Rogue (34 page)

“I posted Derek by the doors. Nobody’s venturing out here.”

His whisper is more breath than voice, more groan. He edges back just a fraction, only enough to take me in with hazel eyes that sparkle like all the stars in the sky above.

“What if my friends want some fresh air,” I counter.

“Well, my girl’s taking up all the freshness there is out here.” He smirks and takes in my state of complete disarray. My hair is whipping around me, I can feel tendrils of it on my cheeks. My dress is exposing everything indecent. My heels are digging into the small of his back, my legs curled around him.

“Look at you, all sexy and undone just for me,” he whispers huskily, visually devouring me.

Shivering, I whisper, “What if I forgot how to do this?”

“Then I’ll just have to teach you what goes where. My tongue . . .” He rubs it over my top lip. “You see, my tongue goes here . . .” He eases it, wet and scalding, into my mouth. “My fingers like it here, where it’s warm and wet and clenching around me. Greedy for me.”

“Oh, Grey.” I rock my hips when he fingers me with one long, knowing finger.

“I have no problems teaching you. You have this beautiful, perfect cunt that was made for my cock. You’re not bedridden anymore, Melanie,” he murmurs between kisses, rubbing that finger deep inside me. “You’re very alive . . . as alive as you’ve ever been, those green eyes sparkling with life, this body pulsing for me. And this lovely bare pussy . . . .” he murmurs as he bends down . . . lower . . . and lower . . . and his head dives between my legs.

He flicks his tongue over my clit and pleasure rockets through me. He’s stroking a hand down my back while pulling my clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the sensitive flesh, playing with me.

I’m burning and I need him, need him desperately. I fist my hands on the back of his head, locking him against me by the hair.

Now I feel his lips nipping on my clit, lightly tugging, and my heartbeat gallops faster as he inserts two fingers into my pussy.

It’s been weeks, over three months . . . in the hospital; first the coma, then the rehabilitation. All this time, he was there for me. He was there for me when I woke, and there every time I fell asleep. My eyes sting as I feel an overwhelming desire to climax at the same time I feel an overwhelming need to make love to him.

“Grey!” I cry out, pulling him back by the hair.

He eases back and meets my gaze, straightening his black tie and smiling at me.

“I love you like this, all fucking hot and wet for me.” He slides his hips between my thighs and pulls me into his arms, raining kisses on my face as he embraces me in his thick, muscled arms.

My eyes drift shut. He’s hard against my bare pussy. Straining the zipper of his dress slacks. But I know he’s waiting for something special tonight. He’s been telling me how he craves to sink in me . . . lose himself in me . . .

So do I!

My pussy is still damp and gives a little squeeze at the thought of my guy, the only man I’ve ever loved, making love to me. Finally. After months of what feels like a whole life waiting. He’s told me he needs to make love to me without a condom. We’ve talked to the doctors, and I’m on low-dose birth control for a while. They mentioned it could only be for a little while because I’m also on long-term kidney transplant reject medication. But that’s okay. We will make use of these months like nobody’s business.

I’m so ready to feel him, to be with him . . . I didn’t want the party. I just wanted to come home and lie in bed with him. But Greyson can’t seem to get past the fact that he missed my twenty-fifth birthday and he’s making up for it in style.

He helps me arrange my dress, pressing one hot kiss on the top of my ear. “Ready?”

“I used to solve everything with a party. Sad? Party, girl. Mad? Party, girl. Bored? Just party, girl! How come it’s lost its old allure?” I scowl at him, then poke his hard chest with my finger. “It’s your fault, you know. The best parties now are the private ones with only you and me.” I slide down the railing and to my feet, my voice playful to hide the lust winding inside me. “Don’t look at my ass when I walk away.”

“Why, can you feel it?”

“Yes!” My limbs tremble as I head to the arched doors leading into the ballroom.

“Your princess looks fucking edible,” Derek says as he opens the door for me.

Greyson smacks the back of his head as he passes. “Apologize.”

Derek looks at me with a silver-toothed grin and I wave a hand in dismissal, laughing. “You’re forgiven.”

Greyson slaps the back of his head again. “Don’t think about her, don’t look at her, and definitely don’t tease her. That’s my fucking job.”

