Cocky F@#ker (Tangled Desires #3) (9 page)

I slip back into the hallway with my clothes in hand. I want to take a long hot shower and wash away this evening’s disaster. I’m still riled up by Mace rocking up and ordering me to end my date. I don’t know where he gets off, behaving like a complete Neanderthal. I’m holding onto that feeling, squeezing the life out of it, as I amble toward the bathroom to keep the melancholy descending over me at bay.

I didn’t hear Mace come in. I don’t even notice him standing in the door of his room until I’m practically on top of him. He snakes an arm around me, his hand settling on my lower back and pulling me tight against him.

I should probably fight him. Tell him to let go of me. I should probably do a lot of things that aren’t letting him engulf me, his head to my shoulder as he inhales deeply.

“You’re scared of me.” He’s so serious, an edge to his voice that doesn’t fit with his usually cocky attitude. “You didn’t used to be. I don’t like that you feel that way now.” His mouth tickles my skin. “I’d never hurt you. I might get a little—”

“Brutish? Cave-man-esque?” I feel like at some point something shifted for him tonight, and I have to think it has to do with whatever happened to bring him home. I wish I hadn’t been so quick to answer him. If I’d given it one iota of thought… and I care for him. The same as I do for each of the Hadleys. Or at least I try to convince myself that’s all it is. Fuck, I hate that I hurt him. I put my hands to his face and make him look at me, until I’m certain he’s focused on me.

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“Good.” His fingers find the chain around my neck, carefully adjusting the links until they’re flat to my skin. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.” My pulse is skittering. Is it? I’m not afraid of the man, never have been, and yet I feel so vulnerable right now. So close to forgetting why letting him get this close isn’t a good idea. “You’re a sweet man, Mace. Even if you can’t see it or you try to hide it.”

“You’re calling me sweet?” His fingers trail down to the neck of my dress, brushing along the skin there, making my breasts ache for him to touch them. “You don’t really think that.”

Actually, I do. He’s one of the sweetest guys I know. A teddy bear encased in a hard-ass shell, but that doesn’t make him safe. If anything, it makes it that much harder to remember why he’s dangerous.

“God, Mace. It isn’t a dirty word, you know.” I slide my hands down from his face to his chest, fully intent on pushing him away. “There’s nothing wrong with being
sweet
. I bet that girl you were with wouldn’t have minded at all.”

“Still jealous?” The way he’s staring at me shifts subtly, sending warmth flooding through me.

“Am not. There’s nothing to be jealous about.” I won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting that I had been.

“You’re right about that,” he says. “That girl wasn’t with me. Didn’t even look at her until you mentioned the date you decided I was on. I was too preoccupied with you. Is that sweet enough for you?”

I don’t know why that thrills me. It shouldn’t. “You’re like a damn toothache.”

He groans deep in his throat, a low rumble filled with desire. The sound dances over my nerves, making me aware of how close we’re standing. “Oh, I’m no toothache, darlin’. I’m more of a whole body ache.”

Then he hooks his fingers into the neck of my dress and brings his mouth down on mine. Any resistance I’d tried to summon melts away with his tongue chasing mine. Demanding, relentless. His hands find my hips, and he lifts me off my feet, his mouth still firmly locked on mine as he spins us into the room and shuts the door.

When he breaks the kiss, I’m breathless, lost. I touch my lips tentatively. They feel swollen and bruised and tingle in anticipation of more. I don’t know if I can ever break free of wanting what he stirs up inside me. Or keep hiding that it isn’t all lust. It’s getting harder and harder to pretend to myself that those feelings I’ve always had for him haven’t gone away. I only know that I should be pushing him away. That would be the smart move to make.

But none of those thoughts I should be having stick as he stalks around me. “Do you know what I think about when you’re lying down the hall from me?” He takes the zip at my back between his fingers and slowly draws it down, click by click. “When I’m in bed, stroking my cock, only yards away from where you’re sleeping.”

My breath catches, and I shake my head, though I know better. Because I know what I think about when I’m alone. My fingers to my clit while I conjure up his hands grazing over my skin. Imagining my hands are his and he’s touching me the way I am. “No.”

