“More,” I hiss, letting my head tilt back. “Give me more, you asshole.”
Bang!
“More!” I tense my arm, immune to the pain it spikes while he’s taking me so brutally.
“Fuck!” His body jacks, his groin rolls, and I’m taken out, screaming to the ceiling as my release tears through me like a destructive hurricane, ripping apart everything in its path. My mind. My heart. But our souls? They remain intact. Still joined. Still together. Still one.
The feeling of his hot essence filling me burns, and I open my eyes, finding his brow dripping with sweat, his eyes glazed, his lips parted. I gasp in his face, tingles riddling my body, electric and addictive.
“Are you done?” I ask.
“With you? Never.”
I flex my hips, and he groans, his torso folding forward. “So I just stay here, do I? Stay here and let you fuck me as you please. Tie me up. Restrain me. Shove things in my ass and record it all?”
“What else are you going to do?” he pants, his cock still pulsing within me.
“Live.”
“You don’t know how to live, Beau.” He drops a kiss on my forehead and pulls out on a hiss. “That’s the whole fucking reason you’re in my apartment.” He moves away, fastening his fly and turning the faucet off before leaving.
I close my legs. I can’t argue with him. Never has anything truer been said.
Slipping down off the vanity unit, I grab some tissue, wiping him away from between my legs. Could you be pregnant? My head feels ready to pop. With . . . everything.
I follow him into his bedroom, stopping at the door and eyeing the wooden frame. “Has anyone else been tied to that thing since you met me?” I ask, my question unstoppable.
“Are you asking me if I’m fucking other women?” he asks, going into his closet.
“Yes, I am.”
“Don’t insult me, Beau.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s a fucking answer,” he yells, appearing again, wrestling on a sweater and stomping to the door.
“Why is there a shell casing in your dressing room?”
“You’re not ready to know,” he says over his shoulder, not even having the decency to look at me.
“What?” I almost laugh. “You said we’d talk.”
He glances back at me when he gets to the door. “I’ve said what I wanted to say.” His eyes drop down my body, detached and cold. “Did I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
“And if you’re not here when I get back, I’ll hunt you down and bring you back.” He closes the door, and I stare at the glass, incredulous.
No.
He is not doing that. I march after him, swinging the door open, but before I can step out onto the landing, I hear the elevator doors, and then Goldie.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” she asks.
“Definitely,” James grunts quietly.
“You can stop this.”
Silence follows, and I wait with bated breath. Stop what? And why? “I really can’t,” he replies, as the doors slide closed.
I creep to the top of the stairs and look down, seeing the space empty of life. And as I lower to the top step, trying to process everything, trying to decide what the fucking hell to do, something comes to me. I look up and around, searching for any signs. Nothing. No cameras. But he’ll be watching. Without a doubt, he’ll be watching.
That thought incenses me. I stand to get dressed and leave, but my cell ringing distracts me, and I shoot down the stairs, answering Dexter’s call. “Hey.”
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“Did you really call to ask that?”
“No, I called to beg you to come home. In an attempt to make himself feel better, he is now she, and Zinnea cries loudest of all.”
My heart squeezes. I take no pleasure in Lawrence’s despair. Or Dexter’s exasperation. “How were things after I left the hospital?” I ask, wincing as I do.
“Dreadful. Your father demanded I arrest James, Ollie swore to kill him, and Lawrence declared retirement.”
Basically, a fucking mess. And things haven’t exactly been rosy for me here. “I’m coming home.”
“Oh?”
The curiosity in his voice is undeniable. “No questions, but I’m coming home.”
“Okay,” he agrees, and I smile. He never presses. “I’m leaving now.” Another call comes in, and I glance down to see Nath trying to get through. “I’ll see you soon,” I say to Dexter, accepting Nath’s call. “Are you trying to kill me with stress?” I blurt, unable to hold back my exasperation. “Where have you been?”
“Don’t ask,” he mutters, sounding out of breath, completely harassed. “It’s been the worst twenty-four hours of my career.”
“You were supposed to meet me at your place. I’ve been so worried.”
“The dead men send their apologies,” he retorts sardonically. “All three of them.”
Three? “What happened?”
“Who the fuck knows. I have dead bodies turning up all over town.”
“Connected?”
“Well, they’re all criminals,” he says, sighing. “And to top it off, a shooting at a club.”