by Nicole Snow
I whip around. There's a thousand stars dancing in her evergreen eyes. “Try me. I don't want to take his side just because we're family, Marshal. If he's done something truly awful, then –“
“Then the last thing you want is a grandstanding chickenshit for a brother!” I'm snarling. Somehow, her wrist made it into my hand. She's shocked, and then it's my turn. “Look, I'm trying to save you. I also need some damn sleep, woman. Yeah, your brother made mistakes. Big ones. That's done now. You want to know, find out from the horse's mouth.”
Her jaw falls open and closes just as quick. Her sharp little tongue flicks across her lips, giving me another sensation I don't need. I can't get hard in the middle of this. “But...”
“But nothing, Red. Listen! Ask yourself what's the point of me dropping the ugly truth on your head? Do you really want to see every skeleton in his closet and wreck a perfectly happy family?”
She hesitates, jerks her eyes away, burning a hole through the wall with her stare. “I don't...I don't know anymore, Marshal. No one tells me anything.”
“That's what I thought,” I whisper, letting her hand drop.
And that's how it has to be.
Her silence is my cue to exit. I drag my ass upstairs with electric venom nipping at my veins.
Sad thing is, treating her like shit is the lesser evil. This predicament is my fault, too. I slipped up when I called him 'killer.' Put a new worry in her pretty little head that's only making this harder.
Too goddamn bad. My lips are sealed.
No good will ever come from laying Jackson's dirt at his sister's door.
Not for me, not for my mission, not for her.
I'm heading for my room, resisting the urge to slam the door shut like I want to, so hard it rattles the entire house. I can't wake Mia.
She's too precious. I'm already risking too much hurt she doesn't deserve, pursuing this vendetta. Her little face brings me to a stop in the hall. The pictures from when she was just a newborn hang there, framed in the moonlight streaming through the window.
So tiny, but bigger than the world itself. Knew it the first time I picked her up, and the feeling's never gone away.
So soft and so dependent. She needs me, and even though I act like I don't, it's mutual.
I need her. Mia keeps me sane, focused, prevents me from lashing out like a bigger fool than I've already been.
I'm so lost in my own skull I don't hear the footsteps behind me. I'm ready to throw the intruder through the nearest wall the second those hands grab my waist, but I relax once I realize whose they are.
They're too small, too warm, too regretful to be dangerous.
“I'm sorry for down there,” Sadie whispers, tickling the nape of my neck.
In no time at all, I'm aching again. My dick throbs, fuller and angrier than ever, a lightning rod for the turmoil storming my soul.
Please, Christ, make it go away.
When I turn, face her, and fix my eyes on that pale face surrounded in cinnamon, please just let this be done.
Of course, it never is. A growl deepens in my throat, and I push her against the wall, taking both her little hands in mine.
“What do you want, darling? It's bedtime.”
If only it were that simple. The beast part of me pulsing between my legs doesn't know what sleep even means. It begs me to do the unthinkable, turns her into a distracting piece of sex before my eyes.
“I'm apologizing, asshole. Can't you just take it?” There's a real angst in her eyes tonight, hot and frustrated.
I shouldn't stare. Shouldn't let it deepen the madness ripping through my system, the new sick urges I can't ignore.
It wants me to fuck this out, whatever this is. And I want to bad, use her body to pull it out of me, fill her soft young cunt until I'm twitching, spent, purified.
“What apology?” I have to ask again, wondering if I've lost the capacity for making sense of words. “I'm the one who's been a cock tonight. You deserve better, Red. Go to sleep. I'll reign it in and do better tomorrow. Give you my word.”
Every last alarm in my wilting sanity blasts full volume. It's my last chance to walk away, but her little hands squeeze mine, lacing her soft, skinny fingers through my calloused paws.
“Stop. You blame yourself constantly, Marshal. It isn't healthy.” She pauses. “Obviously, there are reasons you act this way. Reasons why you're holding so much anger.” She pushes closer, coming through the wall I've formed with my arms. Goddamn, her touch diffuses me. “No one should be this alone. I'm not asking for secrets. I just want to know you.”
