by M. S. Parker
And with those obscure words, she faded away. The temperature returned to normal and Joel’s breath no longer came in foggy clouds. Slumping against the porch railing, he scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to figure out what in the hell Carly had been getting at.
* * *
Emory jumped at every sound.
Every shadow in her house had turned ominous and she felt cold, no matter how many blankets she piled on top of her, no matter how thick her sweater, or how high she turned up the heat.
Cold and terrified.
No matter how brave her words were, she was still scared. And part of her did want to run. There was a voice murmuring to her in the back of her mind like a mantra. She couldn’t tell Joel that.
If he knew she was afraid, he’d never let her stay.
She couldn’t focus on her work though, and none of the books she’d tried to read made sense. After a couple hours of pacing, she settled on the couch and tried to watch TV.
Nothing there held her interest.
Desperate for a distraction, she finally decided to ask Joel the one question that had plagued her for ages.
“Why did you get involved with Grainger?”
She’d surprised him. She saw it in the widening of his eyes, the subtle tightening of that carved, sensual mouth, the way his hands flexed on the paper he was reading.
“He had what I wanted.”
Emory snorted. “Not good enough. He didn’t have a damned thing you couldn’t have gotten on your own.”
A slow smile edged his lips up. “He had you. There wasn’t another you in the whole world.”
She flushed slightly, but she shook her head. “There’s more than that. You hate him. You always did—I’ve seen it in your eyes before. What did he do to you?”
Joel met her eyes, and she almost shivered at the flat black look in his. He seemed colder, somehow. A lot colder. Distant. When he shook his head and murmured, “It doesn’t matter,” Emory knew he was lying. Even though there had really been no change in his expression, the lie was so heavy in the air, it almost choked her.
“I want the truth.”
One straight black brow rose and he said quietly, “He abused you…hurt you…you’re terrified of him. Isn’t that reason enough?”
Shaking her head, she said, “No. It’s older than that. You hated him before you ever saw me.”
His lids drooped, shielding his eyes from hers.
Jerkily, she rose from her chair, and stalked past him. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” Under her breath, she muttered, “Trust me, he says.”
Just as she reached the foot of the stairs, he came up behind her, and laid a hand on her shoulder. Freezing under his touch, she continued to stare straight ahead as he lowered his head to murmur in her ear, “Don’t… Don’t walk away from me. This doesn’t have anything to do with trust.”
“Then why in the hell don’t you tell me?” she asked stiffly, refusing to relax back against his body, the way she wanted to.
He sighed. His breath brushed against her neck, exposed by the thick braid she’d woven her hair into. Her skin tingled, tightened, a chill raced down her spine. Her nipples tightened and she could feel the heat of his body reaching out to her. When he remained silent, she tried to tug away, but his hands shifted, clamping around her waist as he dragged her back against him.
“You don’t want to know this, Emory. Not really. There are things about me that you don’t want to know, things you don’t need to know. You think you know me. You claim you don’t need a knight in shining armor. But you deserve one. And I’m so far from a knight, it’s pathetic.”
As he turned her around, taking her chin, lifting her face until her eyes met his, Emory wondered if it was too late to say, “I take it back.” Staring into the bottomless depths of his tormented eyes, she decided he was right. She didn’t want to know. But then his hands tightened around her waist, lifting her against him. Automatically, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Staring into his eyes, helplessly, she found she couldn’t speak as he lowered them to the couch, keeping her astride him. His hands started to roam over her back, down her hips, over her legs, in constant, restless motion as he stared over her shoulder.
“I was eleven years old when she met him. She was nineteen…beautiful, smart. She wanted more than we could have. Carly liked money, liked pretty things. She was going to school, but at night, she stripped. She was pretty enough, exotic enough, that she landed a job at a very high-end gentlemen’s club. That was where she met Grainger.”
His lids lowered and when he looked back at her, for one brief second, the blank mask he always showed the world was gone.
Emory wanted to cry at the pain she saw exposed on his face.
