by Skye Warren
Lights danced behind my eyes. Don’t pass out.
Philip’s voice pierced the darkness, a hand reaching underwater. “Kitten?” Then I had my head between my legs, facing the floor. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
The calmness of his voice anchored me to the present. I wasn’t tied up in a bathroom. Not held down in a swanky hotel suite. I was safe. Well, as safe as I could be with one of the most powerful criminals in the city.
It took me longer to breathe normally. He rubbed soothing circles across my back.
“I’m sorry,” I croaked.
“My men will take you back to the safe house. I’ll go in and see Shelly—unarmed.”
“No.” My voice was hoarse as I pushed myself upright. “I’m coming with you.”
“You’re in no shape to—” He must have seen the raw determination on my face, because he cut off with a curse. “How long have you had those?”
“Long enough.”
“Do you see someone?”
“I have medicine, but I—” I looked down to hide my face, flushed with embarrassment. “It’s been a while since I had an incident. I hoped it was over.”
He frowned. “You should have told me.”
That made me laugh, incredulous. “Why? So you could mock me?”
His whole body went unnaturally still. “Is that what you think I’d do?”
“I don’t know. Why wouldn’t you? I’m sure you’ve seen a lot worse things in your life, and you don’t wake up crying in the middle of the night. Isn’t that what you called me? A broken little girl?”
God, why would I mention crying? Now it was happening, a sob trapped in my chest, hot tears welling in my eyes. Then I was coming apart, crying as if my world was ending. Only my world ended years ago.
“Ah, no, kitten. No. Don’t cry.” He pulled me into his lap and wrapped his arms around me. His mouth went to my hair, murmuring gentle orders to stop, please stop, I can’t watch you cry.
I couldn’t stop, though. The grief had taken over my body, turned me into a vessel for tears, twisting me into a knot. I held my forearms up to my face as if they could protect me. He pulled me in closer, until I felt completely surrounded by him, his body both a cage and a shield.
The tears slowly subsided. I fell against him, limp and exhausted in the cradle of his large body.
I became aware of the hard length beneath my thigh. My body stiffened.
“Ignore it,” he said roughly.
I couldn’t ignore it. I didn’t want to. He desired me; that much was clear. No matter what he’d said in the office that day, no matter that it was true, I thought he’d always desired me.
There was more than desire. Obsession?
Love?
I didn’t know, and I wasn’t sure he did either. All I knew was that I wanted this, wanted a connection with another human being, wanted someone who cared enough to watch me, to hold me down—if that meant I was still a broken little girl, then so be it.
I moved my hips. They rocked against his erection. His breath caught.
“Kitten.” There was a warning in his voice. “You’re upset.”
I ignored it, shifting to face him. This close, he seemed fierce, handsome features etched out of stone, and more vulnerable. And I wanted him, so much. I needed him, this tender beast of a man.
“Please,” I whispered.
“This isn’t the right time.” I could hear his restraint in the gravel of his voice. I could feel it in the vibration of his body, fighting back his impulse, his desire to protect me.
It felt like a confessional, the back of the SUV in the dark of night, smooth highway pavement rushing beneath us. “There is no right time for us.”
“I can’t stop wanting you.”
“Then don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t stop.”
His hand cupped my neck, and then his mouth was against mine, kissing me as if he was starving for me. As if he’d been starving for years. He groaned at the taste of me, the sound almost disbelieving. Then he cupped my face with both hands, holding me still while his mouth assaulted me—biting and licking, invading me. I couldn’t kiss him back. I couldn’t even breathe. I could only submit to him, open to him, every slide of his tongue against mine driving my need higher.
His hand moved to my waist, brushing the hem of my T-shirt. He slid it up, exposing my breasts to the air. My nipples were hard points against his palms.
He groaned. “Christ.”
I was glad for the darkness, so that he couldn’t see how small they were. I had always hated the size of them, hated the strange mixture of lust and derision that men had when they saw them. At the same time I loved the way his hands felt covering me—so large and rough against the small swell.
“So fucking pretty,” he muttered.
My breath left me in an unsteady rush. “I thought you might not…”
He slowed his movements. His thumb circled my nipple. “What? That I wouldn’t want you? That I wouldn’t picture you every time I jack myself off?”
A low moan escaped me. “God.”
He pressed his face into my hair and breathed deep. “Don’t ever doubt that I want you. No matter what happens.”
Even though we wouldn’t be together, he meant. I made a sound of protest, but he shushed me with another kiss that stole my breath away. My thoughts too. He touched me until reality faded away—until I was only nerves and sensation, and he was every texture, every sound, every salt-sharp scent.
“Not like this,” he said.
I fought to keep my body pinned over his, my mouth pressed to his. I wanted oblivion and sex. I wanted every wrong thing he knew how to do to me.
He was stronger than me, easily overpowering me and flipping places. Now I was on the seat, and he was kneeling on the floor of the vehicle. He made quick work of my jeans and my T-shirt. Then I was naked, bare skin against cool leather—and he was still dressed. How did we always end up this way?
I tugged at his suit jacket. He let it slide off his shoulders, but he still had a dress shirt and slacks in the way. I fumbled at his belt, unseeing.
