“Asher I need—”
“I need,” I say, scooping her up and her legs wrap my hips, which is exactly where I want them. Where I want her. Next to me, pressed to me…riding me. She clings to my shoulders, and I carry her into the living room on the opposite side of the stairwell, a room hugged by red brick with high-arched, deep windows that don’t quite reach the floor or ceiling. I set her down on the thick pile of the brown rug in front of a leather couch.
Her hands caress over my arms, tracing the colorful designs in my ink, one of her palms flattening on my stomach, just above my jeans, fingers slipping into the very top of my waistband, then down over my zipper. I inhale as she strokes the thick ridge of my erection through my pants, the image of her soft little hand wrapping on my cock, a perfect fantasy, she will no doubt make real, and yet I want something indefinably more with this woman. I slip my hand under her hair and pull her to me. “More,” I say, voicing that thought, my free hand unzipping her pants. “Give me more.” I kiss her, a fast, deep, passionate kiss that ends with me setting her away from me. “Undress,” I say, planning to do the same. I sit down on the couch and she sits down on the ottoman just behind her. She takes off her shoes.
I remove my ankle holster and show it to her. “The hidden weapon.”
“And I didn’t even have to look for it,” she says.
“Next time,” I say, setting it on the couch and pulling off my boots.
I stand then, digging my phone from my pocket and tossing it on the couch. She’s still sitting, watching me and I let her. “I’ll go first again,” I say, and she doesn’t argue. She just watches me with big blue eyes while I watch her, looking for any signs she feels she’s in over her head, or moving too fast, but I find none.
I strip my jeans and my underwear away in a fast, swift move. My hands out to my sides, my cock hard between us. “I’m all yours, Sierra.”
She doesn’t look away. She’s bold with her inspection, her gaze traveling my body before reaching my eyes. “Am I allowed to say you’re beautiful, or is there some other word I’m supposed to say?”
“For a guy, you get naked and you show him with your hands and your mouth.”
She laughs, just like I hoped. “The things you say.”
“I say it how I see it, and I’m not seeing it, not all of it.” I step to her, and take her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Come on, sweetheart. I want time we don’t have, and I need those pants of yours off.”
She reaches for her pants and I consider sitting down, watching her like she watched me. And I would any other time, but not when I am aware of anything that might make her feel she’s performing for me, aware that The Beast demanded much of her. Threatened her. Controlled her and I have zero doubt that extended to sex. No. The time for me to sit and watch Sierra is not now. It’s when she makes that decision or gives me some signal that she’s ready for more and she’s not now. Not this first time. Not until she really does trust me.
She slips her pants and panties down her long legs and then off, and I’m left with creamy white skin and perfect curves. I mold her to me, my cock at her hip, one of her breasts in my hand, my fingers tweaking her nipple. I’m rewarded with her arched back, and a tiny, sexy pant. “I’m going to make him hurt the way he made you afraid.”
Her hands grip my arms. “You can’t—”
“I can,” I say, “and one day you’ll understand that the good guys aren’t less brutal or deadly than the bad guys. We’re still killers. We’re just the killers who do it for the right side of the law. Maybe that will give you peace. Maybe that will make you hate me, too, but I can’t change it. And neither can he.”
I don’t give her a chance to reply, and I don’t let myself think about how ultimately, a killer to her might really be the enemy no matter what. Because I have killed. Because I’ll kill again. And so, I kiss her again, long and deep, and then I sit down, pulling her between my legs, looking up at her, searching her face, and looking for the answer to what it is I feel with her, why I feel anything but lust, when lust is all I ever feel. Looking for the answer to the question I just kissed her to avoid asking: While I fall for her, and she gets to know the killer in me, will she hate me?”
