Always Been Mine (35 page)

 
Oh, yes
, Beatrice thought lustily. “Gabe—”

“Inside,” Gabe rasped. “Now.”

*****

Things didn’t happen exactly as planned, especially when you have an eighty pound dog waiting for his evening walk. Beatrice smothered a giggle as Gabe groaned when Rhino met them expectantly at the door.
 

“I’ll wait for you upstairs,” Beatrice said as she mounted the stairs, looking over her shoulder and shooting him an exaggerated come-hither look. Gabe’s heated eyes followed her up the steps with a promise of retribution.

She took a quick shower and donned a robe. Then she remembered Gabe’s instructions of being naked and ready, so she discarded the covering and crawled into bed. The warmth of the shower lulled her into total relaxation, and she must have fallen asleep. She awakened to a sound. The room was dark, except for the outline of Gabe in front of the bathroom, a towel hanging low on his hips. Light from the outside window illuminated the ripple of muscle across his torso. He dropped the towel and prowled to the bed.
 

“Gabe?”

“You fell asleep?” There was amusement in his voice.

“You took too long.”

The bed dipped as the blanket was drawn away, revealing her nakedness. Gabe sucked in a deep breath as he took in the expanse of bare skin.

“So beautiful,” he murmured. His mouth sought her lips, his tongue dueling with hers, teasing, arousing. He did this for a while, just kissing her, the back of his fingers caressing her side. Finally, he moved on top of her, coaxing her legs open to cradle his hips. His hardness pressed against her core. But he didn’t rock against her. He kept his lower body steady even as she sought to rub herself against him.

“Easy,” he broke off. “I want this to last.” He slowly trailed his lips down her throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone until he reached her breasts. He gently sucked one taut peak into his hot mouth.

“Gabe . . . oh
 
. . . ah,” Beatrice mewled helplessly. He swirled his tongue and flicked one nipple, and then he went to the other breast and did the same. He lightly bit on the turgid tip and Beatrice arched her back in response. “Oh, Gabe, I need . . . I need . . .”

This man had broken down her walls and made her need. She
needed
all of him—his body, heart, and soul.
 

“What do you need?” he mumbled
 
against her skin as he went lower.

“All of you.”

“I’m all yours, babe.” He kissed her belly button, and then the sensitive area of her hip bone all the time muttering, “Mine.” Her skin was tingling with anticipation. Every pore was alive to his touch, and when he pushed her legs further apart, moisture pooled between her thighs. Beatrice tilted her head down and watched Gabe’s head move up and down one leg and then the other.

“Gabe, please
 
. . .”

And then he was there. The roughness of his tongue lashed up and down the seam of her sex. Parting the dewy folds to invade the core of her, he fucked her with his tongue. Tunneling inside her pussy and then sucking her clit between his lips before fluttering his tongue maddeningly on the swollen evidence of her arousal. He slid two fingers in, curling them up and touched her sweet spot. She went off like a firecracker, spiraling into ecstatic heights, climbing and climbing until . . .

“Ahhhh! Oh, stop!” She just couldn’t breathe as her climax crested. She just kept coming, over and over. Her body trembled; her pussy throbbed. He ate her out, lapping every drop of her wetness, groaning into her and licking, sucking even harder. She had never come so hard in her life.
 

He bolted up her body and crashed his mouth against hers to swallow her cries. His kisses turned brutal as he ground his erection against her clit, prolonging her pleasure. He lifted her legs under his arms, spreading her wider. His hips rocked against her, the head of his cock nudging ever so slowly inside her, driving her insane with want. He broke the kiss, stared down at her, and growled, “Fucking love you.”
 

He slammed in, and she gasped as his girth stretched the sensitive walls to the limit.
 

“You okay?” he whispered. He always asked this because she had trouble taking in his unusual thickness sometimes.

“Give me a sec,” she whispered. Oh, God, how he filled her and stimulated every corner of her sex. She nodded for him to go ahead and anticipated to be taken over the edge once more.

*****

Gabe was drunk on Beatrice. Sinking inside her always felt amazing; nothing ever compared to the feeling of her squeezing him tight like a silken vise. He started moving, raising himself slightly to watch where his cock disappeared into her pussy. The slide in and out excited him. His burning gaze returned hungrily to her face. Her hooded eyes were intent on him. He liked that; having her watch him fuck her, possess her.