He took my wrists and pressed them against the back of the seat. “Let me.”
Part of me wanted to fight him, to insist on undressing him, touching him. But the other part of me wanted to give up control, to let him do as he pleased—to see where he would take me.
So I kept my arms by my sides even when he reared back. My lids felt heavy.
“Don’t move,” he said roughly. “Let me look at you.”
“I’m not moving,” I gasped, but I soon realized this wasn’t the hard part.
One large hand palmed the inside of my thigh, spreading me open. He studied the place between my thighs with unnerving intensity. It was too dark to see much detail, the moonlight through the window painting my skin milky white, the shadows a pure black. He made me wait, exposed and vulnerable, while he drank in the sight of my body.
When he leaned forward, it wasn’t to kiss me again or to kiss my breasts. No, he leaned low, bending his head to place a kiss on my stomach. Then lower, to the place above my mound.
“That’s right, kitten. Let me touch you. Let me lick you, fuck you. You’ll let me do anything I want to you, won’t you?”
I shuddered, almost climaxing from his words alone. “Philip.”
Powerful arms hooked under my knees and dragged me to the end of the seat, so I fell back. His long lick wrenched a hoarse scream from me. He started at the bottom of my sex and ended at my clit, curling his tongue until my toes curled too. He did it again and again, relentless, his arms holding me open so I couldn’t have any relief from the acute pleasure.
I twisted my body, struggling to get away. He held me firm. There was no escaping him, no mercy.
My fingernails scraped the short bristles of his hair, the curve of his scalp. I thought it might have been too rough, hurting him, but the sound he made was of tortured pleasure. “More,” he said roughly, and I imagined a Viking invader, demanding
his due, whatever he wanted.
The gentle tug of his teeth on my soft flesh ensured I would obey, and I clung to him with everything I had. It didn’t feel like we were in a car anymore, but a sea—the waves crashing over me, lifting my body only to slam me back down.
His hand spread my folds wide, calluses deliciously rough against my slick skin. His tongue delved inside me rhythmically, the way I imagined his cock would do.
And then I didn’t have to guess anymore. He kissed his way up my body, across my stomach and between my breasts. He kissed me flush on the mouth, and I tasted the salt of my arousal.
His fingers worked at his belt and slacks, the backs of his fingers brushing against my slick, oversensitized flesh. My heart pounded. This was happening.
“Philip, wait.”
“I’m done waiting, kitten.” He put his hand over my sex, his touch both intimate and possessive. “This is mine. Mine to eat, mine to fuck. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you let other men touch you here.”
I shook my head. He was right, goddamn him.
Male satisfaction suffused his expression. “That’s right. You knew you were mine, all this time. I was watching you, but you were waiting for me, weren’t you?”
I let out a sob, because he was right about that too. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”
“Shh,” he soothed. “Shhh. This was always going to happen.”
As if to prove his point, he pressed his cock against the entrance of my sex. The exquisite burn made me gasp in protest, but he pushed harder into me, inexorable, unstoppable, my body strung tight on the tip. I reached for him, frantic to hold on to something, to someone, and he growled his approval.
He didn’t give me any reprieve—he pulled back and thrust inside me, deeper this time. The discomfort rose to fever pitch, and my body twisted to get away, to get some distance. He was too hard, too thick. He reached too deep.
“It’s too much. Please, it’s too much.”
“You feel it too,” he whispered. “From the moment I saw you sleeping on a chair in my house. I didn’t know who you were. I just knew you were mine.”
It hurt too much. The burn didn’t ease. “I don’t know if I can—”
“You can. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”
Powerful hands held my hips in place at the edge of the seat, fingers leaving marks on my skin. He pulled back and pushed in again, body straining to go farther—and even now our bodies weren’t flush together.
He changed the angle, tilting me so that my legs spread farther, my sex canted toward him. The upper half of my body was pushed back, held up only by his arm bracing me. I felt like a butterfly with my wings pinned to a wooden slab—violated and torn, made beautiful for him.
His next thrust reached all the way inside me, ripping a cry of shock and agony from me.
His groan was a dark symphony. “God, kitten. You’re all around me.”
I could feel my flesh pulsing, stretching, struggling to accommodate him. His cock flexed inside me, feeling nothing but pleasure. That defined us—this unlikely pairing, the reason why we could never be together. He would always be a powerful criminal, and I would always be the broken girl he once saved. He wanted me, he needed me, but he could never see me as an equal. I took his pleasure and his pain. I did whatever he asked me, because for the stretch of this trip, in the space of this leather seat, I wanted to be the kind of woman who could be with a man like him—submissive and intensely sensual.
His cock pressed against a spot inside me I’d never even felt before. It was like discovering a part of me, like discovering that I actually was submissive, actually was sexual. My body came alight with every stroke of his cock over that spot, until I was burning up.
Every place in me felt hot and tight, my breath coming faster. “No more,” I said, panicked.
“I know you’re afraid,” he murmured, his voice like dark honey. “The only way down is to let go.”
