by Skye Warren
And for whatever reason, his mother didn’t launch into any more guilt tirades. Mostly she just drank while Blake’s father grilled him on his position at the university, his career plans, and his investment portfolio. Blake put up with it through the salad course and the main course before he turned the tables and persuaded his father to talk about political maneuvers from his heyday.
Once he got started Mr. Morris didn’t stop talking. It was hugely interesting to listen to his stories, a front row seat to some of the major political dramas in their past. When Blake winked at her from across the table, she knew he’d done that on purpose.
What could she say? She had a weakness for men who could talk history.
Like Blake, who reclined beside her in bed. His arm was stretched out, long and muscled even in sleep. His eyes were closed, lashes thick and blunt, and almost touching the pale scar tissue on his cheek.
The fire had come too close to his eye. She shivered to think how much worse it could have been. He could have lost his sight. He could have died.
Her heart felt too full, too vulnerable after sleeping beside him all night.
And she couldn’t stand to not touch him. Couldn’t stand not to feel the warmth of him and the steady rise and fall of his breaths. His chest had a sprinkling of coarse hair, and she ran her hand over it, tickling her palm.
He hadn’t stirred, his lips slightly parted in deep sleep.
So she kept going, over the ridges of his abdomen, feeling the muscles tighten under her touch. She glanced at him, feeling shy, almost caught, but he was still sleeping.
There was no way she could stop this close to him, not when she could see him hard beneath the sheet. He woke up this way every morning, but usually he was up before her. Sometimes she’d awaken to find his fingers in her pussy and his mouth at her breast. Other times he’d already be inside her, thrusting away, by the time she opened her eyes.
Still other times he would take a shower and jerk himself off, fast and efficient. I wanted to let you rest, he would say. And she understood it was a kindness, even if it didn’t feel that way.
This was hers. His cock. His arousal. This entire beautiful man was hers.
That was how it felt to take his cock into her mouth—like ownership. She claimed him with her lips, her tongue, with the gentle strokes of her fist around his cock.
His gasp was like coming up for air, sharp and sudden. His whole body jerked too, hard enough that her mouth left him. Then his hand was on the back of her head, caressing her, thanking her. She licked him at the tip, in that place that always drove him crazy, until he shoved his fingers into her hair, tugging and wordlessly begging.
He couldn’t keep quiet, though. Not when she licked at the soft skin on his balls, her fist tightening on his cock to make sure he didn’t come yet. She’d gotten good at this with him. She loved to practice, loved to make him crazy with it, and he responded with a symphony of arousal—his grunts, his groans, his gasped words of encouragement and pain.
“God, baby. Suck me. I need you so fucking bad.”
Her pussy clenched at his words, and she obeyed him, taking him into her mouth again. She fisted him in time with her sucks, and he tossed his head back, eyes closed, expression tight.
“Baby,” he muttered. “Need you. Need…”
He was holding back. She could tell he wanted to say more, to ask for something she might not want to give. What he didn’t know was that she wanted to give him everything. Her only fear was that he’d realize he no longer wanted her.
“Tell me,” she whispered, her lips brushing the spongy head of his cock.
“Nothing,” he gasped, bucking up. “This is perfect. Love you. Love you.”
But it wasn’t perfect. Not if he was still holding back. She blew a breath over the tip of his cock, and he shuddered. “What do you want to do to me?”
“Want to fuck your mouth.” Then he seemed to realize what he said, and added, “Don’t want to scare you though.”
He wanted to fuck her mouth? The idea made her hot. He usually let her control the pace, the depth. She’d never really questioned why.
Apparently because he didn’t want to scare her.
“You won’t scare me,” she promised.
He stared at her, his eyes dark and wondering. She could see his hesitation in those eyes, but she could also see how much he wanted this.
“Not like this,” he finally said. “Lie down.”
She lay down, uncertain what he meant until he knelt over her, her arms trapped at her sides, her mouth inches from his cock. It was a startling perspective, being towered over by him, by the closeness of his cock and his shoulders blocking the light from the window, his face cast in shadows.
And it made her a liar, because it scared her—just a little.
But she knew that however dominating he might seem, however vulnerable this made her, he would never hurt her. Maybe that was what love was really about. Feeling fear but knowing it would be all right. Maybe that was trust. She’d always longed for safety, the certainty that she would never be alone, never crying, never somehow hurt by her employer but without the power to defend herself.
There was no such thing as certainty. That was what she’d learned by growing up, by reading about the world, by studying history. There was only pain and hope, only fear and trust, only the hard cock in her mouth and the tender look from a man who loved her.
“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
She nodded, unable to speak. He wasn’t deep yet, but she felt full. And trapped. Perfectly contained from both inside and out, held on a single breath.
“I’m going to start slow,” he promised.
And he kept his promise, of course he did. He rocked his hips, pushing deeper into her mouth. Once she felt him at the back of her throat, when it was almost too far, he pulled back. Again and again, he fucked her mouth. Just like he’d promised. Just like he’d needed.
