Wicked Ever After

by Shayla Black

Just before he’d trekked up to the apartment’s second floor, he’d spotted a white compact in an assigned spot, double-checked the VIN matched Brea’s, and continued up.

  She was at Cutter’s tonight for a reason. Since her father wasn’t home, she hadn’t run here simply to be alone. One-Mile had to wonder if she was avoiding him.

  I’ve got news for you, pretty girl, and it’s all bad…

  Fuck giving her the opportunity not to answer the door. She was not wriggling out of his grasp tonight. He would do whatever necessary to extract the goddamn truth from her.

  From an earlier glance down the side of the building, he knew every second-story apartment had a balcony. Cutter had chosen his unit well; it was the most defensible of the bunch. No one could reach his second-story terrace without equipment.

  Good thing that, even though One-Mile had never been a Boy Scout, he always came prepared.

  After a quick dash back to his Jeep, he found what he needed. Then he hustled back to Cutter’s door and tossed a grappling hook over to the nearby balcony. He secured his end of the rope to the landing’s wrought-iron railing, tested it with a strong tug, then climbed over. Dangling from the line, he worked his way, hand over hand, toward the jutting ledge.

  Less than a minute later, he stood facing French doors that led to a darkened room, probably the master. Would he find Brea asleep in that bastard’s bed?

  Not surprisingly, the door was locked, but if no one had ever installed a deadbolt… French doors were notoriously easy to breach. And God knew he’d never been a saint.

  After a little jimmying and a swipe of a plastic card later, a click told him that lock wouldn’t be an impediment anymore. He worked the rope free so that no passersby would spot his means into the unit, coiled it, and secured it to the side of his belt.

  Then he walked into the apartment.

  He smelled Brea before he saw her. But she wasn’t in the rumpled king-size bed in the master. A touch to the warm sheets told him she’d been here recently, though.

  Her purse sat in the nearby chair, with her skirt and sweater draped neatly over its back. A small duffel perched on the carpet beside it, next to her shoes.

  She was definitely here.

  Through the crack in the door, he saw a faint sliver of light flicker on. He peeked into the rest of the smallish, shadowy apartment. On the far side of the unit, a lone pale bulb above the stove illuminated its burners and cast a halo of light into the rest of the kitchen.

  In the middle stood Brea.

  The sight of her, barefoot with her long, loose hair flowing to her waist, was a sucker punch to his chest. His whole body went taut. His temper flared.

  She’d had the chance to tell him about his baby when they’d been alone at the salon a few hours ago. She fucking hadn’t. Had she ever intended to tell him? Or had she simply planned to pass off his kid to the rest of the world as Cutter’s?

  Brea stepped toward the refrigerator. The hem of her thin nightgown skimmed her slender thighs. She looked small and vulnerable. Fuckable. He was angry as hell, but not even fury stopped desire from scalding his veins. Nothing did, goddamn it. Anytime he and Brea were in the same room, he wanted her. But when she was half-dressed and alone, like now? All he could think about was stripping her down, then penetrating and fucking her until she clung to him. Until she screamed. Until she admitted that she only wanted him.

  Until she confessed that she was still in love with him.

  One-Mile yanked on his mental leash. He’d come here with objectives. Prying the truth out of her came first. After that… Well, he saw no reason not to press Brea underneath him until she understood she was at his very dubious mercy. Then he’d happily prove her will to resist him was all show.

  And he’d confess, too. He had no problem being brutally honest about the fact that, when it came to Brea Bell, he had no defenses.

  One-Mile crept out of the bedroom and trekked across the dark living room, never taking his eyes off her. She tugged on the refrigerator door and ducked inside to grab a glass. After a few swallows, she turned, giving him her profile as she yawned and stretched.

  The gleam of the nearby light penetrated her sheer nightgown. He caught sight of the small but unmistakable bump of her belly.

  More proof that Brea was pregnant and that baby was his.

