the military instead, but she’d assured me whatever choice I made, college or any other road, money wouldn’t be a concern. And I’d had a nice truck for a graduation present. It wasn’t a flashy supercar or anything, just a reliable truck that had gotten me from point a to point b – and when I was done training and shipped off to my first base, it had gone with me.
“You gave my mother money to help raise me, didn’t you?”
James Clarion was one of the richest men in America, and he had one hell of a poker face. As he returned my level stare, I couldn’t tell if I’d surprised him or not. After a brief pause, he inclined his head. “Yes. You are my son, after all.”
I’d gone my entire life without a father, and I hadn’t even really resented that fact. My mom had been enough – had always done her best to be enough. Now, sitting across from the man who’d apparently loved her, I tried to figure out what to say next.
I stared at him, hard. I found it more than a little disconcerting to know that I looked like him. Or at least I would in another thirty years. We shared the same dark eyes. His hair was mostly steel gray, but it was mixed in dark brown or black. My hair. His was longer than mine. After so many years in the Navy, it felt weird to let mine grow out, so while mine was just a little longer than what military regulations deemed acceptable, his brushed his collar.
My mother had been average height, five foot five, fair, and what she liked to call plump. She was a cute and curvy thing when she’d been younger. I’d seen pictures, and I could even remember guys flirting with her, although I’d been too young to know what flirting was.
I was tall, right at six-three, and judging by the way James Clarion looked now, I knew where I’d gotten my build from.
He had an austerity to him that should have seemed foreign, but it wasn’t. I held myself like that. Maybe not with quite the same…class. He had this weird sort of reserved dignity to him, and now I found myself wondering how Mom had even met this guy.
“Why weren’t you ever in my life?”
James lowered his gaze then closed his eyes. He seemed to slump, become older, more frail. It lasted for all of ten seconds before he looked back at me. “It was your mother’s wish. I had to honor it.”
“Had.” I snorted and looked away. “You didn’t have to do shit.”
“I did. You see…I loved your mother.” His voice softened.
“She was the love of my life. There were so many things I couldn’t give her, but…I could give her that. I could respect her wishes.”
“Why would she not want me to know my own father?”
“I can’t claim to understand why she wanted it that way, Adam.” He rested his hands on the table and started to say more, only to pause when the server approached.
I lapsed into brooding silence, tersely giving the server my order and waiting for the others to finish. They were in a chatty mood, and it took a few minutes for the young woman to move along. I was ready to chew nails by the time we were alone again.
Silence stretched out, and I was about ready to shatter it – with a fist if necessary – when a voice broke it. But it wasn’t James.
“It’s possible she was too embarrassed, Reaper,” O said. “Either that or she feared it would be too confusing for you when you were younger. Then as you got older…?”
I looked at her skeptically.
She lifted a hand. “I didn’t know your mother. But if I’d had an affair with a married man, even if he was planning to divorce his wife, I’d be embarrassed. I’d hide it. If there was a baby…? I can’t even imagine. Maybe she planned on explaining when you got older, but it just became harder and harder. It was one big lie, and it kept snowballing.”
Now something entirely different tightened inside me – confusion. Doubt. My mother wouldn’t have done that, would she?
8
Reaper
“We met at a bar.”
After O’s possible explanation, we’d had an unspoken agreement to move into safer territory for a while. But once we’d finished eating, I’d finally asked the question that had been burning in my mind. How they had met each other.
He didn’t look surprised at my derisive look either.
In fact, he smiled.
“Laugh if you want, but it’s how we met. That was a difficult time for my wife and me.” Now he looked away, and for a few moments, he said nothing. When he did look back at me, some of the cool façade looked a little fractured. “I have no desire to make excuses or rationalize what happened between your mother and me. I can’t even say I regret it or that it was a lapse in judgment. It resulted in you, and neither your mother nor I regretted that for a moment.”
I clenched my jaw and looked away.
“What I do regret is that my actions caused my wife pain.”
“Should have thought of that before you tomcatted around on somebody with a terminal illness,” I snapped.
“We didn’t know.”
Whipping my head around, I looked at him, then at O.
O was sipping from her glass of wine, and I tried to think. What had she told me that day? Had she told me that part?
James continued. “Elise had been having certain symptoms, mind you. Mood swings. Some forgetfulness. But most of it could be written to…” He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his face.
“To her being Elise,” O said with caustic humor, lifting her wine glass in toast. “Long live the queen.”
“To the queen,” James echoed, lifting his water glass. He cracked a smile. “And yes, it could be attributed to her being Elise.”
James looked over at me. “Elise would be the first to tell you that she isn’t always the easiest person to be around. She can be temperamental, to say the least. Before she was first diagnosed, the mood swings and depression were…awful. They were the source of many of our fights. Then our son died and...”
He shook his head and cleared his throat, coughing into his napkin. He took a long drink of his water before going on. “Things grew worse. I encouraged her to get help, to see a doctor. Finally, we separated. During that separation, she did go to the doctor – several of them. You see, early on, she was still herself. It wasn’t until some of the early physical symptoms kicked in that anybody realized there was a problem.”
