Color warmed her cheeks. “It’s hardly something to discuss over the parents’ dinner table,” she scoffed. “Or something to be proud of in a twenty-two-year-old woman.”
Jenna might not be proud of it, but knowing he was her first brought out every possessive instinct in Atticus’s body. There would be no more games, no more teasing. After tonight, Jenna was one hundred percent his.
His gaze held hers as he slowly pulled out, watching her face for any discomfort, and when there was none, he thrust back in again.
It was difficult to go slow when her pussy was like a vise about his cock. Velvet heat surrounding him, caressing him, claiming him as much as he was claiming her.
“Harder, Atticus,” she encouraged, her fingers digging into his shoulders for leverage as she arched her hips against his. “Faster!”
“I’m trying not to hurt you, damn it,” he bit out between gritted teeth, sweat dripping down his brow and into his eyes as he fought to maintain that control.
Her eyes flashed in the semidarkness. “I’m not made of porcelain.” She pushed ineffectually against his shoulders. “Roll over onto your back,” she urged, her legs wrapped about his waist. “Do it, Atticus,” she pleaded.
He gave her one last searching glance before grasping her about the waist, rolling onto his back, and taking her with him.
Jesus, she looked like a Valkyrie as she rose onto her knees above him, her red hair a wild halo about her face and shoulders, breasts thrust forward, fingers digging into his chest, back arching as she began to ride him. Slowly at first and then harder and faster.
Atticus’s hands moved to cup her breasts, fingers rolling and pulling on the engorged nipples.
“Yes,” she gasped. “God, yes,” she groaned, her channel squeezing and caressing his cock as she came.
Jenna rode him through that orgasm, and the next, face flushed, her eyes fever bright as she began to tweak and pull on his nipples. “Come with me this time, Atticus.”
Her words and the way she squeezed his nipples just short of pain, along with the fierce contracting of her pussy as she began to orgasm, pushed Atticus over the edge. His balls drew up tight as his cock began to pulse inside her, shooting jet after jet of hot cum into the condom.
It was, without a doubt, the wildest and most satisfying ride of Atticus’s life.
Jenna woke alone but with the muffled sound of male voices somewhere else in the apartment. The sheet beside her still felt warm, so Atticus’s visitor couldn’t have been here long.
She glanced at the bedside clock, surprised to see it was almost eight o’clock in the morning.
And no matter how long she delayed thinking about it, “the elephant in the room” wasn’t going anywhere!
Last night, Atticus had done exactly as he’d warned her he would if she stayed in his bed. He had claimed her. Everywhere.
The tenderness of her nipples and the slight soreness between her thighs and her bottom as she moved to sit on the side of the bed confirmed she hadn’t dreamed any of it.
And it had been everything and more than she had ever imagined in her many fantasies of being with Atticus.
Nor, despite his warnings, had Atticus been in the least rough with her. Passionate, yes, a little savage, maybe, but she had loved every minute of it. Atticus hadn’t just claimed her, he had made love to her.
And now there was someone else in his apartment preventing them from repeating that delicious lovemaking.
Jenna stood up to pull on Atticus’s bathrobe, loving the way it swamped her more delicate build. It also reached down to her ankles, where it was knee-length on Atticus. His T-shirt last night, and now the bathrobe today—she could get used to the intimacy of wearing Atticus’s clothes.
The voices grew louder as she padded barefoot down the hallway.
“—going to need an alibi for after you left us last night,” she recognized Rourke’s voice stating grimly.
“I was right here the rest of the night,” Atticus grated. “The security guards downstairs can confirm I got back shortly after one o’clock and haven’t left since.”
“Security guards paid by us, as owners of the building.”
“Doesn’t make their statement any less truthful. The recording on the security cameras will also confirm I came home and didn’t leave the building—”
“Those recordings can be changed to show whatever you want them to show.”
“I was here all night,” Atticus repeated evenly.
“With no one to confirm or deny that claim.”
“As I live alone, obviously not.”
“For God’s sake, Atticus, the police could arrive at any moment to take you in for questioning, if they don’t just outright arrest you.”
“It doesn’t really matter one way or the other whether I can or can’t prove my whereabouts last night when I could easily have just hired someone to do my dirty work for me.”
What the…?
Jenna stood in the hallway like a deer caught in the headlights, unmoving, barely breathing, her legs trembling.
What possible reason could the police have for arresting Atticus? Admittedly, Jon Worthington had threatened to complain to the police about the way he had been treated yesterday, but surely that complaint wasn’t enough to actually arrest Atticus? Question him perhaps, but not arrest him.
“You threatened the man, and now he’s dead,” Rourke continued harshly.
“And I had nothing to do with that death. Nor the one last night,” Atticus insisted.
Two people were dead?
“Someone is definitely cleaning house,” Atticus continued. “But it isn’t me.”
“Both those men either had been or were a threat to Jenna,” Rourke persisted.
“Which means it could just as easily have been you or one of the other brothers,” Atticus bit out.
Rourke sighed heavily. “We both know that isn’t true.”
“Well, it wasn’t me either.” There was a brief pause before Atticus spoke again. “That leaves only one person it could be.”