  Two urges hit him at once. To stamp his claim on her and their child, yes. That, he’d expected. But he hadn’t anticipated the extra kick of lust impacting his system at the sight of her rounding and fertile. He wanted his hands on her, his fucking mouth all over her, his dick everywhere inside her. He wanted her to understand she belonged to him—now, always, and forever.

  Brea shut the refrigerator door, then leaned over to extinguish the bulb above the stove. A split second before the room went dark, she caught sight of him. Their gazes connected. Her eyes flared. The cup slipped from her hand.

  As blackness fell, the sounds of glass shattering filled the air.

  “Pierce?” she gasped.

  Was she surprised he’d found her or spooked that he’d broken into Cutter’s lair to reach her? Either way, the raw panic in her trembling voice was unmistakable.

  If she didn’t know yet that he intended to screw up all her wedding plans, she should.

  “Don’t move.” Crossing the tile floor, he reached the stove and flipped on the light once more, shards of shattered glass crunching under the thick soles of his combat boots.

  Brea blinked at him, pale and shaking. “W-what are you doing here?”

  He prowled toward her. “Did you really think you and I were done?”

  “What, talking?”

  An ugly smile curled up the corners of his mouth. “To start.”

  She shook her head and tried to back away. “No.”

  “Don’t move.” One-Mile plucked her off her feet and lifted her against his chest.

  She squealed. “Stop. Put me down. What are you doing?”

  To start? “Making sure you don’t slice up your feet.”

  As he walked back over the broken glass and carried her across the apartment, she steadied herself by looping her arms around his neck. “How did you find me? And how did you get inside?”

  One-Mile lifted a sharp brow at her. “You should have figured out by now that nothing will keep me from you.”

  She hesitated, rosy lips parted as if she meant to speak…but she didn’t have a comeback. “What do you want?”

  “To make a few things clear. First, you’re marrying Bryant over my dead fucking body.” As he stormed into the bedroom, he thought of her wearing the Boy Scout’s ring and warming this very bed. Rage bubbled in One-Mile’s veins.

  He kicked the door shut behind him. Darkness enveloped them.

  She trembled. “Pierce—”

  “I’m not done.” When he reached the mattress, he laid her down, feet dangling off the side, and flipped on the nightstand lamp as he straddled her, caging her flat. Then he reached for her nightgown.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want to see.”

  Confusion settled between her brows. “See what?”

  “Your body.” He shoved the thin cotton up her thighs, over her hips, and dragged it halfway above her belly—before the hem trapped under her refused to stretch any more.

  “Don’t!” She shoved his hands away. “I’m not getting naked for you.”

  “I’m not looking for a cheap thrill.”

  “Then what—”

  “I’ll give you one chance to be honest with me.” He held up a finger and pressed his relentless gaze down on her. “One, pretty girl. Are you pregnant?”

  Her eyes went wide. She paled. The panic he’d heard in her voice earlier spread across her face. “W-why would you think that?”

  One-Mile tamped down his frustration. He’d scared her by walking away. He hadn’t given her the reassurances she’d needed. Fine. He accepted responsibility for that. But he’d be damned if he left here before she admitted the
truth.

  “I’m not playing twenty questions. Yes or no?”

  She sent him a defiant lift of her chin. “Why do you care?”

  “Don’t yank my chain. Are you pregnant?”

  “Pierce…”

  “Answer me,” he snarled.

  “Yes.” Anger tightened her lips even as tears trembled on her lashes. “Yes, I’m pregnant. Now you know.”

  He let out a rough breath. Since she was finally talking, maybe they’d get somewhere. “Oh, I already knew. Just like I know the answer to this question, but I want to hear it from your mouth. Who fathered that baby?”

  She pressed her lips together. “Does it really matter to you?”

  “You fucking better believe it does. Who?” He grabbed her shoulders. “Tell me.”

  Brea trembled in his grip. “You. There’s only ever been you.”

  So he’d been right. And she might have accepted Bryant’s proposal, but she hadn’t taken his cock.

  Even as One-Mile’s triumph roared, he saw her fear. Was she afraid of him? Or of facing everything without him? Either way, he’d reassure her…eventually.

