Objective: (Bloodlines Book 2) (23 page)

“There is no stealing it back, you animal! I loved you. I loved us! I died the day I thought you died!” she wails, beating my gut like a speed bag. She’s strong and determined and she’s pummeling me.

“MAGS!” I boom. I startle her just long enough to roll one hip to the side while pushing her in the opposite direction. She loses her hold on me and scrambles to her feet. She’s not fast enough though. I grab her, wrapping my arms around her and pinning her elbows to her sides. I hoist her up and carry her to the bedroom.

“Dammit, Cane, put me down!” she squeals, kicking wildly at me.

“As you wish,” I grunt and throw her on to the bed roughly. She scurries onto her knees and stares wild-eyed at me.

“What the shit!?”

Are you done with your pity party now?” I bark back.

“It’s not a pity party, you ass, it’s my life!” Her arms flail wildly as she squawks at me. I approach the bed with swift determination. She doesn’t see it. I have to make her see it. I put one knee on the end of the bed near where she sits and reach out to her. She leans away escaping my touch and it snaps something in me. Diving head first at her I tackle her to the bed with her legs pinned under her butt.

“You are fucking beautiful,” I
growl, inches from her mouth. She’s silent and unmoving as she stares up at me, mouth hanging open. “Your eyes are pure sex. Your lips are like silk.” I dip down and brush my mouth over hers lightly. Her breath is warm and light. “Your heart, Jesus, Mags, your fucking soul is what saved me.” Her neck cranes forward as she attacks my mouth. She bites my bottom lip, drawing it out and I lose it. She wrecks me. I unpin her arms and they immediately come up wrapping around me, pulling me to her. Her kisses are vicious and rough like she has something to prove. I kiss her back just as hard. When she runs her hands up under my shirt, dragging her nails, a deep groan escapes me. I yank her shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind me before rearing up and jerking her shorts down her smooth legs. She pulls her bra off and attacks me, lunging forward until she's squashed against me. Her hands are everywhere, moving too fast. My shirt is lifted over my head and tossed aside. There is so much time lost between us, so much pent up sexual tension, it seems to be flooding us both. Her movements show her need for me. She may have changed but so have I, we can still make this work.

I can’t process all the different sensations as she mauls me. Her lips hit my earlobe, neck, and work their way to my chest. Jesus, she’s trying to kill me. I’m panting and need to gain my control back. I push her back roughly, stopping her exploration, and shuck my jeans off. “Lay
back,” I demand. She does as I wish, reclining onto her back and watching me heatedly. I hook my fingers in the waistband of her panties and pull them off in one swift motion before crawling over her. “Don’t move,” I command. Her eyes bug out and she shudders slightly but stays still. I trail my finger lightly from her mouth to her collarbone, down over her breast, and flick her hard nipple. She squirms but doesn’t really move. I continue dragging my finger from her breast down her taut belly to that sweet spot where her hip meets her upper thigh. I shove my knee in between her legs, spreading her wide, and let my finger lightly run down her center. She’s so wet. Goddamn. She whines and wiggles her hips. “I said don't. Move,” I clip, moving my finger back up her belly. She’s panting hard and looks like she’s being tortured. I hover over her and lick her neck slowly from collar to ear. “Cane,” she whimpers. One hand goes between her legs and I slip a finger inside her while I lightly bite her neck and work my way south.

Her hands come to my head, clutching my hair, and shove me lower. I stop everything and glare at her. She lets her hand fall to her sides and closes her eyes. “Cane?” she whines as I move away from her. I jump up and grab my shirt before returning to her. “Sit,” I state. She complies, curiosity taking over her features. I reach behind her head and tie the shirt over her eyes. “No...” she whispers.

