by Blake, Zoe
Leaning down, he whispered against her lips, “Baby, this is going to hurt. I need inside you right now like I need to breathe, but if you say no, I’ll do all in my power to pull back.”
It was the nicest thing this stern and implacable Marine had said to her so far.
After a moment’s hesitation, she craned her neck up and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, unable to form the words.
He nipped at her full lower lip. “There will be no turning back. Once I take what’s mine, I keep it.”
He talked in forevers.
It was insane. This wasn’t real. The way he acted. The way he looked at her. It was with such primal possession. As if she were not just some quick conquest or a tumble in the sheets, but a treasure he would hold to tight. Her own reflections on his character came back to her. He was a man of focus, of determination. Who took what he wanted.
This wasn’t a man who needed months or even weeks to get to know a woman to know she was what he wanted. This wasn’t just an idle statement but a warning.
Phoebe raised her hips as she crossed her ankles over his lower back.
Michael pulled his hips back and thrust hard.
* * *
Her cry echoed in his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was from pleasure or pain but he couldn’t stop. He was a man possessed. An animal. His only focus was the wet heat of her body and the primal surge of feeling the moment he joined his body with hers. His blood pounded through his veins. His vision blurred. Gripping the sheets on either side of her head, he looked down into her wide, emerald eyes and forcefully thrust his flesh inside her own. Her body clenched around his thick shaft like a vise. Wet heat. Her fingernails clawed down his back. The sting of pain only spurred him on. His hips moved, driving his cock into her cunt. He could feel the sweat bead between his shoulder blades. Smell her own musky scent blend with that of her perfume. A need to mark her even more clearly rose in his chest. Lowering his head, he opened his mouth over her soft shoulder. The tip of his tongue swiped at her skin. Tasting her before his teeth sunk deep.
She moaned at the pain before wrapping her legs more tightly around his hips.
His tongue swept across her skin again, feeling for the crescent indentations of his mark.
“Oh god! Oh god!” she breathed against his chest. “Harder,” she screamed.
Michael smiled. Damn she was an amazing woman.
Leaning back on his knees, his hands spanned her hips, lifting her higher till her ass was off the bed and the rest of her weight was resting on her shoulder blades.
“You want it harder, princess,” he ground out. “Ask daddy nicely like a good little girl.”
“Fuck me, Daddy,” she challenged. A fighting fire in her eye.
He drove full force into her tight cunt. He would make sure she felt the bruise from his touch for days. Placing his thumbs between her thighs, he opened her pussy lips, wanting to see his cock as it thrust inside. Wanting to see how her small body stretched around his thick shaft. The pad of his thumb pressed against her clit. A soft touch despite the violence of his thrusts.
Phoebe moaned and bucked her hips against him, her hands fisting in the sheets over her head. He swirled his thumb again, this time putting more pressure.
She bucked again, her body clenching even tighter around his cock.
“That’s it, baby, come for me. Come for your daddy.”
Phoebe’s arms lowered as her hands covered her breasts. Squeezing and kneading her own flesh. Michael thrust faster at the sight.
As if she were truly under his command, Phoebe screamed her release.
Michael continued to thrust. Relishing in how her body clenched and gripped his cock while she came, he could feel his balls tighten as the pleasurable pressure increased. One final thrust. He threw his head back and let out a roar of completion as he released deep inside her body. Once again marking her as his own.
* * *
Michael lay on his back in the narrow bed. Phoebe was snuggled up to his side. Her slim thigh tossed over his own. Her head on his shoulder as he caressed her hair.
He had never fucked a woman like that before. It was almost violent. The fierce need to be inside of her, to mark her, to possess her, had overcome him like a force of nature. Their short acquaintance did not bother him. As a Marine you learn not to fear the possibility of death tomorrow by living for today. He was drawn to this woman; it was as simple as that. He was drawn to her intelligence, her stubbornness, her spirit. When she’d walked into his office he’d desired her. When he saw her standing on that chair reciting Shakespeare as if she were a general trying to inspire her troops into battle, he half fell in love with her. Then later, when she broke into his office and he realized his stubborn princess may be in some kind of danger and every instinct to fight and protect came to the fore, he knew he was in trouble.
Kissing the top of her head, he said, “You need to tell me what is going on. What you are involved in.”
He could feel her small frame stiffen. Her gentle breathing stopped.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She was lying to him.
“You’re being careless and I’m a dangerous man to cross. Something is going on and I need you to tell me what it is so I can handle it for you.”
She leaned up on her elbow. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulder to tickle his chest. He couldn’t see the color of her eyes in the fading light. Despite their dark depths, he knew she was lying.
“I can’t and I don’t need you to handle anything for me. I can take care of myself.”
He brushed the hair off her shoulder. With his fingertip, he traced the fading crimson crescent moons. His mark was already disappearing off her skin.
“Who knows what intimacies our eyes may shout. What evident secrets daily foreheads flaunt. What panes of glass conceal our beating hearts?”