I’m terribly amused by his jealousy as I sweep into the ballroom. Long white columns welcome us and I can already see the crowd inside, all of them curious about the CEO of the new King Yacht Corp—rumored to also be the head of one of the top Underground fighting circuits. He’s like some sexy JFK Jr. figure and suddenly, I’m his Carolyn . . .

I spot Pandora and Kyle by the champagne fountain, helping themselves to a new glass. They spot me almost at the same time. Kyle waves; Pandora smirks and lifts the glass in toast, her eyes shining warmly. The room’s only spot of color tonight, apparently, is me. Everyone is dressed in black and white, while
I’m wearing red. “It’s a black-and-white gala?” I’d asked Greyson when we arrived.

His lips quirked. “It’s never black and white for you.”

Greyson rubs his hand up and down my back as he reaches me, and my pulse starts accelerating as I remember little glimpses of our past.

My name is Greyson, Melanie . . .

I close my eyes, savoring this memory. When I was in a coma, I didn’t remember anything, but when I came to, all my memories slammed me almost to the point I couldn’t peel apart one from the other.

I love my memories now. What a treasure to know who you are, who you love, what you did yesterday, what you hope for yourself for tomorrow. What a treasure to remember the day I met the man I love.

And I remember it—every bit of it.

When I finally open my eyes, I feel his gaze on me.

As if he’s waiting for something . . .

That’s when the canopy that makes an artificial ceiling high above our heads, white and elegant, bursts open and a mass of white, red, and black balloons starts raining down on us.

Squealing, I tip my head back and watch them fall on us, stretching out my arms so I can feel them bounce on my palms. It feels magical, special, unforgettable.

Some of my friends take the long, sleek feathers adorning the tables and use the tips to start popping the balloons. Greyson is happiest when I’m happy—I’ve noticed this. Now he watches me with a curl to his lips, leaning back with his legs spread apart and his arms crossed, watching as I join the fun and start popping balloons. The music starts up as most of the balloons have fallen on the dance floor, and as the band starts playing, people try dancing around them while others are making a game out of popping them with their feet.

I’m laughing and lifting my dress, digging the heels of my shoes into a balloon.

Pop!

Pop!

POP!

When I look up, he’s still watching me.

I sense his happiness like it’s mine.

The song “This is What It Feels like” by Armin van Buuren rocks around us, and I start dancing to the music in the middle of the room, feeling it run through me, and I watch as Greyson pulls out a chair and sits down, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, brilliant, narrowed eyes fixated on me as I dance by myself.

He fills his jacket perfectly. I see the muscular arms, the perfect triangle of his wide shoulders, narrow waist, and I want it all. That mouth that seems a little bit pinker than normal due to my kisses. Those hungry eyes. That beautiful man.

He watches me come over with a stare that glimmers with love, and I feel like there’s a fist gripping my stomach because I suddenly want these people to pop away like these balloons so it’s just us. Him and me. He smiles, and I smile back, a tingle deep in my belly.

Even before we met, he’d been watching me and I didn’t know it. I had something that belonged to him—to his father—and Greyson had become a shadow I never noticed, but boy, did he notice me. He
likes
watching me. So I let him watch his fill as I sway my way over, and when I stop a few feet away, he lifts his hand and crooks his finger at me.

I start up again, laughing when he grabs my waist and hauls me down on his knee. “Do you realize how fucking beautiful you look tonight,” he whisper-growls into my neck, and in that dark suit, I’m Buttercup and he’s Westley who defeated the one with five fingers and now . . .we can be happy. We
are
happy.

He draws me closer to his chest, clearly savoring the feel of me, the scent of me. “You couldn’t be possibly any sexier, princess. Any fucking sexier. I could watch you until you wear yourself out, but I need you to have energy for what I have planned.”

His sexy voice so close to my ear ripples through my body. I start kissing his hard jaw. “When?”

“When we get back to the apartment,” he promises, his voice tight with lust.

He brushes my hair back from my face, and tingles race from the roots of my hair to my toes. He’s all I breathe and see. All I want and need. His eyes, hazel green and fiery. His mouth. Lips that look soft and firm. A jolt runs through me when he caresses his hand along the length of my bare back, and my pulse skitters at the caress as he roughly adds, “I adore you. Treasure you. Cherish you. I think I’m damn well keeping you.”