  “That’s right. It’s my baby. You got pregnant that first night, didn’t you? Back in August?”

  She nodded. “But I only found out for sure a little over a week ago.”

  Everything about the way she answered told him that she’d believed he was gone from her life and she’d panicked. So she’d turned to Cutter.

  “I want to see.” With a growl, One-Mile lifted her off the mattress with one hand and gave the gown a savage yank with the other, dragging the cotton up her belly and over her breasts. Since she wouldn’t be needing that tonight, he sent it sailing across the room. Same with her panties, so seconds later he tore those off, too.

  Then he dropped her back to the sheets and stared.

  Her hips had begun to round out. The slight bulge of her belly wasn’t as pronounced lying down, but her tits were heavier and riper, her nipples seemingly darker. They were definitely calling his name as he cupped them in his hands and felt the change in their weight.

  “Oh, pretty girl…” He could barely fucking breathe as he swept his thumb over her crest. Then he dragged his palm down the slight curve of her abdomen. The gravity of the moment felt a million times heavier than air. He couldn’t drag enough into his lungs. Instead, they worked like a bellows as he cataloged the changes pregnancy had wrought on her body. “So beautiful.”

  Fuck, he couldn’t stop touching her. And like every other time he did, his most primal urges compelled him to get close to her, touch and claim her. Never let her go. Seeing her pregnant twisted his impulses into biological imperatives. He could not walk away from her now and live.

  “My body is changing.”

  It was, and he was loving it. “We have a lot to talk about, and we’ll get to all that. But I need you. So bad.”

  One-Mile dragged his lips over the swells of her breasts, then worked his way down the valley in between before lifting one heavy globe to his waiting mouth and sucking her nipple inside.

  “Pierce.” Her breathy cry said she’d missed him and needed the hell out of him, too. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “What, touching you? Reminding you how good we are together? Want me to stop?” He circled her begging bud with his tongue before sucking it deep again. “Do you, baby?”

  Under him, she wriggled, hips shifting. He knew the smell of her arousal; it was burned into his brain. It scented the air now, filling his nostrils, driving him to the edge of his restraint.

  As he turned his attention to the other taut tip, nipping with his teeth, her lashes fluttered shut. “No.”

  “No, don’t touch you? Or no, don’t stop?”

  She opened her eyes, glowing golden with desire as she bit her lip and arched closer. Her breaths turned fast and harsh. She gripped his shoulders, her little nails digging into him. Yeah, she was fighting it…and she was losing.

  “Tell me, pretty girl. What do you want?” He punctuated the question with a long pull on her pert nipple.

  Brea dragged in a sharp gasp. “Oh!”

  He watched her pulse beat wildly at her neck. Beneath him, her legs drifted apart, the beautifully welcoming gesture unconscious.

  One-Mile fused his stare with hers, took another drag on the hard peaks of her tits, then threw a fucking party at the throaty moan that slipped from her lips.

  Brea may not have said yes yet…but she clearly didn’t have the resolve to refuse him with a no.

  He could work with that, especially since he didn’t mind playing dirty.

  “I’m going to keep touching you until you tell me to stop,” he challenged as he pinched her nipple and skimmed his lips up her neck. When he felt her pulse pound under his lips, he bit gently, reveling in her gasping response. “Got anything to say?”

  She shook her head, then pressed it back into the pillow, offering him her throat.

  He just smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

  Need surging, he kissed his way up the smooth, vulnerable column before covering her mouth. He didn’t have to part her lips with his own; she was already open to him. Waiting for him. He raked her shy tongue with his, tasting the tart hint of the lemonade she’d been drinking mixed with a heady something so Brea. A shudder zipped down his spine.

  Jesus, this woman slayed him.

  She wrapped her arms even tighter around him as another feminine moan slipped free. Then she cocked her head to encourage his kiss and slowly began to give herself over. But he was a greedy bastard. He wanted more. He wanted her to surrender faster—like right fucking now.

  One-Mile reached under her head to grab a fistful of hair at her crown and angled her face to his satisfaction. He jerked her even closer. His tongue slid even deeper.