He gave me a tired smile.
“There was little family history to go by. Elise’s father was killed in WWII, and her mother died when she was very young. Both Elise and her sister were raised by a distant cousin. Whether or not there was a family history, nobody knows.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were out of my mouth before I knew I was going to say them. James nodded and seemed to age another few years as he sat in front of me. Finally, he went on.
“We were considering divorce when I met your mother. Both of us were seeing other people, although none of the relationships Elise had were serious. Had life not been so cruel, Elise and I would have likely divorced and I would have asked your mother to marry me.”
I cleared my throat, still unsure what to think or feel. “I get the sob story. It was a lousy deal all around.”
“I would have given a great deal to be able to know you growing up,” he murmured.
“Oh, please.” I didn’t even feel bitter as I said it. I was almost thirty and had long since come to grips with life as I knew it – at least up until I fucked myself over. The fact that I hadn’t known my father hadn’t scarred me irreparably. Seeing how some of the kids I’d known had dads who weren’t worth two shits put together? Sometimes I felt like I was the lucky one because my mom had been amazing. I’d made peace with how things were.
Leaning forward, I braced my elbows on the table and met James Clarion’s eyes with my own, trying not to think about how alike they were. “Here’s the thing. At some point, I probably would have given a great deal to have known you. But that time has come and gone. I don’t need a dad to be there at my graduation, to help me fix a car, or stand out there when I’m getting back home from leave. I don’t need you.”
I stood.
“Perhaps I’m the one who needs you.”
I went still. For a few seconds, I let that turn over in my head, then I said, “Maybe you should have thought about that before you ignored me the past three decades. Relax, Mr. Clarion. You’ve got Ms. Darling here, and she seems very loyal. I imagine she’ll be happy enough to stay by your side for the next twenty or thirty years, or however you–”
“The doctors have given me three months.”
I didn’t quite make it to the door before those words penetrated.
I almost stumbled.
Nearly tripping over my oversized feet, I turned and stared at Clarion from across the room.
He was studying me with calm eyes.
O was staring down at her lap, twisting her napkin around her fingers again and again. As I watched, she took a deep, bracing breath and her shoulders hitched twice before she calmed herself.
Finally, she lifted her head and met my eyes, and I saw the truth of his words echoed in hers.
“What do you have?” I asked, surprised at how easy it was to ask. “Cancer?”
“Yes. Pancreatic. It’s…virulent. And I prefer not to spend my final months fighting the inevitable. I want to enjoy what little time I have left. I want to spend it with my wife, with O.” He inclined his head, and I heard the unspoken words in his voice. With my son.
“Why the hell are you telling me this now?” I demanded roughly. “You had years to come to me and tell me who you are. You could have done it. Just you. Mom didn’t have to know.”
“I…” He took a deep breath then and finally looked away. “I don’t know. I have no answer for that, save for the fact that I was afraid.”
9
Olivia
He was in the backyard again, trimming his mother’s roses.
Dirt streaked his forearms, sweat streaked his face, and rage permeated his very being.
I waited there, leaning against the fence. He knew I was there, but he was either ignoring me or just too pissed off to talk.
Finally, he hurled down the long, wicked blade he was using to trim back the pale pink blossoms and turned to face me, hands on his hips. “What?” he demanded, chin up, tone belligerent.
“He’s a good man, Adam,” I said softly.
“I don’t care if he’s a good man. I just want to be left alone.” H
is jaw was tight, his dark eyes shut down. But the misery in him beat at me.
Shoving away from the fence post, I moved toward him. His lids flickered, eyes dropping down to run across my body. I felt the warmth of that look as though he’d reached out and touched me. I wished he had, hoped he would.
“I think he’s left you alone long enough.” Lifting both of my hands, I placed them on his chest, felt the ragged beat of his heart against my palms. “But he’s not why I came here.”
Reaper reached up and caught my wrists, holding them still. “Careful. I’m not feeling very nice right now.”
The heat in his words set my heart to racing. “Promise?”
A low snarl escaped him, and he jerked me close.
He didn’t kiss me though. His mouth was a breath from mine, and I could smell the earth and sweat on him, and faintly…roses. It shouldn’t smell so intoxicating on a man, but it did. It filled my head in a rush and made me want to bite him.
Would I ever smell roses again without filling this insane rush of lust?
“You should go now,” he told me. “Before you do something that really pushes me over.”
I eased in closer, flicked my tongue over his lower lip. “And just what would really push you over?”
His fingers tightened on my wrists.
“O…”
“Adam.” I kissed him this time, a light teasing brush of my mouth over his. I wanted to touch him, but he still held my wrists in a tight grip, and I couldn’t get away. “What happens if I pushed you over?”
He let go of both wrists and in a split second, he had them jammed into my hair, and my head was cranked back.
“This.”
I didn’t even have time to brace myself before his lips crashed into mine. The world faded away into a blur, things turning into white noise and red-hot heat. Vaguely, I recall him lifting me and telling me to hold on.