Then once more, his eyes became shuttered and he hid himself from her again. “I told her he was bad news. I was there the day he came to pick her up at the house. He had bought her a condo. I told her, ‘that guy ain’t right’. I told her…but she went anyway. By the time she understood I was right, it was too late for her to just walk away. She’d seen too much, heard too much…”
His voice trailed off. For a long time, he didn’t say anything. His hands moved to knead restlessly along her back, moving down her hips, then along her thighs, then circling back again—his hands couldn’t seem to stop moving. “Who was she?” Emory asked quietly.
His hands stilled, for just a second, and he opened his eyes, meeting hers. In a hoarse whisper, he said, “My sister. She was my sister…and he killed her.”
“Oh, God.” Tears flooded her eyes and she reached out, cupping his cheek gently. “No. Joel, I’m so sorry.”
“My name was Marc.” His mouth twitched as he tried to smile. “I left that name behind. He’d find me. I knew he would. Couldn’t take the chance that Carly had said anything at all to me. Not even the smallest thing…our house burned down. Mom was still inside. I don’t think about her much. From the time I was just a baby, Carly took care of me more than Mom anyway. But he killed her. I know he did. The autopsy said she died of a broken neck. She was found at the foot of the steps—they basically decided that she tripped trying to get out of the house. Said the house fire was an electrical malfunction. But he started it—or one of his men. It’s weird though. I’m not as mad about that. Mom was dead inside long before he killed her—hell, she died the minute my father left her. Grainger just finished the job. But Carly—”
Joel’s voice broke off and his hands tightened almost painfully on her hips. Leaning against him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, one hand stroking the thick black hair that curled at his nape. “I’m sorry.”
A harsh sigh shuddered through him. She felt the heat of his breath on her neck, felt the tears that stung her eyes, and her heart broke for the boy he’d been. “I’m sorry, Joel…Marc.”
He laughed. A harsh, bitter sound. “Marc’s dead. He died when he saw what that bastard did to his sister.”
Emory went stiff. “You saw?”
“He tore her apart, Emory. And Marc died when he saw it.”
She lifted her head to see one lone tear trickling down his cheek. Her throat knotted and she lowered her head, gently catching that salty drop with her lips. “You’ve been after him all this time,” she murmured gently.
“Yes. Everything I’ve ever done…I did to get close to him, to find out everything I could about that night. He wasn’t alone, you see. I had to find out who was with him, who helped him.”
Her chest ached, and she realized she was holding her breath. Slowly, she released that pent-up breath and drew in another, releasing it, waiting for the aching in her chest to ease. But it didn’t—the ache only grew as she stared at him and tried to understand the pain he had gone through.
“That’s why you got into this life—to get close to him? That’s why you didn’t just kill him?”
Joel nodded, a bitter smile on his face. “Keep your friends close…your enemies closer. A man who trusts you will tell you much more than he w
ould ever tell another.”
“And what about me?” she asked, cocking her head, sinking her teeth into her lips. “What did I have to do with it?”
He moved one hand up, running the tips of his fingers up the center of her body, trailing them along her neck, her jaw, then he brushed his fingers over her temple and murmured, “I still remember every mark I saw on your flesh—every bruise, every black eye. Looking at you made me feel something other than hatred. Looking at you made me think of something other than revenge. I had to have you…and I had to see you safe. Even if it did totally fuck up everything I’d been planning for years.”
“How could it fuck it up?”
His mouth tightened and his head dropped back, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. “I made him a bargain…if he gave you to me, I’d be one of his partners, bring money and everything else I’d gotten good at. But it was a gamble—people in his world don’t usually want anything enough to risk everything. And I was afraid he’d see right through me, see how badly I wanted you, how much I’d risk to have you.”
Blood rushed to her face and she looked down, staring at her hands on his shoulders, trying to breathe through the heat that suddenly flooded her. “Everything you’d done, up until you met me, was to get to him. You’re thirty-two” she glanced at him and he nodded. He hadn’t lied about his age—just damned near everything else.