“More poetry.” Her tone was low and remorseful.
Michael shrugged his shoulders. “A career in the military can bring a lot of darkness and solitude. I’ve always turned to books and poetry for companionship and to keep a sense of beauty with me even when surrounded by ugliness.”
He watched as her eyes teared up.
“Excuse me,” she sniffed as she ran into the bathroom.
Michael rose and lithely crossed the room to her desk. If she wasn’t going to trust him with her secrets, he was just going to have to learn them himself. He would be damned if he stood idly by while she may be putting herself in danger. Flipping open the notebook on the desk, he read the careful outline she had written. He was back lounging in bed before she returned.
So his lying little princess was getting herself caught up in the murders. He would just see about that.
Holding out a hand to her, he said, “Come back to bed, babygirl. We’ll worry about all this tomorrow.”
She gave him a soft smile and curled up again by his side. He could feel her body relax in sleep a few minutes later.
He stayed awake. Watching over her. His sweet, stubborn little one.
Planning.
* * *
When Phoebe woke the next morning, he was already gone. Placing a hand on the pillow where he’d slept, she thought back to the poem he’d quoted. It was Betrayal by Emily Dickinson. She laid her cheek on the pillow, inhaling the spicy sandalwood of his cologne.
What had she done?
In the span of a heartbeat she was quite possibly falling in love with an arrogant, overbearing, poetry-reciting, passionate, amazing man.
And he would hate her forever when he found out she had been lying to him from the beginning.
Chapter 9
Michael tried to control his anger.
It wasn’t her lies. It was that she didn’t trust him with the truth. It cut him to the core to read in her notes about the symbol painted in blood on her door. That mixed with what he overheard of her conversation, her theft from his office of the student files and what he saw in her notebook convinced him sh
e was putting herself in danger by investigating these murders on her own. But why? And why hadn’t she reached out to him when she first was threatened?
He should be fair in this. Not everyone was trained to assess situations as well as character from a first meeting. Not everyone had their instincts honed from years of battle. He shouldn’t blame her for not knowing he could be trusted based on their brief acquaintance. It wasn’t fair of him to expect it of her.
Problem was…he wasn’t in a fair mood. He was in a vengeful one.
And he wanted answers.
* * *
“Well, this certainly is a surprise, Colonel. I’m sorry for not getting up to the school myself to greet you properly. We’ve just been a bit short-handed as of late.”
Michael waved away Sheriff Stevens’ apologies. “No need, Sheriff. We’re both busy men, which is why I would like to get straight to the point.”
The sheriff was a tall, lanky man of about sixty. With his large, white handlebar mustache, he gave the impression of belonging more in the old western frontier than a small bay village in Massachusetts. With a nod of understanding, he motioned for Michael to join him in his office. “Dolores, don’t bug me,” called out the sheriff before shutting the door. Michael smiled, liking the man instantly.
Sheriff Stevens placed two coffee mugs on his desk. Opening the bottom drawer, he pulled out a bottle of bourbon. “It ain’t morning drinking if it’s medicinal,” he said with a sly wink before pouring them both a generous amount.
After taking a swallow, the sheriff leaned back in his chair. “I expect you are here to ask me about those poor women.”
“If you forgive me for saying so, Sheriff, there wasn’t much of an investigation by your department.”
Stevens gave him a rueful smile. “You don’t get to be sheriff of this area for going on twenty years by interfering with the Puller Academy’s business, son.”
“Still, I’m sure you have your opinions.”
Stevens gave Michael an assessing look, then took another swallow of bourbon. “You’re not their typical superintendent. Usually I’m sitting across from an old salt admiral who just wants a soft assignment to ride out till retirement.”
“The military will always be needed, but in order to stay relevant to truly fulfill its purpose to society, it needs to accept new ideas and be open to new perspectives. That starts, I believe with the officers and how they are educated before taking on their first post. I realized early in my military career that my education at Puller was one of the most impactful as far as shaping me as a leader. After my last tour, I decided it was the best possible way for me to do my part.”
The sheriff nodded his head. After a long, thoughtful pause, he said, “We were first on the scene. The murders happened just off campus so the academy wasn’t involved at that point. I’m sure you’ve seen the official report.”
Michael nodded his head. “Stripped and strangled. No sign of sexual assault. Liver missing. Carving of a satanic symbol. I know once the academy got involved, the police were pulled out. I will tell you there was an extensive investigation done, at least when it came to a possible midshipman’s involvement. There were two suspected students initially, but it proved to be nothing. I’ll be frank with you, that is all my report contains on the subject. That and instructions to increase security around campus.”
The sheriff shook his head and leaned back in his chair. He poured himself another finger of bourbon before continuing. “There was something not right about that whole scene. You know, besides the gruesome Satan shit.”
“In what way?”
“In the autopsy, it mentioned post-mortem scratches on their backs. Seems to me that meant they were dragged onto the rock. Because the women were naked, everyone assumed it was a man who’d done it. These were two slight women. Seems to me a man wouldn’t have to drag them onto the rock. Just place em there.”