“Trust me.” I lay her back down and start my crusade to taste every last inch of her body again. Her body trembles the lower I explore. I swirl my tongue at the sensitive spot just at the top of her inner thigh and relish the way her body shakes. I spread her wide, using my fingers, to expose everything. Fuck. Her scent is sweet. Her thighs are quivering as if strained. I dive in, tongue first, tasting her. She cries out something inaudible but I don’t pause or stop. I can get enough of her taste, the way she's shaking and whimpering. I’m hard as a rock from just the way she's wiggling under my tongue. I nibble, suck and lick her clit repeatedly until her back arches up off the bed and she lets out a low groan of pleasure. Kissing my way back up I move the shirt from her eyes and kiss her. “Do you taste how good you are?” I ask. Her nails drag down my back painfully before she slips a hand between us and grabs my dick firmly. I look down between us and can’t help but suck in a sharp breath. Her small soft hand methodically moves up and down my shaft until my hips start pumping into her hand on their own. She angles her hips up, pushing her heels into the mattress and slips me inside of her.

“
Unnnnnnnnnhhhh,” I groan, unable to stifle myself.

“Do you like
that, Cane? Is my pussy wet enough, is it tight enough for you?” she murmurs low in my ear. I’ve never heard her speak like this. I never expected it, but it turns me on so much that I don’t bother to take my time. I’m going to take what I want, and I want her. I pump furiously into her. Her eyes glaze over and I know I’ve got the right spot.

“Harder,” she demands in pleasure. The room is silent but for the sound of my balls slapping against her and heavy breathing. I’m close.
God, I’m close. She shoves my chest hard, breaking my concentration. I look into her eyes – they're playful.

“My turn,” she pants. Pushing me so I roll onto my
back, she straddles me taking my cock into her hands and then plunging herself down on it. My body jerks at the sensation involuntarily. Her hands come to her breasts, massaging them, as she arches back, lifting herself up and down. I reach up and around her and pull the elastic from her hair, letting her black locks spill down her back. At this angle her hair barely brushes my thighs when she slams down on me. “Fuck,” I groan through gritted teeth. She is so beautiful, everything in motion, olive skin glistening with sweat. She lurches forward, at hand at either side of my head and stays closer, grinding her hips in circles and back and forth. I can’t tear my eyes from hers as her hair tumbles around our heads. She leans down and bites my lower lip as she pushes harder and faster. My fingers curl into the flesh at her hips and move her even harder against me. She feels so good. This is angry, harsh, passionate sex, a far cry from the lovemaking of our past.

“Come,” I grind out and bite her neck. She speeds up for a moment before her entire body convulses and she falls slack against my chest, panting. It only takes me one more thrust before I find my own explosive release. She’s still shaking slightly and I can’t seem to catch my breath. “That was...”

“Something...” she finishes, her fingers lightly trailing over my biceps. I stroke her back gently as we lay there in silence.

“Did you know Misty went to your funeral?” she asks. “I hate Misty. I hate that she showed up and tried to claim to be the most affected by your death,” she grunts. Okay. Random. I sigh and roll her off me so I can see her face. Her eyes are soft and warm again. I can’t help but wonder where she hides her rage.

“I didn’t know that, actually.”

“You weren’t watching from a secret room or something?” She laughs but it’s a hard laugh, not easy and light like I’m used to from her.

“I wasn’t even awake at that point.” I sigh. “Misty, huh?” I muse.

“I wasn’t there. Aster told me,” she says weakly. I’m not surprised. What murderess attends the funeral of the person she killed? “Tell me what happened,” she whispers as I brush a stray hair from her face.

“I died,” I tell her. I don’t want to think about that night, or about waking up over a week later in some back room at a veterinarian's office. I don’t want to relive any of that shit right now.

“Please. I need to understand.” Her voice wobbles a fraction and I realize I’m going to give in anyways, so what the hell?