His eyes met hers and she felt a cold chill rush through her. “Yes. And I’ve been after him since I was a kid, using whatever means I had. I did things that no sane man would have done, things that would have you run screaming into the night if you knew.”
Meeting his eyes, she cupped his cheek in her hand as she shook her head. “Joel, nothing you ever did could make me run screaming.”
A muscle jerked in his cheek and in a harsh voice, he said, “Don’t count on that.”
Smiling at him, she leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his. “No, Joel. You can’t make me run, not from you.”
His eyes stared into hers, and began to smolder. He rose from the couch, shifting her in his arms until he had one arm looped under her knees, the other at her shoulders. “Prove it.”
Her breath froze in her lungs as he carried her through the house, into her darkened room. “I want things from you—things nice gentlemen shouldn’t want from a woman.”
“That sounds like a dare,” she murmured as he tossed her down to bounce on the sheets. Before she could sit up, before she could say another word, he had covered her body, his mouth slanting against hers, kissing her with bruising force. She arched against him, hot licks of pleasure blazing through her, even as some deeper part of her froze with nerves, and the first whispers of fear.
“It’s not a dare,” he muttered against her lips. “It’s just a fact.”
Arching her head back, she stared at him through her lashes. “I don’t need a gentleman. I don’t need a knight. At this point in my life, I don’t think I’d know how to handle one.”
Leaning forward, she kissed him, catching his lower lip between her teeth and tugging it lightly. “I just want you. I want you to want me.”
His mouth left hers and she hissed as Joel raked his teeth over her neck. “And if I want you in ways you aren’t so sure of?” he whispered in her ear. “What then?”
“Try me, Joel. I’m not going to break.”
“Hell, I hope not,” he muttered against her skin.
His low, raspy voice sent shivers down her spine. Her nipples drew into tight, hard little buds and she felt something knot low in her belly. He drew back, staring at her with deep, unreadable eyes. She stared back at him, half terrified, half nervous, completely aroused. Slowly she nodded, sliding her tongue along her lips.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, following that movement with greed. “You deserve soft, whispered promises, gentle hands…I’ve given you that, but I want more.” Then his eyes slid up to hers and he whispered, “I want to touch you, take your sweet body in ways you never dreamed could bring you pleasure. I won’t be soft. I won’t be gentle. Be sure. Very sure. Because once I start…I won’t stop.
He cupped her crotch, grinding the heel of his hand against her clit—she could feel the heat of his palm burning her through her clothes and she whimpered. “So if you think you’re going to get too scared, tell me now.”
Emory was surprised that she had the voice to speak as she said, “I’m not going anywhere.”
He tore her clothes off. She cried out as he grasped the edges of her shirt and jerked, the buttons popping off and flying everywhere. He pulled her up, half off the bed, jerking the shirt halfway down her arms. The cloth pinned her arms to her sides, and she wheeled wide, panicked eyes to his face, but he never even looked at her as he dipped his head and caught one nipple in his mouth, sucking at it through the lace of her bra, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh surrounding her nipple. He bit down until it was just shy of pain and Emory was shocked at the lightning-hot streak of pleasure that arrowed down to her pussy and throbbed through her sex.
He jerked her jeans away with quick, rough hands, growling as he crouched between her legs, cupping her hips in his hands, staring at the apex of her thighs. The hungry look on his face had a hot rush of blood rushing to her cheeks, and she squirmed, but then all embarrassment fled, replaced by startled pleasure as he dove down and sucked her clit into his mouth. His fingers circled around her opening, edging closer and closer.
The teasing strokes quickly pushed her into a mindless frenzy as she rocked her hips against his face. The moment he pushed his fingers inside her, she orgasmed, screaming as her hands gripped the sheet under her.
His hands left her, but she barely noticed as she sucked air, trying to breathe through the hot, syrupy satisfaction that had overtaken her.