She reaches down and cups my cheek. I lean into the touch, and then take her hand and kiss her palm. I release it and my attention goes to her scar again, and I trace the deep and brutal edges of it, before glancing up at her again. “I can’t tell you that the scar is sexy, Sierra, because nothing that hurt you is ever going to be sexy to me. But you are. So fucking sexy.” I press my lips to her belly and caress my hand over her hip and then down between her legs, until my finger teases her clit. She gasps and arches into me and I press into the wet heat of her sex. And while I want to just think about how wet and hot she is, I noticed that she’s shaved, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s hiding her real hair color. I don’t even want to think why she fears anyone would get that close.
She grabs my shoulders, and just when I would slip two fingers inside her, she pants out, “We have no time, remember? We’re supposed to just fuck and—”
I pull her into my lap, straddling me, my erection between us, and I am hit with how much it must have taken for her to trust me, to be here like this with me right now. Nine months of trusting no one. Years of what he did to her. “I won’t ever hurt you.”
“I know that,” she says, “and don’t tell me I don’t. I do. I see who you are. I feel who you are. And I—I just know.”
She doesn’t, but that’s okay. She wants to believe she does, but I want her to know it. I want what she knows to be real and that’s a contradiction to how much I need her to know that I’m the killer that can kill him. Those things fall to the side now though. Now I just want inside her. Now I just want to fuck her. I drag her mouth to mine and lift her, pressing my cock inside of her. She grabs my shoulders and does this slow, driving-me-wild slide down my cock, until I’m buried inside her, all her wet, tight heat, clamping down on me.
“And now we did it,” she whispers. “We’re past it.”
“No,” I say, pulling her down while thrusting into her, “now we’re just getting started.”
She pants out a breath, her lashes fluttering, and I want to kiss her, but I want to watch even more. “Ride me, sweetheart,” I say. “Show me you know I’m here.”
She laughs. “Like I could not know that fact right now, Asher.”
“I’m not sure you do,” I say, thrusting into her, making sure she damn well does know. She leans into me and holds onto my shoulders, and we start this slow bump and grind that I could savor for a long damn time, but we really don’t have time. I pull her mouth to mine and the minute our tongues touch, we snap. We start a frenzied thrust and ride, and I wrap my arm around her waist, dragging her down against me, pumping into her, until she stiffens on the edge of release, and tries to bury her head in my neck.
“No,” I say, pulling her forehead to mine. “Stay right here with me.” I pause, and remembering my promise, I add, “Sierra.”
“Asher,” she pants out in a raspy laugh before sucking in a breath as she starts trembling and quaking, her sex clenching around my cock. And oh yeah. That’s just what I need. I am there with her, holding onto her, and pulling her down on top of me one last time as I thrust into release. We go up together and we come down together, and I know the moment we’re present, outside those moments of intense pleasure, again, our foreheads still melded together.
“Now we did it,” she says and we both laugh.
“Yes,” I say. “Now we did it.”
She cups my face and leans back to look at me. “Any regrets?”
“Regrets? Sweetheart, I’m ready to go again. Okay. Well. In a few minutes.”
She laughs and my phone rings on the couch where I’d set it. I groan and reach for it. At least they waited until afterward.”
She tries to get up and I hold onto her. “I’ll carry you to the bathroom,” I say.
“
But your call—”
I answer the line. “Yeah, Blake,” I say, standing up with Sierra in my arms, me still inside her, as I walk toward the downstairs bathroom, under the stairs.
“I pulled Kyle off the job,” he says.
“Why?” I ask settling Sierra on the stone countertop in the spare bathroom and flipping on the light before handing her a hand towel.
“Just get to the office.” He hangs up and I set the phone down next to Sierra. “I need to get to the office.”
“I cannot believe you were talking to whoever that was while inside me.”
“I like being inside you,” I say, but I pull out of her and she presses the towel between her legs. “We need to go, though,” I add. “Hurry and dress. My bedroom and bathroom are at the top of the stairs.” I set her on the floor.
“We need to go?”
“I told you. I want you to get to know my inner circle and so yes. We need to go.”
“Asher, I don’t know about this.”
“Do you trust, Luke?”
“I have a good feeling about Luke, yes.”