“My mouth on you, Hells.” His palms flatten to my back where the material has fallen away, scraping up over my shoulders to drag my dress down. It falls, pooling around my feet. “The expression on your face when I touch my finger to your clit and plant my mouth to the seam of your thigh. The way you’ll tremble in desperation, wanting my mouth right here.” He slides his hand around my waist, dipping inside my panties to cup my pussy. “You’re so fucking wet for me, wanting my tongue inside you.”

I’m completely on edge, hypersensitive. My entire body sings with pleasure from the pressure of his touch. “I…” But I fumble my thoughts, and the words that might have stopped him in his tracks get lost on a moan as he sinks his fingers inside me.

“I want to taste you.” He brushes the hair from my shoulder, yanks my head to the side and nibbles a line down my neck. “I want to get down on my knees and bury my face in your pussy until you cum on me. Then I want you on my cock. I want to feel you gripping me when I cum.”

All I can think is that I wish he’d hurry up. Desire sears through me, his words making me long for him to put action to them.

Mace

I’m waiting for her to say she hates me. To tell me that I can’t get on my knees and fuck her with my tongue. She’s been so damn adamant that we’re not going to cross this line again. And really, she’s right that we shouldn’t. There are enough good reasons to make this a bad idea, but I don’t want to think about her with my brother, or the secrets we’ve kept.

Then she moans, her knees shake, and she sinks onto my fingers as though she can’t get enough of how they feel moving inside her pussy.

And I’m lost.

I’m right back where I was at seventeen, thinking this girl is the fulfilment of every one of my fantasies. So I slip my fingers out of her and work her silky panties down her legs.

Red. She wore them for me. Under that sexy dress she picked for her date with another man, she still dressed for me, wanted me to be the one who undressed her at the end of the night. I wonder if she realizes I’m onto her. That I know how much she wants me when she’s swearing a blue streak that she doesn’t. I don’t fight the smug feeling that swells in my chest, though I do fight the urge to toss her on the bed and sink into her before she admits she craves me inside her.

I turn her to face me. “You’re going to have to say something, Hells. I’ll take yes, or fuck me, or I want you. Any one will do.”

I’m so fucking hard, and she’s so fucking perfect. She’s naked in front of me and I stare down at her, our foreheads pressed together. Her breasts rise and fall with each breath, her nipples pebble and beg for my attention. My mouth is watering, and I’m this close to licking and sucking on one of those pointed nipples without her saying anything.

I swear, this girl will be the death of me. My heart’s pounding so hard. “Tell me to fuck off. Anything.”

“Yes.” She exhales. “Yes, fuck me.”

I drop to my knees, right there on the carpet in front of her. Without a second thought. I put my hands on her ass cheeks and pull her toward me until her pussy is in my face. There’s a shine of arousal on her thighs, and a small sliver of her swollen lips peeks between her legs. I run my finger up the wet trail. “It’s been too fucking long since I’ve had the taste of you in my mouth.”

“Oh,” she says as though it never occurred to her that I might have memorized that detail. The scent of her, the taste of her on my tongue. The way her hands gripped my head, while she fucked my face. Yeah, I’ve had to get by on those memories for far too fucking long.

I inhale her scent, and it drives me fucking insane, my cock so hard I think I might cum just from being this close. It’s instinctive. Her cunt is in my face, and I have to lick it. When I slide the tip of my tongue over her pussy she moans, and the sound is almost painful as her hips surge forward to meet me.

“Oh fuck, Mace,” she whispers.

It tears me apart, and I grip her hips, licking her everywhere, thrusting my tongue into her wet heat and devouring her like she’s my last meal. I smother my face in her pussy and eat her up while she whimpers these pitiful mewling sounds, and I can tell she’s ready to cum. Then her fingers are tangled in my hair, yanking me harder to her, her thighs squeezing each side of my face as she fucks my mouth in a way that speaks volumes about how easy it would be for her to own me. I know when she cums. I feel the tremor in her thighs, while her pussy contracts around me, and she gives this strangled half gasp, cry before her knees practically give out.