This. Girl.
This woman. She's up close and personal with every demon crawling in my skin, and she's still clueless what she's getting herself into.
My hands fall to her wrists again, tighter than before. Our gaze is locked. “Sadie, fuck...why won't you go? Why won't you listen?”
“Because I'm sick of watching you hurt,” she whispers. Balmy wetness fills her eyes. They're wide, dilated, prickling every nerve in my body. “And maybe, just maybe, I think there's more than a raging asshole under the surface. A man who shouldn't have to be alone.”
I throw my head back, pinching my jaw. The plea oozing through my teeth comes out forced. “Step away, Red. Last chance. Go, now, before we both do something we'll fucking regret.”
Of course, she doesn't listen. Her soft hands move up my arms and then wrap around my back. They glide upward, criss-crossing under my shirt, trying to peel it off my body.
“I'm done with regrets,” she whispers, less than an inch from my face.
It's the last sentence I hear before something soft and wet and wonderful lands on my lips. Her taste is in my mouth again, full and lush, but I don't savor it.
I become a wild animal breaking its chain. I reach for her body, crush her against the wall, and take everything my dick has wanted for weeks while she's paraded around my house. My tongue plows into hers, rough and possessive, and the moan I get back says more.
Fuck.
Regrets? There will be plenty, but there's too much inertia to stop.
After I've owned the spitfire tongue that's left my head a ruin, I'm grabbing the rest. I'm owning it.
I'm going to fuck the everlasting hell out of Sadie Kelley until one of us walks away broken.
7
Cascade (Sadie)
A thousand suns light me up. Except their heat, their energy, their power was never this deliciously masculine.
Kissing Marshal freely is an out-of-body experience. Having his hands trawling my curves defies description.
I'm not in Kansas anymore, or heck, not even Port Eagle, Iowa.
I'm in his hands. I'm on his tongue. Undone, piece by piece, reduced to the sharp hum anchored in my thighs, the incessant craving.
“Marshal!” His name is one more slurred moan once he breaks for air. “Jesus.”
“No,” he rumbles, grabbing my chin, touching his forehead to mine. The edge of his stubble grazes my cheek, seductive and rough. I'm scared and excited to find out what it'll feel like between my legs. “Leave him the fuck out of it, Red. We're already balls deep in blasphemy.”
I'm so flushed I'm shaking. This is wrong on so many levels, but he isn't.
My hand slides back in his. Those baby blues cemented in his head pin me down, a hunger more like a wild animal's than a man's lapping to get out. “You. Bed. Right the fuck now.”
I remember not to squeal at the last second. My feet are off the ground and I'm thrown over his shoulder. His footsteps race the furious tempo of my own heart as he carries me down the hall.
It's a nice distance, comfortably several walls away from Mia's room, but I hope like nothing else we won't wake her.
Marshal's subtle, rough scent amplifies in the bedroom. I can't take a breath without smelling him in the sheets draped over his spartan bed, in the work clothes hanging in his closet, and yes, all over me.
My nostrils bristle. His scent is just like his taste: pain
dipped in passion, a little bit of motor oil, and so overwhelmingly real.
“Marshal, please!” I hiss, falling against the bed, bucking against his hand. He's grabbing at the hem of my gown. He's already torn one of the straps, leaving my right boob nearly exposed.
I thought he'd suck it, flick it with his thumb, but there's no stopping the animalistic need to be inside me. He has me bent over, pressing his hard-on against my wetness, edge of my gown tossed over my ass.
It's suddenly paper thin. Like I've been wrapped up and served, and his rough, marauding hands are going everywhere.
“You really want to fuck me, Red? You want a dick inside you attached to a mouth that can't kiss without teeth?” He's snarling in my ear.
His hand reaches for my neck, gives it a firm squeeze. Then a brusque shake, demanding answers.
“Would I be here if I didn't?” I whimper.
No sooner than the words are out, something hot stings my ass. A delectable crack explodes in my ears.
Holy hell. He didn't just do that...did he?