When he came back, he drew her up against him, his hands still touching her with hard, greedy force. Joel’s hands and mouth burned over her body with excruciating thoroughness, his teeth raking her neck, his hands pulling the shirt completely off her—freeing her hands. Her bra followed but before she could shrug it off, he caught her hands, pulling her against him, molding her body to his as he pinned her hands behind her back.
“You’ve got marks on you…and I love seeing them, love knowing I put them there,” he muttered against her mouth.
As he pulled away, she looked down, startled to see the red marks all over her torso. Pink love bites peppered the pale flesh of her breasts. He traced his finger over one, then moved lower, circling it around her nipple, watching as she shivered. Lowering his head, he whispered against her ear, “Your eyes are dark…you know that, Emory? You don’t know whether you’re aroused or scared. Maybe you’re both…maybe you can’t figure out if you want me to stop or not.”
His tongue traced around the outer rim of her ear and then he sank his teeth into the fleshy lobe. “I’m not going to. I’m going to make you scream, make you squirm, make you beg…make you come like you’ve never come before, and even after I do all that, I won’t stop. Not until I’m done. You had your chance to run.”
Swallowing, she met his eyes as he shifted away. “I don’t want to run.”
A slow smile edged his lips up. “You ought to.” The hard, hot strength of his hands gripped her waist and he spilled her back onto the bed, flipping her onto her belly. He tossed something down on the bed beside her head and as she pushed herself onto her hands and knees, she saw the bottle of apricot baby oil there. Frowning, she stared at it but then she felt his hands on her ass, spreading her cheeks. The heat of his gaze was as palpable as a touch and she felt a hot flush spreading up from her chest, staining her cheeks.
What is he…?
She licked her lips nervously as he reached for the oil. Was he going to…? Oh, hell. Hot, slick fingers started to probe the tight, virgin entrance of her ass. Liquid heat flooded her pussy as she remembered the pleasure from his touch just a few days ago. But she knew, with a gut-deep instinct, that he was planning on putting more than a finger
inside her ass.
“I’m fucking this ass,” he murmured, as though confirming her thoughts. “Are you ready to run away yet?”
As he pushed first one, then a second finger inside, a burning slice of pain arced through her and she arched back with a scream. But as he pulled out and pushed back in, the pain was equaled by hot pleasure, the two mingling until she couldn’t separate them. Run…run?
She might. If she could work up the energy to move, the energy to focus, to force her body to move. But she couldn’t. Everything inside her was focused on his touch, the probing caress of his fingers in her ass. When she heard the rough rasp of his zipper, she tensed, but a moan escaped her and she pushed back against his touch yet again.
“You don’t want to run, do you?” Joel murmured, stroking a hand over the curve of her rump. “Do you want this?”
He nudged his cock against her backside and Emory whimpered.
“Answer me!” he barked, and he gently slapped her ass.
A blow from a man…something she’d learned the hard way brought nothing but pain. But she yelped, shocked at the startled pleasure that shot through her. “I don’t know,” she wailed.
His hand fell away, his fingers pulling out of the clinging embrace of her ass, and she whimpered as he moved closer, his hips cupping her ass, his cock, now slicked with oil, cuddling between the cheeks. Joel bent low over her body, purring into her ear, “Good…”
When he pressed the fat head of his cock against her, Emory keened low in her throat, her elbows giving out. Collapsing against the bed, she clutched the sheets as he slowly pushed inside. It hurt…it burned…tears stung her eyes and she sobbed. Too big, too much, she whimpered and tried to pull away but his hands gripped her hips unyieldingly.
“Push down, Emory,” he demanded.
It was gut instinct that made her obey—the painfully acquired knowledge that she had to obey a man when he spoke like that. But it wasn’t followed by a rush of terror…just some inexplicable urge to do everything he asked.
Taking a breath, she pushed down and then she gasped as he slid a little deeper. Pulling out, then rocking back inside her. She bore down on him again and he pushed deeper inside. They continued like that until he was completely buried in the tight grip of her ass.