by Jory Strong
Ella touched the note still in her pocket. If not for her father's message, she'd have balled it up instead of saving it as a treasure.
I hope you are well. You are sorely missed.
But she couldn't say with certainty that what he missed was her, and not usefulness.
Her throat tightened at remembering the joy she'd felt when Josiah asked her to tend the prisoner after seeing her value in the marketplace. Her eyes stung.
She glanced at the stack of books, and here she was, again trying to make herself valuable when making herself valuable to her parents had never gained her the love she craved, the love she was worthy of without having to prove that worth.
This was her home now. This was her life now. Finding a strength she hadn't known she possessed, she looked at her sister and said, "They won't open the gates for you tonight. But tomorrow you'll find somewhere else in the warrens to stay or you'll return to the city."
"Fine!" Victoria said and stormed from the room.
* * * * *
Chapter 21
Josiah emerged from the maze with the Victorian in front of him. He'd taken pride in the house from the very beginning. But what he'd felt each time he'd come home was the resettling of responsibility, away from his soldiers and the warren, and on to his obligations as the man of the house.
The weight of that responsibility had grown with Jacob's arrival. But it wasn't responsibility that weighted him down as thoughts of his wife hurried his steps. It was the possibility that Ella would cringe away from his touch.
He found her in the family room, and the cock that hadn't done more than stir in the presence of so many willing whores filled in a rush of heated blood. Dios, he wanted her. Her soft body and softer heart were a refuge, a place where gritty reality fell away along with responsibility, leaving only pleasure.
Mierda. He sounded like a man in love with his wife—a wife who might still betray him.
She sat with Makayla and Jacob on the floor, books scattered around them and Blaine lounging on the couch.
Blaine set the book he'd been looking at on the coffee table. It had a picture of a group of men celebrating a soccer victory.
"I'm out of here," he said. It had been years since he'd called the room the prisoner was in his.
He left and Jacob said, "Papa, I've got a book about trains."
Josiah's heart swelled. Eventually the boy would stop calling him Papa. Pride and independence would drive him to substitute Warlord for that name. But he hoped Jacob never stopped thinking of him as his father.
Joining them, Josiah crouched between his wife and son. He ruffled Jacob's hair. "You can show me your book as soon as I say hello to your mama."
He cupped Ella's chin, his heart easing when she didn't flinch or pull away. He tilted her head, eyes holding hers as his mouth descended.
Her lips didn't immediately part though she didn't firm her jaw or clench her teeth. And when his tongue swept into her mouth, hers didn't offer an immediate greeting.
It was enough resistance to communicate that she remembered the argument in the patient's room, to convey that he'd hurt her with his refusal to say he'd be faithful after requiring it of her.
Mierda! From the instant he'd pulled the scarf aside and discovered she was his bride, she'd twisted him up inside.
His hand slid into her hair, fisted on the silky strands of rich brown. His tongue thrust more aggressively against hers, demanding a response.
She yielded, her hand rising to press against his chest, as if by measuring the strength of his heartbeats she could determine what he felt for her, or as if she knew that her touch there would send more blood pounding into his cock.
Taking a wife wasn't supposed to have led to this. He replayed images of her clothes falling away, baring smooth, soft skin and beautiful feminine curves, relived the feel of his hands sweeping over those curves, the heated want in her eyes as he lay on top of her, pushed into her unprotected.
Even now she could be pregnant with his child. The thought should shrivel his dick, have him cursing his carelessness.
It didn't.
What I've claimed belongs to me.
They were tame words compared to what he felt.
He ended the kiss, stared into his wife's eyes. "You make it difficult to keep my promise."
"Now, Papa? Can I show you my book now?"
"Let's sit on the couch."
Once there, Jacob flipped slowly through the book, showing him pictures of trains and becoming excited when he learned there was a railway nearby, cutting through his and Jax's territory.
"Will you take me to see a train?"
"Yes."
"When will another come through?"
"I don't know."
"Even the elite don't know the train schedules," Ella said, still cleaning the books she valued.
Jacob looked up from his book. "Because they're afraid Papa or Jax will find out?"
"Yes," she said. "They're afraid of being held up and robbed."
"Have you ever robbed the train, Papa?"
"No, mijo."
Jacob's chest puffed out. "When I grow up, we can rob a train together."
"There are less dangerous ways to rob the elite of the city."
"How?"
"By cheating them out of taxes and cutting into their profits."
Jacob's face scrunched. "That doesn't sound as good as robbing a train."
"When you get older, you might change your mind."
"I don't think so, Papa."
He laughed and ruffled the boy's hair, though inside a sliver of icy fear pierced his chest, that his son would one day try what Diego had dared on his way to becoming a much feared warlord—robbing a train.
Makayla and Ella began putting the books on the coffee table, arranging them in various stacks. Still angry at his sister, he hadn't acknowledged her since entering the family room. But seeing her helping Ella, an easiness between them that said Ella had forgiven Makayla, his anger diminished.
He still needed to deal with her. There had to be consequences but he found that he didn't want to interrupt his time with Ella and Jacob. "Our discussion can wait until tomorrow," he told her.