I wavered on the slippery cliff face of pleasure, sliding, sending pebbles into an unknown abyss. And then I couldn’t hold on anymore. Not when he licked his thumb and rubbed it against my clit. I soared over the edge, head over heels, falling, hitting the bottom with a blinding crash.
He wasn’t done yet. He kept pumping into me, changing the angle so that it pleased him best, using me like a sheath for his cock. He moved faster now, rocking my whole body with the force of him, holding me steady for a million fast thrusts. It felt like only a machine could move that fast—but I felt the sweat of his skin, the bunch of his muscles. Not a machine. A man. And he was going to rip himself apart.
I placed my hand to his cheek, feeling the stubble there, his breath against my wrist.
His eyes met mine. I expected to see lust there, and I did.
What I didn’t expect was the pain, a deep well of it, inky black. His expression was harder than ever, a warrior in battle—but in his eyes I saw ancient wounds, buried deep.
“Philip,” I murmured, my heart breaking.
He was coming apart, and I could let him. I could break through the walls he’d spent a lifetime fortifying, I could find the man underneath. And maybe that man wouldn’t be a criminal. Maybe he was the kind of man who could be with a woman like me.
Except the thought of him shattered was like a physical blow.
In the space of these seconds, I held him together, my hands on his shoulders, my gaze locked on his. My body remained open to him, letting him invade me, letting him hurt me—but my mind was focused completely on him.
“Let go,” I whispered. “I’ll catch you.”
I wasn’t sure if he’d know what I meant, but he groaned as if he did. Then his body jerked once, twice. He stiffened, his cock flexing inside me. I flinched at the friction against sensitive inner walls. I was raw inside and out, twisted and turned upside down.
He collapsed on top of me, my body cradling his. And I did catch him.
I held him while he trembled, held him while he buried that pain deep where it had been for an eternity. Because it wasn’t worth risking his destruction, not for the possibility of us. Not even for the promise. I loved him too much as he was—powerful, mysterious. Dangerous.
Chapter Twenty-Three
SHELLY MET LUKE when she was a call girl. He was a cop. It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was definitely desire. They’d circled each other for a long time, Luke pursuing Shelly and Shelly working as his informant. In the end he helped her escape the life. And she helped him reclaim his.
She’d been raised in a life of luxury with a very dark underside. There was no one who deserved a strong, patient man more than her. After some of the things I had seen, I could definitely appreciate the appeal of a cop, a good man—the security of it. The safety.
Only he didn’t look very safe now, leaning against the porch rail of their ranch-style house. He looked dangerous, like he had already been crossed and he was waiting to return fire. Something about his stance told me that he was armed too.
Philip stowed his gun in a side compartment and moved to exit the vehicle.
I had been to this house before, had visited Shelly under very different circumstances. And this was all wrong. Terrifying, in the way that guns and violence always felt. But even more wrong because I knew from the way Shelly still spoke about him that she cared.
I stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait.”
She cared, and she’d never have betrayed him.
He turned back, one eyebrow raised.
I looked again at Luke—who had clearly been warned of our arrival. Who was clearly prepared to defend his home. I didn’t think he wanted to shoot Philip, but I knew he’d do anything to protect Shelly. The thought of Philip approaching him without a weapon, without his men, completely defenseless—and at my request—made my stomach clench.
At the same time, I couldn’t ask him to bring it. I couldn’t handle the thought of him shooting Luke or Shelly. I wanted everyone to walk away from this.
Philip must have read my worry in the silence. He laughed softly. “Do you think so little of me, kitten? You think a cop is going to get the jump on me.”
“Luke is a good cop,” I said defensively.
A small smile. “That’s how I’d beat him. Disarm. Detain. Killing only as a last resort. That’s what good cops do.”
I bit my lip. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
And I knew he understood the unspoken plea—I don’t want you to hurt anyone, either.
He placed a hand on the crux of my shoulder and neck, both possessive and comforting. His dark gaze captured mine. “I wasn’t going to wave a gun around, kitten. That’s not how I operate.”
Don’t ask, don’t ask. “How do you operate?”
Damn it.
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I don’t pull out a gun unless I’m about to shoot someone.”
“Then why bring it?”
“Insurance. I told myself a long time ago that no man would have control over me.”
Again. The word hung in the air. That no man would have control over him again.
I wasn’t the only one wearing the chains of my past.
I looked out the window at Luke, who watched us with patience and steady determination. He was a good man, a strong one—but he could not touch Philip, for exactly the reason Philip had said. Because he was too noble to fight dirty, and because Philip didn’t know any other way to fight.
“He won’t have control over you,” I said.
“No,” Philip murmured. “But you do. I wonder what you’ll do with it.”
Then he was gone, leaving me staring after him. I scrambled to follow him out of the car, glancing at Adrian, who held the door open.
Adrian gave me a small smile of encouragement, but I could see the tension in his expression. He was worried too. An external threat, Philip could handle. This was something invisible and much closer, shadows slipping between us before we could blink.
I caught up to Philip in time to hear him say, “Good evening.”
Luke simply studied him—and then looked me over. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.
Okay wasn’t exactly the word I’d use, but Philip wasn’t hurting me. That was what Luke was really asking. “I’m fine.”