My hands around her legs, I lower her to the carpet in front of me. Crawling over her, I trail my fingers up the inside of her leg and bring my mouth to hers as she whimpers over how sensitive she still is from her orgasm. I take my time kissing her, licking inside her mouth, and nibbling her lip before moving on to her tits.

It’s funny how I always have something to say, but right now she has me at a loss for words. Or maybe I’m scared of saying something that will have her pulling away from me, because I’m not done with her yet.

My mouth on her breasts, I lick and suck at each one in turn until she’s arching underneath me. Her breath is coming in short, sharp bursts and her hands are yanking at my pants, fumbling with the buttons so she can shove them off my hips and down my legs, before her fingers close around my cock.

I groan as she strokes me over and over, her palm lubricated by the pre-cum leaking from the head of my cock.

“Want you… inside me… now,” she pants, her other hand gripping my ass to pull me to her while she notches the tip to her entrance.

Her nails dig into my muscle, and her legs wind around mine as I fill her up. Then she’s whispering in my ear, begging me to fuck her. Telling me how much she wants me to make her cum again. And she’s so fucking perfect on my cock. All hot and wet, her pussy gripping me with each thrust, and I don’t know how I survived years without it.

I try to keep a steady tempo. I don’t want to rush with her like we did the night I came home when I thought it was one last ‘screw you’ to each other. I take my time, rocking into her.

She makes these little sounds each time I push into her, begging me to go harder, deeper, faster. “Fuck me, Mace.”

I grasp her hands, bringing them up along each side of her head and use them for leverage to plunge deeper, fucking her harder. Watching her expression change as her face flushes with pleasure.

“I want you to cum on me, Hells. I want to see your face as I fuck you over the edge.” I want to see the way her eyes involuntarily shut, and her mouth opens on an almost inaudible cry. “I want to watch you fall apart for me.”

And she does. Her eyes drift closed as I capture her mouth to mute her cries, her pussy clamping around my cock. Her orgasm triggers mine, her muscles squeezing around me until I’m spent.

My forearms sting with carpet burn, and I try to be careful, since she was the one actually lying on the carpet, as I roll beside her and pull her into my arms. I should see if there’s any salve in the bathroom, but I’m not ready to give her up yet. Fuck, I may never be ready to.

Which might be a problem, considering she doesn’t feel the same way. But then I never did meet an objective I didn’t tackle head on.

Once we’ve both caught our breath, I get up off the floor and carry her to the shower. I tell her all the things I want to do to her, not giving her a chance to tell me how this is the wrong move we’re making, as I run soapy hands over every inch of her body. Then I press her back against the tiles and put my mouth on her tits while I stroke between her legs until she moans my name. The sound gets drowned out in the water cascading over us, but I kiss her as though I can taste it on her tongue. I’ll chase her need for me.

I will always chase her.

No matter how far we have to run.

After that I dry her off, careful of the red patches on her ass and back from where the carpet rubbed her skin. But I don’t think she cares too much about it. She wraps her hand around the base of my cock, and I get harder than I thought possible so I haul her up.

Those sexy legs tighten around my waist as I carry her to my bed. “I want you again.”

And again and again.
But I don’t tell her that because it feels like we’re in a fragile bubble, and I don’t want the damn thing to pop. Not tonight.

Instead, I collapse on the bed with her on top of me, pushing my fingers through her wet hair to pull her mouth to mine. “Cum on me, Hells.”

“Fuck, Mace,” she whispers, giving me that smile I always believed was mine.

A tendril of her hair falls in my face, leaving a wet trail against my skin as she grips my length and impales herself on my cock. I watch her, my chest tight and the bite of her nails in my skin as she rocks slowly, enhancing the feel of having her on me.

Her tits bounce, each breath getting shallower, and she dips her head, closing her eyes. I can see the subtle concentration in her expression as she focuses on the pleasure. It’s fucking beautiful. Breathtaking.

And when she whispers my name over and over, I grip both her hips and pull her onto me in long, hard strokes until she shudders, falling apart for me. Watching her cum does me in, my cock surging with my own orgasm and she rides me, milking me of every last drop.

She collapses on top of me, and I wind my arms around her, still inside her, still semi-hard. I don’t want to move. I don’t ever want to be anywhere else than right here inside her.