His whole body seemed to tremble with the restraint, but he didn’t go faster or harder. He didn’t hurt her.
“Baby, you’re so fucking hot. So wet. Like a goddamn dream.”
All she could do was blink up at him. And use her tongue in cruel thanks.
He gasped. “Jesus. I want to go deeper. You can take it.”
She swallowed and looked away, because she wasn’t sure she could. Her lips were already stretched apart. He already brushed the back of her throat when he pushed in. It wasn’t all of him, but she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.
His expression was soft with understanding. “You can do this, baby. Just give me a couple more inches. I need you to nod for me. I won’t take it.”
Nerves raced down her spine, but she wanted to do this. She nodded.
After studying her for a moment, he pushed deeper. “Now, baby. Relax for me.”
Then he pushed deeper still, and when he would have stopped before, pulled back, he kept going instead. For an awful second she fought the intrusion. Even with her eyes locked on his, knowing he was going to be gentle, she struggled to get her arms free, to push him away.
Just as quickly the moment passed and she was able to relax.
He held himself there for three beats and then pulled out slowly, letting her breathe again. She gasped air around his cock.
“One more time,” he said gently. “Tell me yes.”
But she couldn’t, not with his cock still in her mouth, so she only nodded. And then he was deep in her again, the short hair at his base tickling her nose. She held herself still until the sensation in her throat made her swallow. He groaned loud and rough, then swore under his breath.
“Fuck, baby. Fuck.”
He was already coming as he pulled out, his first load already down her throat, and just a faint salty flavor on her tongue. Then his body jerked and he spurted into her mouth, right to the back of her throat. She swallowed him down eagerly while he groaned above her.
He pulled away gingerly, careful not to hur
t her. But she was beyond pain now. All she felt was the throbbing in her pussy.
“Shh,” he soothed. “Let me take care of you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes. “I need… I need…”
Her voice was too hoarse, and she didn’t know how to say it anyway. Didn’t know how to explain that she’d go insane if she didn’t come in two seconds flat.
Instead she grabbed his hand and pressed it between her legs—the move crude and telling. His expression softened with understanding.
His fingers dipped between her pussy lips, where she was impossibly slick for him. He gathered wetness and drew it up to her clit, sliding around the hard nub, making her clench her legs. It was too much, her flesh too sensitive. But at the same time she wanted him harder, faster.
He shifted to kiss her lips, the soft press a sharp contrast to the invasion of his cock. He said again, “Let me take care of you.”
He moved so that his thumb was beside her clit. It was almost a pinch—and then she was beyond thought, moaning as she came, bucking against him.
She had only just collapsed back onto the bed when the door swung open.
She squeaked in embarrassment and horror. Before she could fully process the Ice Queen at the door, Blake had thrown the sheet on her.
“Jesus,” he said.
“Don’t swear. How was I to know you would be in bed at this hour?”
There was a pause where she imagined him shaking his head. “Give us a minute, mother. Or sixty of them.”
The door closed again, and Erin remained hidden under the sheet. She knew her cheeks would be bright red. God, talk about embarrassing. That wasn’t even the kind of story she could tell people about as a joke.
Footfalls crossed the floor followed by a small sound, and she knew Blake was locking the door. The bed dipped as he sat beside her.
Finally he tugged at the sheet.
After a moment, she reluctantly peeked over the edge.
“I’m sorry. I should have locked it last night.”
“Your mom…” She trailed off, unsure of where to go with that. Obviously there were issues here. And while she wasn’t a big fan of his mother, and it didn’t seem like he was either, she didn’t want to offend him by saying the wrong thing.
“She’s always been a little… invasive. I’m just sorry I didn’t protect you better from it. I’m used to it, I’m just pissed she did it to you.”
“No, it wasn’t your fault.” And he had protected her. Now she understood why he hadn’t brought her. It wasn’t embarrassment of her like she’d feared. If anything he seemed embarrassed for her to see where he came from.
A rush of tenderness made her lower the sheet and take his hand. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Really. We’ll just get through today and leave tomorrow.”
He shook his head ruefully, looking down at his naked body. “At least now she can’t complain about not seeing enough of me.”
And when Erin laughed, she knew they would be okay.
Whatever happened, they had each other.
* * *
Blake leaned back. The antique chair whimpered under his weight, clearly ready to retire after probably seventy years of service. Everything in this house was old, from the walls themselves to the Ming vases against the wall. He remembered not sitting on this chair as a child. He remembered not touching those vases, not drawing on these walls. He’d almost grown up in a museum, learning from a young age not to touch, to move, to speak above a whisper.
Enlisting had been half about rebellion, half about finding his place in the world out of his father’s shadow. And it had blown his ideas about everything apart. Soldiers constantly moved and fought and shouted. It was the exact opposite of everything he’d known before.
He’d left the army a broken man, and the worst part, the sickest part, had been the look of veiled triumph in his parents’ eyes. That he’d set out to do something for himself, something different from what they’d wanted him to be, and he’d failed.