He quickened the pace, thrusting in and out, hearing her moan and whisper his name. His name on her lips spurred a possessive satisfaction that he was the reason for her sexual frenzy.
 

“Gabe . . .”

He was close, but he held back, wanting to make her crave him the way he craved her.

“Come on, Beatrice . . . give me one more, babe.” He nearly came when her nails raked his back. He grunted with a decisive thrust, the force pushing her up. He adjusted his grip on her, locking her down as he bucked harder.

“Yes . . . oh, yes . . . hard
 
. . . like that.”

Fuck, yes
. He drilled into her, crashing their pelvises together. Her eyes widened then squeezed shut as a scream ripped through her. He went crazy, rotating his hips and fucking her harder. He canted the angle of his thrust, taking her savagely, rutting into her. His spine tingled; the muscles of his neck bulged. He pumped once, twice. Finally, he tumbled over the precipice, slamming home and emptying inside her.

His climax rippled through him in sensual aftershocks. Gabe sagged on top of her, but quickly fell on his back, so he could gather her in his arms.

Beatrice touched her nose to his neck; her lips brushed against his jaw in feathery touches.
 

“Love you,” she mumbled. Her head rested on his chest, her breathing evening out as she fell asleep.

Gabe’s arms tightened around her, shifting slightly so he could press a kiss on her damp skin. He savored these moments when he had her in his arms, watching over her.
 

The moonlight illuminating the room reminded him how Beatrice had pulled him from the darkness. Overcome by emotion, he could only exhale and whisper the words he felt in his heart. She couldn’t hear him right now, but he would spend the rest of his life showing her just how deeply he loved her, and just how much he treasured this second chance with her.

She was his light.

His prize.

His redemption.

Bonus Scene

If you want to read about what went down between the admiral and Frank Wilkes/Harold Baxter, turn the page. Treat this like those surprise scenes at a movie’s end credits.

*Harold Baxter/Frank Wilkes
 

Harold Baxter stared at his nemesis. Admiral Benjamin Porter had been a pain in his ass for the past four years, but Baxter had managed to stay one-step ahead of him. Barely. It had been too easy snatching him in front of his house. Baxter had no doubt Porter deliberately let himself be captured. The man must have a death wish because no way was Baxter letting him get out of here alive.

“I trust you’re comfortable?” Baxter asked. The admiral was tied to a chair.

Porter shrugged. “Can’t say I admire your hospitality.”

Baxter chuckled, but quickly turned serious. “You finally surfaced and made yourself an easy target. Why? You know I’ll only kill you.”

“Should I call you Baxter or Wilkes?”

“Baxter is fine.”

“My daughter. Most of my enemies were wise enough to leave her alone, Baxter, but you’ve made your biggest mistake going after her.”
 

“I let her go.”

“You don’t have children, do you?”

“You know I don’t. They’re a weakness,” Baxter said. “You’re proof right here. Tell me, Porter, how can you protect her when you’ll be dead?”

The admiral didn’t answer, but Baxter quickly corrected himself. “Ahh … I see it now. You think Gabriel Sullivan is all she needs to keep her safe?”

Still no answer. But the chilly expression in Porter’s eyes momentarily had Baxter doubting the prudence of bringing the admiral to his hideout.

“You cut her,” Porter finally said. “She’s innocent of this war between us. Avoiding collateral damage was never one of your strongest suits. The moment you’d taken her, you made it personal. And yes, you should be very afraid, Baxter. You keep on forgetting who Gabriel Sullivan once was.”

“You’d have someone so ruthless be with your daughter? One could question your parenting skills,” Baxter scoffed, but cold sweat beaded his forehead. He’d seen Dmitry Yerzov kill a man with chilly precision when Baxter had met with Zorin on one occasion. His assassin dragged one of his enemies in front of them. Zorin simply nodded and Dmitry sliced the man’s throat. No hesitation. Stone-cold eyes. Hard to believe this was the same man who seemed desperately in love with the admiral’s daughter.
 