I haven't even lost my virginity, and I'm being spanked.
“Wrong fucking answer, Red. If you want this, if you want me to give you every inch, then say it. Say it.” Every word rips out of him sharper.
I'm tense and hot. Squirming underneath him. His bulge presses into my panties, separated only by our clothes. My ache becomes insane.
And, God, he's still holding me down.
“Yes, Marshal. Please. Please be my first.” My moan crescendos and softens, wondering why his pressure is suddenly so much less.
Those rough hands catch my shoulders, flip me around, and put us face-to-face. His huge chest rises and falls. I think we both know I just screwed up. I never should've said the word first.
“Too honest?” I whisper, hoping it cuts the tension.
“What the fuck did you mean by first?” Raging blue eyes shift, searching mine. “You can't be serious, Red, telling me you've never fucked a man before?”
Who knew hot, cold, and awkward could merge like a melting sundae? Okay, so when I'm half-naked, sopping wet, and begging to have my brains screwed out by a beast-man like Marshal Howard, announcing my virginity probably isn't the smartest move.
“It's true, but so what? I'm ready. I want you, Marshal. I want to give myself to –“
“Fuck.” He eases backward, hand over his face, snarling as he riffles his thick hair. “Fuck!”
My cheeks blaze like twin suns. I sit up, hands on my knees, pulling down my gown. I'm holding my breath, waiting for him to turn around, and look me in the eye. If I'm destined to shuffle back to my room tonight, humiliated and alone, then let's just get this over with.
But he doesn't say a word. Just stops, hand against the wall, staring like a wolf.
“What?” It comes out sharply. I can't take the suspense. “Seriously?!”
“You.” He lifts a hand and points. “This is crazy, Red. Wrong. All kinds of fucked up in ways I didn't know existed.”
My teeth prod my bottom lip. I don't like how he's staring. There's a hundred reasons to get up, walk over, and send my hand flying across his cheek like lightning. But there's another reason I'm paralyzed, questioning how it's still possible to want him as bad as I do when he's dressing me down like a dumb kid.
Marshal is a freaking enigma.
His pose, just a little too stern. His eyes, too bright. His voice, too much like thunder to leave me certain about anything.
I can't figure him out. Even when he's being a jackass, I can't, and it makes me a moth to flame.
I jump when he starts moving. It's such a deliberate, quick motion, so fast he's next to me again, fingers in my hair, teasing new goosebumps on my skin.
“Real talk: as bad as I want to rip that thing to shreds, push your face into the pillow, and fuck you hoarse, I shouldn't. You deserve better for your first. Some skinny, smiley little prick who didn't get hollowed out in a war zone, who didn't knock up a one-night bar stand.” His breath is so heavy on my throat, skipping up my neck as it travels to my ear. “But fuck, Red. Fuck. There's that need. Desire makes a man crazy. Here's your last chance: tell me to fuck you, and I will.”
My hands tense in my lap, a hard ball pressed together. Those eyes of his aren't just undressing me. They're blue oceans with a terrible undertow and zero apologies. They catch me, drown me, draw me into a deep trench with no escape written all over it.
“Marshal...please.” My cheeks are overheating before I even say it, the crude, nasty thing he's demanding. “I want this. I want you. I want us to enjoy one night. Fuck me.”
I'm expecting a second of hesitation, one last oh-Jesus-is-this-really-happening moment.
I'm flat out wrong.
Marshal curls one hand around my head, seizing a few locks of my hair. He pulls until my lips are primed for his. Our kiss is a collision, and it's happening while his other hand takes the left strap of my gown that's still intact.
One quick jerk destroys it. Oh, hell.
I'm moaning, he's growling, and our tongues are two sucking fuses lit on fire. He pushes me against the bed, the better to drink me in, grinding his cock into my panties. My clit throbs against his friction, harder by the second through my panties, soaked and tight and so damn ready.
My breath hitches when he leans back, stripping me down to new naked levels with his eyes. It's just a prelude to actually being naked, in the flesh. Marshal's hands go to the loose fabric hanging on my breasts. He takes it in both hands and rips.