Rebuilding himself had been a slow painful process. Painful, because the burn scars would be there forever, always restricting his movement and sending sharp pain into his skin. Slow, because he’d fought with himself the whole way. Only when he’d met Erin, when he’d fallen in love with her, when he’d needed to be good enough for her, had he been able to step out of his own way.
The pain would never go away, not completely. And it would be a long road for him.
But he had the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen at his side, a woman so smart and kind and good that he no longer cared if he was deserving. He would keep her, and in that way, she would become the best part of him.
Erin sat across the room from him playing chess with his father.
And winning, judging by the surprised look on his father’s face. He wasn’t bested often, at least partly because people were intimidated by him. Erin was intimidated, Blake knew, but that only drove her harder. His chest grew tight, a mixture of pride and love—and undeniable lust. It turned him on when she kicked ass.
“Check,” she said.
Curious, he stood and crossed the room. “She has your king on the run,” he commented idly.
Of course his father would know that. “Indeed. Did you teach her that?”
“That particular trick she already knew.” He studied the board while his father moved in defense. Erin moved quickly after that, on the offense, using her bishops in tandem to sweep her father’s pieces across the board. “She has a way of winning a man over.”
A small smile crossed Erin’s face. “Man or woman, I play to win. Check.”
His father studied her with new and cautious respect after his king moved back again. “You know most young people would have humility. They’d say it was probably just luck to have bested me.”
“It’s not luck.” She reached over to place her knight. “So why lie? Checkmate.”
His father studied the way he’d gotten trapped on the board—and the way she’d almost hidden the knight behind a rook, so that in his hasty, single-minded retreat, he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. “I’ll be damned.”
“It’s okay,” Blake said. “I felt the same way when I met her.”
Well, not exactly the same. He’d also felt arousal so intense it had jolted him back to the land of the living, when he’d thought himself almost past desire.
“Tell me your strategy,” his father said, in that imperious way he had that made people fall at his feet.
Erin shrugged. “You rely too much on your queen. Most people do. It leaves your king vulnerable.”
That earned her an eyebrow raise. Then his father turned to Blake. “She’s a lovely young woman. And smart too. Probably even smarter than you.”
“Definitely.”
“Well, you made a good choice. I wish you both a long and happy life.”
Blake’s chest ached, because he wanted more than anything for that to be the truth, for his father to be a stern and emotionally remote but ultimately good man. But he couldn’t ignore what Erin had told him. He deserved for her sake, for her mother’s sake—even for his own sake, to know the truth about what had happened here.
He lowered his voice. “Could I speak with you a moment?”
His father’s forehead creased. “Yes. In my office.”
“We’ll just be a few minutes,” he told Erin, hoping she’d understand why he had to leave her alone for a few minutes. He wouldn’t have left her with his father… on the off chance something had happened back then. But he would do it now to get some answers.
She looked confused, her pretty brows drawn together. “Of course. Take your time. I’ll be here.”
“You can go upstairs and take a nap.” He doubted she would sleep, but at least then she could be in a somewhat private place while he was gone.
“Maybe.” Her smile was fleeting.
He didn’t like leaving her this way, with words left unspoken between them, but now was the time if he was
ever going to confront his father about this. So he gave her a quick kiss on her forehead. “We’ll be quick,” he promised.
Chapter Five
Erin stared at the empty doorway where Blake had just been. What was that about? He’d been quiet after lunch, sitting apart from them while they’d played chess. The Ice Queen had disappeared to “take a nap” after lunch, though Erin was beginning to understand that was the term used in this house for anything private.
Suddenly she heard footsteps. Was Blake back already? He’d said they would be quick.
But these didn’t sound like Blake’s footsteps.
That was confirmed when Blake’s mother appeared in the doorway. The Ice Queen. Shit. She wished desperately that she’d agreed to take a nap when Blake had offered. Then she wouldn’t be sitting here like a… like a sitting duck, actually.
Which made Blake’s mother the hunter. “There you are, sweetheart. Where are our men off to?”
“I think they went to Mr. Morris’s study.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Morris moved deeper into the room. “You know you can call him Jeb. And call me Bel.”
Erin knew their names were Jebediah and Belinda. Old names. Beautiful names. The people themselves were both old and beautiful—and intimidating too. She had no desire to be here, alone with Bel, with the Ice Queen, and maybe that was unfair of her.
Maybe the woman was good at heart, with hopes and dreams and fears of her own. Undoubtedly that was true. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had singled out Erin as her enemy. And whether or not Erin agreed with that assessment of their roles, Bel was a dangerous enemy to have.
For all that Blake’s father—Jeb—was a bit pompous, he at least seemed to like her.
“You know, Blake suggested that I go take a nap, and now that I think about it, I am tired. I think I’ll go—”
“Stay.” Bel smiled again, sending a shiver down her spine. “You’re only here for tonight, after all. So little time to get to know you.”
Erin forced herself to remain seated in her chair while Bel sat down on the antique-style sofa nearby. Very nearby. There were only inches between their knees, and it made Erin uncomfortable. Was she overreacting? Probably. But knowing that didn’t shake the tightness in her chest, the dread in her throat.