Makayla nodded, gathered up the supplies, folded the cloths the books had been on and left the room.
Ella joined him on the couch, sitting so Jacob was between them, eyes shining at having the attention of both his parents. "Mama and Makayla and I want to make a library with some of the books in the stronghold. People could come and look at the books. And sometimes Mama would read to other kids."
Josiah glanced at Ella and didn't want to believe this was some ploy to open the stronghold to enemies. "Where would this library be?"
"Somewhere close to the marketplace would be best. Even a small room rented from a shopkeeper would do at first."
Relieved at having more evidence she could be trusted, he said, "If this is a project that interests you, mami, you have my permission to pursue it. It will take you some time to go through the books, yes?"
"Yes. And I've got the patient to tend to."
"When the time comes to look for a place for this library, we'll look together."
Her eyes lit up as they had when he'd first asked her to tend to the prisoner, as if he'd given her gold coins and jewels. "I'd like that," she said.
Jacob flipped back to the beginning of the train book. When he reached a page with writing on it, his small finger went to the first word. "Listen to this, Papa." He licked his lips, moved his finger as he read, "Trains changed the world."
Josiah's chest swelled with pride, only to fill with a sense of failure and regret when Jacob glanced up at him and said, "You read the rest of it, Papa."
"Let your mama do it."
Ella read through the book two times, pausing in places and encouraging Jacob to read the words he recognized and sound out a few new ones.
On the third pass, Jacob lost his battle to remain awake.
"I think it's time t
o put him to bed," Ella said, closing the book.
Josiah stood and lifted the boy, cradling him in his arms.
"I'll be up after I've taken Enzo out," she said.
He carried Jacob up to his bedroom and stripped him out of his clothing.
A few minutes later, Ella came in, carrying the book.
Enzo jumped onto the bed, spun until finding the perfect place then dropped to the mattress, his eyes focused on Jacob's face.
Ella laid the book on the dresser, opened a drawer and retrieved sleeping pants. They slipped the pants on Jacob and tucked him in.
She placed a kiss on the boy's forehead. Josiah did the same, took her hand and led her to their bedroom.
"Alone at last," he said, and was rewarded by the flash of heat in her eyes, the small shiver of desire that said despite the hurt and anger in the patient's room, despite being witness to his delivery of justice, she wanted him.
He speared his hands through her hair, drew her to him. Swallowed her soft sound of need when he captured her lips and plundered her mouth.
Her hands went to the buttons at the front of his shirt and his cock nearly blasted its way out of his jeans.
His tongue rubbed against hers, thrust as his cock was anxious to do. She was too innocent to know what it did to a man, to have a woman go down on her knees, wrap her lips around his dick. But one day…
Desire shuddered through him. Dios, she would probably be the death of him, and not, as Saul feared, because of betrayal.
Button by button she bared his chest, increased the throbbing demand in his cock. She took her time. Grazed her fingertips over his nipples, sending fiery sensation shooting downward.
His hips bucked in a silent demand for her to free his cock.
She did a slow count of his ribs before reaching his waistband. And then tormented him with the slide of her hands backward rather than converging at button and zipper.
Reaching the gun jammed into his waistband, she stilled, trembled, started to step away.
He fisted her silky hair, preventing that retreat. Tugged the gun from his jeans and put it on the dresser.
Grabbing her hand, he carried it to where he needed it, pressed it against the rigid length of his erection.
The thrust of his tongue became a demand.
She opened his jeans and his cock arrowed out.
On a sigh of pleasure, she gripped him, nearly sent him to his knees.
Her hand slid upward on his shaft, downward, pulling what blood remained in his head to his cock. His heart already beat there, fast and hard.
He stripped away his shirt, his hands going to the bodice of her blue dress, freeing the buttons so it gaped open. He cupped her breasts, rubbed his palms over silky bra and pebbled nipples, swallowed her soft cry of pleasure.
His breath coming fast, he forced his mouth away from hers. "Take your clothes off, mami."
His need was evident in his voice, though the pulse of his cock against her palm was evidence enough of his desire. And when she released him to rid herself of the dress and underthings, the way his shaft pulled away from his abdomen, bobbed in its effort to reach her, further demonstrated that need.
Eyes he could drown in became more heated. A delicate blush crept across her cheekbones as her clothing hit the floor, making him want her more.
As a boy, he'd traveled with his father. His day-to-day world had been filled with hard men and easy women. And that hadn't changed since becoming warlord.
It was no wonder that Ella had captivated him from the very first. She was unlike the women who made themselves readily available to him, unlike those who became his soldiers.
If he'd understood his need for such softness in his life, he could have found such a woman in his territory, but he'd have been the warlord to that woman in a way he wasn't with his wife—and with Ella already occupying his fantasies, he'd never considered looking.
He shed the rest of his clothing, once again grasped her hair and drew her to him. Pleasure shuddered through him with the press of her soft feminine body against his hard one, the way she immediately opened her mouth beneath his and encircled him with her arms.