“Fuck!” Rourke sounded alarmed. “You think he knows about Jenna?”
“In view of what’s happened, I now think it’s a distinct possibility, yes.”
Jenna had no idea who the he was Atticus and Rourke were referring to, or who the two people were who were now dead, but one thing she did know: Atticus did have an alibi for last night, even if he was reluctant to use it. The reason why he was could be discussed another time. Right now, it was just important that Rourke, and the police when they arrived, know the truth.
“Then we need to—” Rourke broke off what he had been about to say as Jenna stepped into the sitting room wearing only Atticus’s overlarge bathrobe. “What the hell?” His eyes narrowed as he turned to look accusingly at Atticus.
“Go back to the bedroom, Jenna,” Atticus instructed harshly.
“Not a chance in hell,” she returned mildly without so much as glancing in his direction, her attention centered on Rourke. “Atticus was in bed with me all night, so he couldn’t have done whatever it is you’re accusing him of doing.”
So much for Atticus wanting to protect her!
He had hoped to get this conversation with Rourke over with and his brother gone before Jenna woke up. Instead, she now stood across the room looking totally debauched. Her hair was a wild red-gold cloud about her shoulders, and there were obvious beard burns on her chin and throat. Thank God the rest of her was completely covered by his robe, or else Rourke would see that the beard burn covered other parts of her body.
Atticus wanted to sweep Jenna up in his arms, carry her back to bed, and remain there with her for the rest of the day.
Instead, he had this other bullshit to deal with.
“I’m not accusing him of anything,” Rourke defended. “But I can’t say the same for the police when they arrive here. And I’m not sure your word as to where Atticus was last night is going to carry too much weight with them either,” he
added with a frown.
“Shut the fuck up, Rourke,” Atticus snapped as he crossed the room to Jenna’s side. Her face was deathly pale. “How are you feeling this morning?” he prompted gently.
“It isn’t important how I’m feeling,” she dismissed impatiently. “Who’s dead, and why does Rourke think the police will want to arrest you?”
This was not how Atticus had envisaged their “morning after.” He had intended taking Jenna breakfast in bed, then the two of them having a shower together before going back to bed and then making love for the rest of the day.
Instead, Rourke had arrived and made a shit storm out of Atticus’s plans. Nor did he want Jenna involved in any of this. She had already been through enough. “Go back to bed, Jenna. I’ll deal with this—”
“Don’t you dare try to shut me out.” She held up a hand in warning, her eyes glittering fiercely.
“There’s absolutely no need for you to—”
“Rourke.” Jenna cut Atticus off. “Who’s dead, and why are you so certain the police will want to question Atticus about it?”
His brother gave him an apologetic glance before answering her. “Edward Jervis was found dead in his cell last night and Jon Worthington in his home this morning.”
Whatever Jenna had been expecting to hear, it certainly wasn’t that.
Chapter 11
“Here.” Atticus went down on his haunches beside where Jenna had abruptly sat in one of the armchairs, before handing her a glass of brandy.
She winced. “It’s only just after eight o’clock in the morning.”
He shrugged, pressing the glass into her hand. “Doesn’t matter what time it is.” He sent his brother a withering glance. “A shock is still a shock.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” Rourke snapped. “Jenna asked the question, and I’m not going to lie to her.”
Atticus straightened. “I wouldn’t have lied to her either, but I would have tried to ease into the subject with a little more subtlety.”
Rourke snorted. “There’s absolutely no way to ease subtly into the subject of murder.”
Jenna swallowed hard. “M-murder?” Despite the earliness of the hour, Jenna took a much-needed sip of the brandy, welcoming the burn as the alcohol slid down her throat.
She couldn’t believe that Jon Worthington and Edward Jervis were both dead. She had met Edward Jervis several times during the time August worked in his gallery and Jon Worthington for the first time yesterday, and now they were both gone. It was too much of a coincidence to believe their deaths could have been accidental.
She gave a shake of her head. “Why would someone want to kill either one of them? One of them owned an art gallery and the other was a doctor, for goodness’ sake.”
Rourke shrugged. “The police are investigating both deaths as suspicious.”
She gave him a narrow-eyed glance. “Before I entered the room, I heard you mention some other ‘he’ who might be involved?”
Rourke’s gaze suddenly no longer met hers. “I was only speculating—”
“No, you really weren’t,” she stated with certainty. “You’ve done well so far, Rourke. Don’t start lying to me now. You definitely mentioned this other man as if he had some sort of connection to me and the…the deaths of Edward Jervis and Jon Worthington. If you lie to me now, Atticus, or treat me as anything less than an adult,” she warned as he would have spoken, “then I will never forgive you.”
Atticus could see by the stubborn set of her chin that she meant every word. Nor could he even think of her as not being an adult after the intimacies the two of them had shared the previous night. Jenna was every inch a woman. She deserved to be treated as one. “I’m not sure if your mother ever spoke to you about your father?”
She looked surprised by this seeming change of subject. “Only to tell me he was out of the picture and always would be.”
Atticus grimaced. “She didn’t tell you why that was?”