“She was born to survive a ruthless world,” Porter said proudly. “My daughter is tough enough to handle one Gabriel Sullivan. I can’t imagine either of them settling for less.”

“You’ve always been a grand manipulator, Porter,” Baxter said. “But a matchmaker?”

“Are we done with the niceties?” the admiral cut in abruptly. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing selling bioweapons on the Black Plane? Selling firearms is one thing, but you’ve gone too far this time, Baxter.

“The virus I’m selling to the bidders is inert.”

“What?”

“Contrary to what you think of me, Porter, my only purpose is to help with this fight against ISIS.”

“I have no time for your riddles. Spit it out, Baxter.”

“There’s an ISIS operative looking for a bioweapon. We’ve confirmed he’s a high-ranking member of the Islamic State. He’ll be a fountain of information if interrogated correctly. Several people died an ugly death to give us his identity and the method of how to track him on the Black Plane,” Baxter said. “As much as I want to protect the homeland, our citizens live in a bubble. They think because the crisis is a world away, it’s not going to touch them. They always realize this too late. Look what happened with 9/11. Even now our people’s image of terrorists is that they live in caves or in mud huts. This new wave of jihadists is well-funded, and their computer networks are sophisticated. We have to concentrate our resources on ISIS, not getting involved in Russia’s war with Ukraine.”

“So your answer is to help the Russians suppress the Ukrainian government by providing them a virus?”

“A means to an end, Admiral.”

“You’re sick, twisted,” Porter growled with so much vehemence, Baxter nearly flinched.

What did he expect? That he could sway the admiral to his agenda?
 

“Our little talk is over,” Baxter said coldly. “I thought we were the same, you and me. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“I may be many things, Baxter, but a mass murderer I am not,” Porter shot back. “One more question—”

“I am not accountable to you—”

“The Project Infinity files—”

“Have long been destroyed,” Baxter said with much satisfaction when a look of dismay flashed across Porter’s face. “You sentimental fool. You still want to help Travis Blake when the man all but shunned you when you were the one who facilitated the return of his wife.”

“I nearly got her killed as well.”

“Sarah Blake. She was a good agent and hacker,” Baxter said wistfully. “They all had to die, you know.”

“Are you still going after her?”

“I haven’t made up my mind.”

“Leave them alone, Baxter. Travis and his wife have suffered enough.”

“I hate loose ends. That includes you.”

As if on cue, a rap on the door heralded the entrance of one of his mercenaries.

“Kill him,” Baxter stated shortly. “Make it quick.”

“Not doing the job yourself?” the admiral asked.
 

“I abhor blood spatters,” Baxter replied cynically.

It was then that the situation deteriorated quickly. Porter surprised his goon as he shot up, chair and all, and rammed the back of his head against the man’s face. Then he sprung and flipped his whole body with the chair, feet coming up to push back into Baxter’s desk for momentum.
 

The edge of the table struck Baxter’s ribs, robbing him momentarily of breath. He heard a crash, a splintering of wood, and a grunt. He had already reached for his gun when Porter came into view, a sharp stake that was once a chair leg in his grip.

Baxter fired and caught Porter on the side, but the admiral just kept on coming. Before he could squeeze off another shot, a blunt force struck his head, followed by an excruciating pain jolting up from his fingers to his arm. The son of a bitch drove the stake through his hand! Baxter howled in agony.
 

Porter grabbed his gun and aimed it at him. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot you.”

“You’ve become careless, Baxter,” the admiral added. “Wooden chair, my legs untied, underestimating an old man like me?”
 

The admiral went to Baxter’s laptop and took it out of hibernation. He produced a jump drive. How his men missed it when they patted the admiral down, Baxter didn’t know. Apparently, this batch of mercenaries were imbeciles.

Goddammit his hand was killing him and his head was throbbing. Baxter cursed all that was holy that his room was soundproof and his men in the outer rooms couldn’t hear the scuffle inside. So much for paranoia being his eventual downfall. If only he could reach the alarm under the desk. But both hands were on top of the table and the edge was pushed so far into him with his chair already against the wall, he couldn’t wedge his hand easily to reach it. The admiral premeditated his moves with calculating precision.