“You’ll feel the same about the rest of the team. Scout’s honor. Okay, SEAL’s honor. I was never a fucking scout. That uniform was ridiculous.” I kiss her. “Hurry up.”
I exit the bathroom and walk back into the living room, pulling on my pants. Sierra joins me and picks up her clothes. “I’m going to grab my bags, and go dress upstairs.”
I nod and she hurries away. I’m pulling on my shirt when I hear her walking up the stairs. Normally I would follow her to my bedroom, but my mind is on Blake’s odd behavior and his secrecy over pulling Kyle off the job. There’s more of a problem going on here than the anniversary of Whitney’s murder. And problems with the Walker clan are dangerous.
For the first time in what feels like years, I can’t feel the nightmare of Devin’s hands on my body. I feel Asher’s. I feel a sense of freedom from The Beast that I didn’t believe possible, and I have Asher to thank for that. But at what price to Asher? I don’t let myself think about the implications of that question for too long. Not now when I’m naked and charging up a set of stairs with bags in my hands. Not even when I reach his bedroom, which smells all earthy and spicy like him, and now me. I can smell him on my skin. Not even when I rush across the brown wooden floor with a sanded finish to pass his massive bed, framed by a brown leather headboard. A bed I will sleep in with him tonight.
I hold my thoughts at bay until I’m standing inside his bathroom, fully dressed, with my new, used lace-up boots on, my money belt back around my waist, and my wild mess of hair brushed. A mess created by Asher’s fingers. Hair brushed with his brush that I found in a drawer of the dark brown cabinets beneath his double sinks. That’s how entwined my life has become with his in a blink of an eye. I’m sharing his brush, which is somehow far more intimate than just fucking. Because what just happened downstairs, which was supposed to be just fucking, wasn’t just fucking at all. My hand goes to my belly, to the scars there that run far deeper than the surface. Asher knew that, he understood, but he doesn’t know why, even if he suspects. That accident, the way the scars messed with my head afterward, those things weakened me for long enough to empower Devin, every nasty part of him, of which there are many.
I shove aside that thought and push off the counter, snatching my new, also used, black leather purse from the thrift store bag that I’ve set next to the dark wood edged egg-shaped tub. I study the purse, as I did in the store, almost certain it’s a real Chanel, which is a real treat for a girl with a bar tip trust fund and nothing more.
I slip it over my head and chest and let the small bag rest at my hip, despite it being ridiculously empty. I have no make-up with me. I have no key, but it serves a purpose. I lift my shirt up, and unzip the money pouch, removing a twenty and sticking it in the side pocket of the purse for easy access. I then take some cash and stick it in my boot. I straighten and I’m suddenly aware of Asher standing in the archway of the door. “You carry the cash with you because you’re afraid you’ll have to run,” he says.
“Yes,” I say, one part of my brain thinking about those colorful inked arms of his holding me, while the other thinks about Texas and the stupid moves I’d made there that cost me thousands of dollars. “I carry a purse so that anyone who tries to steal from me, thinks they got everything I have.”
“All smart decisions most people wouldn’t think about. I’d never leave cash in that shithole of an apartment regardless of the lock I installed, but you’re here now. Keep a couple hundred dollars with you. No more until I can make other arrangements for you.” I’d ask what arrangements he means, but he’s already continued with his thought. “You can leave the rest in my safe.”
He pushes off the archway and motions me to the closet, leading the way inside, where he flips on the light. I join him in the large walk-in with a bench in the center and built-in wooden cabinets. He stops in front of one of them, a row of suits beside him that I don’t expect, but I should. I’ve met his father. I know he went to Harvard. Asher opens the cabinet and displays a safe, turning the lock’s circular combination. “50-11-33,” he says, opening the door to display a wooden box with a gun sitting on top.
I remove two hundred dollars for my money belt, and then stick the belt in the safe, and the cash in my boot. “If you get into trouble,” Asher says, “you call me. If you can’t call me, meet me at the Hard Rock in Times Square. Sit in the bar. Wait for me and don’t take public transportation of any kind to get there. That’s where they’ll look for you. Walk there.”