But a woman would, thought Michael, recalling Phoebe’s notes on Mrs. Ludtz being a possible suspect. This was a small town, Michael wasn’t sure if the sheriff knew or would be loyal to Mrs. Ludtz, and he didn’t want to ruin the woman’s reputation with a false accusation, especially with something as serious as murder.
“Were there any female suspects?” he asked evasively.
The sheriff shook his head. “Nah. Never got that far. Navy swept in and took over. Claimed it was close enough to the academy that they wanted jurisdiction. Like I said, no point in getting in a pissing match over it, especially when I don’t have the staff or resources to investigate two murders.”
Sounded about right, no one wanted a scandal. It was better to blame a faceless drifter and play the odds it was an isolated incident.
Michael rose and extended his hand. “Thank you, Sheriff. You’ve been helpful.”
Shaking his hand, the sheriff added, “I can’t see how the academy or the Navy would appreciate you poking around this, son. You’re going to make some people awful angry.”
“Well, at least these angry people won’t be trying to kill me with a homemade pipe bomb or Soviet-era gun, so I consider it an improvement to my last assignment.”
He left the sheriff’s office with another target in mind. It was past time he confronted his little lying princess.
Michael turned up the collar of his wool overcoat and grabbed the rim of his cover as he walked away from his car. The wind off the bay had picked up. Looking to the sky, he saw fierce black rainclouds gathering. It was going to be one hell of a storm. Holding the flaps of his collar closed, he made his way back to the main building. The dark chaos of the weather matched his mood.
All he cared about was finding Phoebe and getting some fucking answers. That was when he saw his quarry.
She was headed toward the school library.
Chapter 10
Leaving the main floor of the library behind, heading to the back corner, Phoebe climbed the two flights up the small brass spiral staircase to the upper level loft. With the books on math, science and military history on the lower levels, this part of the library containing books on local history, poetry and art did not see as much traffic. Since it was also the dinner hour, the majority of the midshipmen would be in the mess hall. Phoebe tossed her shoulder bag onto the worn window seat of the large bay window which overlooked Buzzards Bay and created a cozy nook between the stacks and began her search. She was hoping to find a few volumes on the Wampanoag and their shaman beliefs. Phoebe wanted to know if there was more than one way to kill a wendigo, perhaps by strangling.
Phoebe was so absorbed in her search, she didn’t hear his approach.
“Taking a sudden interest in local lore, little one?”
She turned with a start. Michael filled the tiny space between the book stacks. His wide shoulders practically touching each shelf. She couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked in his blue uniform. So authoritative. So…male. The recurring unwanted thought brought a familiar tingling reaction.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Phoebe placed the book she was reviewing back on the shelf as nonchalantly as possible. Although there was nothing suspicious about reading a local history book, she had this instinctive feeling that Michael would find it so.
He took a step toward her.
In a panic, Phoebe turned her back on him. Facing the stacks, she nervously fingered the bindings of the books as she tried to calm her erratic breathing. The air was filled with the scent of his cologne and old leather from the books. She felt rather than heard him take another step closer. His hand appeared slightly above her head to the left. He gripped the hard wood edge of the book shelf. His hand seemed large and masculine with just the faintest crisscross pattern of white scars across the knuckles. A souvenir from fights in the past. Fights he’d probably won.
With the alcove to her right and his large form blocking her exit to the left, she was trapped. Caged between his body and the bookshelf.
There was the brush of his hand along the pleats of her skirt. She wa
s wearing a purple pleated skirt with her knee-high black boots and a gray V-neck sweater. As she felt the soft fabric brush the back of her thigh, she became painfully aware of the fact she wasn’t wearing any stockings. His hand brushed the skirt again. This time the tips of his warm fingers played with the hem, skimming her thigh.
“You’re lying,” he said gruffly just over her shoulder as the back knuckles of his right hand brushed the curve of her ass. “Little girls who lie to their daddies get spanked.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Still she needed to brazen this out. He couldn’t possibly have found out she was a journalist…could he?
“No, I’m not. I’m here in the local history stacks,” she anxiously whispered as she tried to shift away from his taunting touch.
Phoebe could feel a tremor rock his body right before he grabbed her shoulder and twisted her around, slamming her back against the books. Placing his right hand on the shelf by her head, he had her well and truly cornered. Even in the dimmed lighting between the stacks she could see the bright light of anger in his eyes. He wasn’t just resting his hands on the shelves, he was gripping them. His whole body radiated rage.
“You’re lying to me,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I—”
“No. Don’t you fucking dare deny it. I know about the blood on your door. The warning. How could you not come to me?”
“I—”
“I don’t know why you are investigating these murders, but I can tell you this. It stops right here…right fucking now.”
“You can’t order me to stop!” she fired back.
“The hell I can’t. I am your commander and you will not defy me in this.”
“You’re not my commander and nothing you say is going to stop me from finding out the truth about what happened.”