Jenna stood up abruptly. “What on earth does my deadbeat absentee of a father have to do with any of this?”
Rourke winced. “You know, I’m not sure this wouldn’t be better coming from the parents.”
“The parents aren’t here,” Jenna reasoned. “But the two of you are, and you both obviously know a damn sight more about my father than I do,” she added pointedly.
Rourke glanced toward Atticus. “Do you want me to stay for this, or do you want to handle it on your own?”
As his brother was the one who had opened up this particular can of worms, Atticus didn’t see why Rourke should be given a pass on the explanation. But as Jenna’s lover, Atticus didn’t think she would want a witness either to her reaction to what he was about to tell her about her father.
“Go,” he instructed Rourke.
“I’m going to call the parents.”
“Yes.” Atticus nodded, knowing they might need some of their father’s influence and connections to resolve this situation. “But make sure you keep the brothers away from here for the rest of the day too.”
“The police—”
“I’ll ring one of you to come and be with Jenna if they should decide to arrest me,” Atticus drawled.
“I’m not a child anyone needs to be called to be with,” Jenna flared, her cheeks flushed with anger.
“Just go, Rourke,” Atticus repeated wearily, waiting until his brother had kissed Jenna on the cheek and made his departure before speaking again. “This is not how I envisaged this morning being,” he sighed.
“Me either.” Jenna grimaced, not quite meeting his gaze. “But it is what it is.”
He nodded. “Do you want to shower and dress before we talk?”
Did she? Jenna knew she could definitely do with taking a shower. But at the same time, she knew she needed to hear whatever it was Atticus had to say about her father. None of the Steele family had so much as mentioned knowing who he was before now. Admittedly, she had never asked, either, but it seemed a little odd Rourke and Atticus should introduce the subject now.
“The conversation has waited this long, Jenna. It can wait another ten minutes,” he cajoled at her hesitation.
“I’ll shower and dress first.” She decided she needed to be on an equal footing with him, at least.
For once, Atticus was wearing faded black jeans rather than combat trousers, along with one of his usual black T-shirts and biker boots. He also looked as if he had already taken a shower before Rourke arrived, his long hair still slightly damp.
Atticus was in the kitchen drinking black coffee when Jenna rejoined him. She was wearing another one of his overlarge T-shirts and her jeans, her wet hair pulled back and secured in a ponytail at her crown.
He’d also made toast. Not exactly the breakfast in bed for Jenna he’d envisaged, but then none of the morning was turning out as he had thought it might.
Last night with Jenna had been…incredible, and although Atticus had been shocked at learning of her virginity, he had also felt a perverse pleasure in seeing the smears of blood on the condom, as evidence of that innocence, before he disposed of it. It brought out the caveman in him to know he was her first. Her only lover, but he had yet to discuss that with Jenna.
Unfortunately, Rourke’s visit this morning, the reason for it, and his own possible arrest now took preference over what Atticus actually wanted.
He stood up to pour Jenna a cup of coffee while she buttered herself a slice of toast, but knew he was only delaying the moment the morning went completely to hell.
Well, it could fucking well carry on being delayed for another few minutes, because he wanted to kiss Jenna more than he wanted his next breath.
“What…?” Jenna barely had time to put down her piece of toast before Atticus pulled her to her feet and into his arms and his mouth claimed hers.
Jenna didn’t hesitate to return the kiss. She had been wanting this, craving it, since she woke up alone in Atticus’s bed.
Her arms twined about his neck, fin
gers becoming entangled in the dark thickness of his hair as their tongues stroked and dueled. Atticus’s arms about her waist secured her to him, and his hands ran the length of her back before he grasped her bottom, hips grinding against hers as he made her fully aware of the long length of his arousal.
Atticus finally released her lips, but he kept his arms about her waist as he rested his forehead against hers. “Last night was beyond amazing.”
She buried her face against his throat. “Yes.”
“Are you okay with everything that happened?”
“Yes.”
“Because I want us to do it all again when you’re feeling up to it.”
“Yes.”
He chuckled softly. “Are you actually listening to me?”
“Yes.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“Jenna…?”
“Atticus, can we not have a postmortem on last night?”
“I wasn’t—”
“Oh, I think you were.” She kept her face buried against his throat as she nodded. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”
No, it really wasn’t okay, but Atticus couldn’t force Jenna to talk about the two of them if she didn’t want to. “Let’s get comfortable in my favorite chair.”
Jenna waited until Atticus was seated in the old leather rocking chair he refused to give up, despite the fact it didn’t fit in with the rest of the modern furniture, and she was settled comfortably on his thighs with his arms still about her waist, before speaking again. “So what do you want to tell me about my father?”
It was so typically Jenna to go straight to the point, even if her puzzled expression said she didn’t understand what this one had to do with the deaths of Jervis and Worthington. Unfortunately, that was going to change in the next few minutes. Atticus dearly wished he could protect her from that, but ultimately knew she wouldn’t thank him for it. Their new relationship said he couldn’t do that anyway. That to treat Jenna as anything but the responsible adult she was would, to quote her, “never be forgiven.”
Atticus fully intended for there to be a Jenna and Atticus once this mess was settled.
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