“Ezra moved me. Or rather, some of the guys moved me while he tried to find you. I woke up eight days after you...after I was shot.” She cringes at my words and I want to stop telling her this, but the hopeless look on her face makes me continue. “I woke up in a veterinarian’s office, in some back room. I had no idea what happened. Ezra, he told me...” She nods for me to carry on. “He told me he stopped by the apartment and overheard you on the phone saying you were leaving as soon as you had the money. He said you shot me, took the bag and ran.” She lets out a puff of air and blinks rapidly. Her swollen lips move just barely, almost as if she’s counting or reciting something. I pull her closer to me. “I didn’t really remember what happened. He wanted to send someone to hunt you down and kill you but something just, I don't know, Mags, something felt off. I hated you. Really. I believed him for so long, but I still volunteered to be the one to take care of you. He said that I couldn’t come home because everyone thought I was dead and it served us all if it stayed that way. If I was dead the whole thing was just pinned on the shooter. I could be used elsewhere where no one knew me. The longer it took to find you the more time I had to think. I still can’t figure out why Ezra was even at the apartment that night. Your phone records showed your last call was to me and mine was to you. And I wasn’t allowed to go home. I became the new liaison for Lynchburg, Virginia for Ezra. He kept me out of the loop. I had no idea what was happening at home in Baltimore. I had doubts but his story seemed to make sense, for a while anyways. I still can’t sort out
why
you did it, Mags...” I look at her, my head shaking back and forth, willing her to give me the answer, but she stays silent. Her eyes fill with tears that she won't let fall.

I don’t know if I want to shake the answers from her or hold her close until she's ready to tell me herself. Her being here in bed with me, it messes with me so
friggin’ badly. I’m the hard ass. The asshole. I’m the one who does horrible things to other people. I don’t find joy in it. I don't like it, but it’s my job, and I do what I’m supposed to. But with Mags, shit, with Mags it was always different. I was always different. She made me a better person, inside and out. The last year I’ve felt nothing but lost and like I’m just numbly floating through my own life. Then the moment I found her something came back. A spark. Feeling. She’s a need, like an addiction. I need her to survive and to get out and to be a worthwhile human being.

“How’d you find me?” she finally mumbles.

“The P.O. boxes. I found them all,” I inform her. “Thank you very much by the way for the wild goose chase there. I finally hired a shithead punk to hack the account online that you set them up through, and your IP address showed up in Arkansas. It still took me a while to find your exact location, not to mention that, when I got to the area, I was still looking for Cypress. It was luck really. I stopped at the bar for a drink, and saw you.”
“The cypress branch night...” she says realizing.

“Before that. I watched you for a good month after I first saw you,” I admit sheepishly. She gasps and nuzzles her face into my chest again.

“I never meant to shoot you. It wasn’t supposed to be you...” Her voice breaks and I wrap her up in my arms tightly.

“Then
who, Mags?” She shakes her head no but says nothing else. What the hell isn’t she telling me? Irritation bubbles in my gut but I know it won’t help right now. I push it down until I can’t feel it anymore.

“Okay, well then where the hell is my bike?” I retort, trying to lighten the mood. She snickers into the wall of my chest.

“At my trailer.” Her voice is muffled from the way she's face-planted into me.

“What?! Seriously?” I croak at
her, pulling away to see her face.

“Yup. Right out back under the tarp,” she says smartly.

“Damn. I loved that bike.” I let out on a breath.

“Why haven’t you asked?” she pipes up.

“About?”

“The
money, Cane. The bike wasn’t the only thing I took,” she says seriously.

“It was never about the money to me. Ezra seems more concerned about recovering the backpack, to be honest.”

“That ratty black pile of thread?” She quirks an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Maybe just because the money was in it.” I shrug. I have no idea why the money is so important. Ezra makes hand over fist and it was chump change in his book. He wanted it
all
recovered. The money, the pack. And he wanted Cypress gone.

“You really don’t want to know?” she asks quizzically. I can’t help but notice all the little changes in her. Her eyes are harder. Her demeanor is armored. Her light is gone. She’s still stunning. She’s still in there - somewhere. And it's becoming more and more clear that I’m the reason it’s all changed. That because of my life, because I involved her in it, I stole all the very best parts of her. I push all the morbid thoughts from my mind and focus on her battered yet beautiful face.

“What? About the money?” I chuckle.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s a lot,” she says pointedly.

“It is. There is a lot more than that though. There’s always more money to be had.” I sigh. She stares at me hard. It makes me uncomfortable and nervous. I’m never one to fidget under pressure but Magnolia makes me someone I never thought I could be. It’s her allure.