My gown screams. The entire thing parts in his ruthless hands, falls around me like a torn sheath, revealing my bare breasts for his animal tongue.
Holy hell, it's on.
His hands, his mouth, his teeth surround my nipples. They're pebbled, pleading, begging to be sucked and stroked sane again. Lucky me this brute is a master.
His stubble rakes new friction on my skin, igniting fresh moans.
His hand cups my left breast and squeezes while his mouth attacks the right. My nipple disappears in his mouth. Pleasure comes in waves that make me ripple.
His eyes – holy hell, those eyes – never release me for more than a second. They're forged to mine, studying every tick in my face, and there are so many it's embarrassing. There's something shameful, becoming undone like this for him, but my body doesn't care.
My heart regrets nothing.
Good thing, too, because his kisses zip down the softness of my belly. He lifts my leg, holds it at an angle, opening the path for his frantic hunger. Then his mouth races up my thighs again, trading kisses on each, and then the faintest nip of teeth.
Oh, God. Oh, God!
I'm afraid I'll come before he's even touched my fuse.
My panties ball up in his hands. There's less than two seconds from the time I lift my ass and they swing off my ankles, baring all.
I'm naked. Exposed. Brutally wet.
He stops with his face in front of my swollen pussy lips. There's a growl in his throat. Hot, sweet breath greets my wetness.
Then the warmth stops. He's inhaling me. Slowly and maddeningly in control.
“Please,” I whisper again, voice shaking. “Please, Marshal.”
Oh, but this beast has his own schedule, and apparently it's not the same as mine. He looks up a second later, new blue fire in his eyes, just as his hand finds its way between my legs and spreads me open. “No. Fuck my fingers first.”
His thumb drifts over my clit. His pressure mounts just out of reach, making me work for it. And I do.
Legs splayed over his huge shoulders, I'm grinding into him. I need this. Rocking my pussy on his hand, searching for the delicious friction again, begging for release.
Marshal's thumb pushes in, covering my clit, vibrating. My breath stalls out in my lungs.
So. Damn. Close.
His free hand reaches up, pinches my chin, aiming his gaze into me. “Come for me, darling. Come like a good girl before you get to do it a whole lot harder on my tongue.
”
His hand starts moving again, quickening its hypnotic rhythm. There's a tense, sticky heat in my belly, an explosion, and I'm gone.
My first O shears me in two.
Thighs shaking, sheets balled in both hands, rendered breathless. I'm coming harder than anything I've ever had with my own fingers or the tiny silver vibrator I keep in my drawer at home.
His fingers press my opening apart, but stop just short of entering. He's making me wait for his mouth, his cock, his fury.
He's drenched every nerve in whiskey with his don't you fucking stop look, and his thumb won't let me dream of it.
Who the hell is this? Surely, not Sadie anymore. The girl on his hand is a humping, heated, sweat soaked mess – everything feels hotter than it should on a cold winter's night – and nothing, nothing, stops the onslaught.
Not until it's over.
Not until he's given me my fill.
Not until his hand drifts away from the vice of my thighs, he pinches my face harder, and his kiss eases me back from heaven.
My eyes flutter, still trying to process what just happened. You came like you didn't know you could, stupid, I tell myself.
There's no denying it. The satisfied smirk on his lips won't let me tell any lies.
“Always knew you'd come fucking beautiful, Red,” he whispers, running his fingers briskly through my hair again. He waits until my eyes are his before the next words come. “Touch me.”
I don't know what he means. I sit up and the room is spinning. There's a new sight to take in as he grips his shirt, rolls it up his body, and exposes every miraculous inch of his skin.
He's even more of a mountain than I thought.
Smooth in his peaks and valleys. Rugged where it counts. Shadows everywhere, branded on his skin in tangled, messy ink. Blazing warm to my touch.
I gnaw my lip, extending a hand. My fingers connect with his side and move cautiously across his warrior abs. My hand saunters over his feral tattoos like I'm afraid they'll burn.
So hot. So wild. So hard.