One kiss became two, three, more as he backed her toward the bed, her taste and scent giving birth to a different hunger.
Without lifting his mouth from hers, he urged her onto the bed and followed her there. His hips jerked, fucking his cock against her mound and stomach, and he hovered on the brink, fought the urge to slide into her hot, wet depths.
Forcing himself to leave her lips, he kissed downward to her breasts, was rewarded by the arch of her back, the feel of her hands in his hair, urging him to deliver on the promise of pleasure.
He latched onto a nipple. And again thought that even now she could be carrying his child.
It enflamed him. Stirred his pride.
He laved, sucked. Feelings he hadn't experienced since Geneva built and raged inside him—a raw, deadly possessiveness he'd believed himself incapable of feeling again over a woman.
There was no tamping those feelings down, not with Ella writhing, whimpering, her body moving restlessly beneath him, needing without the experience of having that need fully explored or exquisitely satisfied.
A hard suck to her nipple and he forced himself downward, across her stomach, drawn by the lush scent of a very willing wife. He could become drunk on her arousal.
He tongued her swollen clit and she jerked, might have struggled to escape in her innocence but he didn't allow her to evade the pleasure. He captured her wrists, held them penned to the mattress, locked his lips around her clit and did to it what he'd done to her nipples.
He licked, swirled his tongue around and over, sucked. His need increasing as Ella's breaths quickened, as the jerk of her hips became the fuck of her clit through sealed lips, as her soft cries came closer together, became sharper, more frantic, the sheet dampening with arousal that perfumed the air.
Her release opened the floodgates of desire. He left her pussy. Slammed his mouth down on hers and plunged his tongue between her lips at the same time his cock filled her channel.
Her fingernails raked across his back, spurring him on. Dios, he'd never wanted a woman more.
He thrust his tongue against Ella's. Thrust his cock hard and fast, as if he could drive it all the way to her heart. And kept thrusting, his balls growing fuller, tighter, the burn there becoming a scorching rush through his shaft and up his spine, becoming a white-out explosion in his head.
"Mine," he said.
The word was forced out of him along with his semen. It quickened an already racing heartbeat.
Mierda, but she was dangerous.
He kissed her, trying to banish the word and the truth—intentions doomed to failure. The rub of his tongue against hers, the soft receptiveness of her body beneath his, the ripple and clench of her pussy on his dick only strengthened the possessive feelings.
Fuck but he wanted his wife. He rocked his pelvis against hers. Hardened inside her, pressing deeper when she wrapped her legs around him.
He tried to banish the word, but with each thrust, it pulsed from his cock to his head. Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Dios. She was so hot and wet. She felt made for him.
He kissed his way to her ear, dipped his tongue into it and was rewarded by the tightening of her channel on his dick and her legs around his waist, by the tangle of her fingers in his hair and her moaning his name.
It had been a long time since a woman's reaction meant anything to him. He was a proud man, one who'd always ensured that the whores he used came, but that was a demonstration of prowess, not a desire to give pleasure.
He fucked his tongue into Ella's ear, thrusting, matching those thrusts with the thrust of his hips. Driving his wife toward a peak she'd reach only with him.
Her cries grew sharper and he kissed his way back to her lips, wanting possession of those cries, wanting to taste her surrender as
he had her arousal earlier—though when her release came, the hard clamp of her pussy on his cock ripped away his control.
He surrendered to ecstasy. Pumped into his wife, once again filling her with his semen.
Collapsing, still covering her though he spared her some of his weight, it seemed to take an eternity for his breathing to slow, for his heart to resume a measured, steady beat though it didn't feel the same.
He rose a little higher on his elbows, the moonlight streaming through the window providing enough light for him to look at his wife's face. He'd thought her a sultry beauty each time he encountered her in Elliot's workshop. She was even more so in his bed.
Her eyes opened, submerging him in heat. His cock twitched inside her, as if to say, I'm here. Give me a few minutes.
His heart spasmed, forcing words from his throat he hadn't intended to say but couldn't deny. "I won't disrespect you by turning to another for this."
"Thank you," she whispered, drawing his mouth down for a kiss and filling him with tenderness.
Afterward he eased onto his side. She snuggled against him, cushioning his cock with warm buttocks, the press of those soft mounds sending pulses of heat through his dick.
She moved to get comfortable, rubbing against him in the process. "Careful, mami," he teased. "I might interpret that as an invitation."
Her laugh brought a smile. "I can think of worse things than enduring my husband's attentions."
He nipped her neck, her shoulder. "Enduring? Is that how you label what just happened between us?"
She rubbed her ass against his cock. Captured his hand and carried it to her breast. "Maybe enduring isn't the right word," she said, the laughter that'd been in her voice giving way to blossoming feminine confidence.
Her nipple tightened against his palm. He rubbed his hand over it, took it between his fingers, squeezed and tugged and twisted. "Tell me what the right word is, mami."
"Craving," she whispered, exposing her vulnerability and once again swelling his heart with tenderness.
"Is that such a terrible thing?"
"No." And long minutes passed before she added, "I could teach you to read, in here, in private."