“Why the Hard Rock?”
“It’s busy, with multiple levels, and not where anyone would expect you to go. They expect you to be on the move, and when you’re on the move, you might find them, and miss me. Stay put. Be the needle in a haystack and New York City is one hell of a haystack.”
“That haystack is exactly why I came here despite the high cost of living.”
“It’s expensive, but still a good decision.” He taps the box in the safe. “My emergency funds, ammo, and travel documents. If at any time you think you need to leave, take the cash and the gun, and leave my documents in case I need them to help you. I’ll get you documents for your fake name and I’ll teach you to shoot.”
“You can get me documents?”
“Yes, I can, and I will, and one of the reasons I want you to come with me today is to see Blake. He’s a world class hacker. My father is going to look into you. He’ll ask for the name at the security desk and since he bought the building, he’ll get it. I want him, and anyone else looking, to find you. The Kelli version of you, and Blake can make that happen.”
“Thank you, Asher. I hope I don’t ever need the emergency resources, but there is more comfort than I can express in knowing that I have them.”
“The only way to ensure that never happens is to destroy him before he comes for you.” He shuts the safe. “And when you trust me enough to give me his name, I will.”
“Know your friends and your enemies,” I say. “That’s a lesson I learned the hard way in Texas, when I called someone I thought could be trusted. Someone in law enforcement, Asher. High up and well-respected. I knew him for over a year. I’ve given you my trust in a blink of an eye. To ask me to trust your inner circle as fast is a wall I just can’t climb at the same speed.”
He studies me for several beats, his expression unreadable but obviously tense. “Let’s go.” He doesn’t touch me. In fact, he steps around me and starts walking. He’s angry and I get it. I have secrets. He’s protecting me despite those secrets and I don’t know what to do. I’ve already gone so far out of my comfort zone with Asher, but then, he is doing all of these things for me without any demand for anything in return. Even my secrets.
I follow him and by the time I catch up he’s already halfway down the stairs. I rush down them and he’s on the phone at the door when I reach the living room. “Twenty more minutes,” Asher says, glancing at his watch. “I
t’s only seven,” He unlocks the front door but doesn’t open it. “I’ll have an hour when I get there. Yes, Blake.” He turns to face me as I join him. “I’m aware you’re in a pissy mood and since that hasn’t happened since you’ve been with Kara, we obviously need to talk.” He ends the call and slips his phone back into his pocket. “The code is 2379,” he says as he opens the door and we step into the hallway. “You don’t need a key. I’ll install the app on your phone tomorrow.”
“You’re angry.”
“No, Sierra. I’m not angry. I’m just thinking.”
“But you’re feeling that regret now, aren’t you?” I ask, deciding that is worse than his anger.
“I’m just thinking, Sierra,” he repeats.
“About what?”
“Know your friends and enemies. That’s a profound and accurate statement. I understand what happened in Texas. I get it. You were betrayed by someone that resembles the people in my circles. But if you judge me and my people by him and his people, we’re over before we started and we’re also all going to end up dead.” He steps to me. “Think outside your box.”
“I have. That’s why I tried to walk away from you.”
“If that’s what you want, Sierra, I’ll let you go, but it’s not what I want, and someone alone is not better. It’s just alone.” He turns to open the door. I catch his arm.
“I’m about to take you to the Walker offices. I’m about to invite you into their safe zone. And I’m about to ask my boss, who despite his asshole mood is a good man, to give you the documentation you need to leave the country, while I’ve given you access to the cash. I’m doing this despite the fact that when you’re the kind of good guys we are, we make a lot of nasty enemies that could use someone like you to attack us. And I’m doing it, because you, despite all logic and time, already matter to me. Because I choose to trust you even if that makes me a fool, but I cannot allow that to hurt my friends who are my family.”
Pulled Under: a standalone Walker Security novel Page 10