  She met him stroke for stroke. Her next moan pinged off the walls. Her kiss grew wild.

  He greedily took all she offered and still demanded more.

  What was it about this woman? He’d gotten an early start on his sex life, thanks to his degenerate dad. Wherever the military had taken him around the world, he’d fucked hard, well, and often. He didn’t have any trouble going online or walking into a bar and finding someone willing to shuck her clothes and spread her legs. So why was it that the minute he’d met the preacher’s pretty virginal daughter, every other female had ceased to exist for him?

  Brea was kind and sweet. She put others first. She was too delicate to be sexy in the way he used to prefer, but Brea and her shy sensuality lured him like no one else. She was somehow both sheltered and smart. Quiet but stubborn. One of a kind. But none of that explained why she’d hooked him with a glance.

  That big heart of hers did.

  She’d seemingly looked at him in Hunter Edgington’s open doorway and given him some untouched chunk of it that he’d been desperate to have. Cutter warning him away had meant nothing since Brea spent the rest of that barbecue sending him curious glances from under her long lashes. He’d tattooed her timid, pink-cheeked smiles into his memory. They’d kept him hard well into the next day.

  From the instant he’d met her, he’d known he could pleasure the hell out of her. But for reasons he hadn’t been able to explain, he didn’t simply want to bang her. When he’d driven her to the hospital after her father’s first heart attack and she’d clung to him for comfort, he’d understood then what else she needed—besides toe-curling sex—that he could give her in return: security. So he’d held her in his arms and resolved to make her world better.

  When she’d clung to him and cried, Brea had sealed her fate.

  She was his.

  Since he knew shit about relationships, it was no surprise he was doing everything ass-backwards. He’d taken her to bed before he’d taken her out. He’d gotten her pregnant before he put a ring on her finger. The situation wasn’t optimal, but he’d work with it and fix it all eventually.

  Right now, he had to make sure she knew exactly in whose arms
—and whose bed—she belonged.

  “Pierce…” she panted.

  “I’m not going anywhere. You got a yes or no for me yet?”

  “Just kiss me again.”

  “If I do that, pretty girl, I’m going to get inside you and fuck you hard. All night. I won’t stop. If you’re going to say no, say it now.”

  Her breathing stuttered. Her thoughts churned.

  Then she licked her lips. And finally, buttoned-up Brea closed her eyes and offered him her pretty pink mouth, swollen with sin. That was an invitation he couldn’t turn down.

  He grabbed her chin. “Last chance. You saying yes?”

  Brea’s heart beat wildly as she blinked up at Pierce. The air was thick, tense, silent except for their rasping breaths as he waited for her answer.

  She hesitated. She shouldn’t consent. She shouldn’t want him.

  Even if Cutter didn’t love or desire her, he would be disappointed that she was weak to the sins of Pierce’s flesh, especially during their engagement. Then again, he wasn’t in love with her, and she doubted he was spending his nights in California alone. And it wasn’t as if she could get more pregnant.

  Her father would be dismayed that she hadn’t kept her promise to distance herself from Pierce for even two weeks, much less a whole month. But unlike Daddy’s high school girlfriend, the man she loved hadn’t left her because he’d gotten bored and wandered into the arms of another. Not even close. The minute he’d learned about her engagement to Cutter, he’d come after her—hard. And he clearly wasn’t letting up.

  Because he still loved her?

  “C’mon, pretty girl. What’s it going to be?”

  She shivered, just like she did every time he called her that.

  Was she being stupid? Impulsive? She’d let him undress her and touch her. And Brea couldn’t be less than honest with herself. Even if they’d resolved nothing, she ached for Pierce. She wanted him.

  “Heaven help me, but I can’t say no to you.”

  “Yeah?” His fingers bit into her jaw as a dark smile crawled across his mouth. He laved his way up her neck and guided her lips under his again. “Then get ready to scream.”

  Before she could so much as whimper, he took her lips with a muffled groan, tasting potent and wicked and wonderful. The moment she yielded her mouth to him, he tightened his grip, demanding she give him more.