***

It’s odd. I’ve gotten so used to not sleeping, and running in the middle of the night, that waking up after the sun’s already up makes me feel like the world may have ended, and I wouldn’t have a clue.

But some things can be relied upon. The empty spot beside me for one, though I’m not surprised. I doubt Chelsea would stop guarding her secrets that easily.

And I can hear voices elsewhere in the house while I get up and dressed. She probably was the first one to the coffeepot this morning, just to keep my siblings from working out she was with me last night. But that’s okay.

So what if it niggles at me that she’s still as big a flight risk as ever. Or that I’m her dirty little secret. Or that maybe I’m fooling myself if I think anything can change the past we keep rehashing. Although there’s one thing in this equation that can change the whole outcome. Me. And maybe, just maybe, if she’s in the kitchen, there’s hope yet.

But when I get there, Tom and Razer are trash talking each other while they whip up breakfast. And when I ask about Chelsea in the most roundabout way, Tom gives me this look as though he’s confused by my thinking she was here at all. I swear if he tells me she’s gone to visit Rush I’m going to destroy something.

But of course he doesn’t tell me that, because it’s unlikely she’s going to hop on a plane and fly all the way out to Vegas just to get away from me when she knows I’m not going anywhere.

Isn’t it?

Chelsea

Two lines. Two little blue lines. Faint, but still blue, still lines.

Two freaking lines.

I don’t think I could hold the plastic stick any closer to my nose if I tried, and my eyes are bugging out of my head. I can’t fucking believe what I’m seeing.
This isn’t possible.

Except it is.

I’d worked it out last night, when I’d woken, unused to the heavy weight of Mace’s body half on top of mine. For a moment I’d enjoyed it. Let myself fantasize that it was more than one night. But then I’d gotten to thinking that we hadn’t used protection, which wasn’t that odd, until I remembered his first night home in Reverence.

And that was when I realized we’d pretty much screwed the pooch. Because I’m a clockwork kind of girl. Always have been. Until now.

I’d wanted to wake him, knowing what it would look like when he woke alone, but it may have been the first night he actually slept since he came home, and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think about anything other than getting out of there.

Getting out of there and making sure I was very wrong about the one explanation my mind refused to let go of.

I honestly didn’t think this would be the answer, though. I’d figured stress from having to deal with Mace, or just something random that screwed up my internal clock. Apparently it comes down to having screwed around with Mace instead.

But we used protection. We’d been covered. At least at the point that’s led up to me holding this stick in my hand. And we’d had unprotected sex before. That hadn’t ended up with me up the duff. How the hell could using protection equal getting freaking pregnant?

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again.

Still two lines.
This can’t be happening.

This is massive. Life-altering. Completely insane. It kind of puts things into perspective. The mistakes I’ve made up to this point have just been a trial run, an exercise in preparation for this behemoth of a fuck up.

Two and a half weeks since Mace came home, and I’m staring at a pregnancy test that refuses to lie to me. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

I sink onto the toilet seat. My hand is shaking, which is making it hard to see the blue lines.
That’s good, right? Maybe they’ll go away.

Because
this
can’t be happening.

“You better be decent,” Gaby calls out. “I’m running late, and I can’t find my hairspray.”

“Don’t come—”

But she’s already barged in.

“Oh.” She stares at the test in my hand, the one I can’t seem to rip my gaze from. “Is that what I think it is?”

“N-nothing.” I shove it behind me as though I can take away her memories from the last ten seconds by hiding it behind my back. If only I could wipe them out of my mind that easily.

“That’s not nothing.” She darts forward and rips it out of my hand. “Shit. That’s two lines.”

Two lines.
“It’s probably wrong. I mean these tests can’t be that accurate,” I mumble. “I’ll go to the doctor. They’ll do a real test. It’ll come back negative. It’ll be fine. I’m not pregnant.” No. The universe is playing a cruel trick on me.

Gaby pushes the stick back into my hand. “Hate to break it to you, sis, but I think those things aren’t as unreliable as you’re hoping.” She turns her attention to hunting through the cupboards for a can of hairspray. “Who’s the daddy?”