My entire body responds. I feel so cherished.
His girl
. Me. Me. Me. “Yes. Keep me. Love me. Ride me hard tonight, Grey. As hard as you ride your men,” I tease.

His men respect him, are in awe of him, maybe a little in fear of him too.

But I’m not afraid of him.

He may make men twice my size tremble, but not me. Okay, yes. He makes me tremble. He makes me tremble in love. In lust. But never in fear. Because I know that he’d never hurt me. In fact, he’s the only one who can truly make me feel
safe
.

He chuckles a low, deep sound. “You don’t rule a snake pit gently, but I’d rather use a firm but gentle hand on my princess.”

“Mm. And I hope you know in my instance, one hand won’t do. You have to use two!”

We laugh, and he nuzzles me as we do. I love how he calls me princess even when he’s
no
prince. But in my heart, he’s so much more. He’s my King.

♥  ♥  ♥

IT’S PAST MIDNIGHT when we reach our apartment building. Of course it was
his
apartment, but he asked me to move in, and now it’s mine too.

We’re crossing our building lobby, his hand laced with mine, when he presses the elevator button and then surprises me by scooping me up in his arms. “Um? I can walk?” I say.

“I know you can do many things, including driving me crazy with that very walk, but you’re going to need your energy for what we’re about to do. So sit tight and hang on.”

I grin up at him and do exactly as he asks, whispering in his ear as we ride to the top, “Nothing makes me feel as alive as you do. Smelling you, feeling you, loving you.” I kiss his thick throat and the back of his ear, glad we’re alone in the elevator so I can nip and lovingly kiss any part I can reach. “I love you,” I whisper, closing my eyes and inhaling him, rubbing my hands up the plackets of his suit. “I love you so much, I missed the smell of your skin and your hair and your shirts.”

He cups my skull and tips my head around to his. “Melanie.” My heart hurts from the way he looks at me, like I’m a living, breathing dream of his.

He takes my mouth in a long, hot kiss until we reach our floor. Then he carries me out of the elevator and into our apartment. I play with his shirt collar and whisper, “Set me down so I can take off my shoes and hang up the dress you got me.”

He drops a kiss on my mouth and sets me down, then locks the door behind us. “One minute. No more.”

I love the feel I get when we walk into this place. I’ve decorated it because the man can’t expect us to live forever in Sparta, and I’m trying to build us a home now. It was a giant step in my
life, to move in with a man. A man I love. A man who’s dangerous, powerful, elusive, giving, secretive, all of the above. A man who, despite all that, I trust to protect me.

“I can barely get used to living here with you,” I confess as I admire my handiwork. The artwork over the stone chimney. The trio of live plants, some taller than others, by the window.

“And I can’t get used to the shit I need to live with in order to live with you.”

I laugh, then smile shyly as he follows me toward the bedroom area. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it because I’ve asked your opinion on it all. And I’m not done yet, you know. I want to paint the master bedroom royal blue and add some purple to our living room. And then I plan—”

“Enough, baby.”

We’ve reached the bedroom space, and he’s tugging his tie loose. Oh my . . .

Can he be any sexier, please?

Oh.
My.
He’s very determined tonight. Tossing his tie aside. Easing off his jacket.

“You can do anything you want with my apartment as long as I get to do anything I want with you,” he tells me in his most sexy voice.

I don’t stand a chance.

Nor do I want to.

I take off my heels—the black ones with the red sole he bought me—and I carefully set them aside. “Make me any indecent proposal you want, the answer is yes, Mr. King.”

“Right answer, princess.” Eyes twinkling, he pulls my panties out of his jacket and holds them out, then he crooks his finger with his free hand. “Come here, princess,” he finally murmurs—the command sensual. Hot.

“I am here,” I counter.

He tosses my panties onto a chair by the window. “You’re over on the other side of the bed. And I want you here.”

Oh my.
Really.
He wants me right where he is. He starts to unbutton his shirt and all that tan skin of his peeks out to tempt all of my fingers. I begin walking toward him, hearing him murmur—
that’s right, princess
—his voice a shiver down my nape as he closes the last steps—the last steps—to me. I start shaking with adrenaline as I grab the back of his head and immediately trail my lips across his hard jaw, then I whisper in his ear, “Yes.”