The Reckless Secret, Complete Series (An Alpha Billionaire In Love BBW Romance) (13 page)

“No one else gets to touch this,” he said, growled almost, as he dragged a thumb through her slick folds, pressing hard on her clit. She hissed, back arching high, exposed breasts pushing out and she grabbed them, tugged on her own nipples, a torturous distraction as he played with her pussy, teasing her, pinching her clit and spreading her folds and getting his fingers wet with her juices. “You hear me? I’m the only one who gets to make you feel like this. D’you want to come?”

“Yes,” she gasped, hips rolling with his continued assault.

He hummed under his breath, tilting his head to get a good look at her throbbing pussy. “Hmm, not yet,” he said, then he spread her thighs painfully wide and hunched over to bury his face in her wet folds.

She bit off a scream, fingers clamping down on her handfuls of breast, eyes rolling back in her head as he attacked her clit with tongue and lips, relentlessly, blissfully aggressive, making her see stars and sending her hurtling towards the brink, so overwhelmed with pleasure that she couldn’t even speak—just broken moans and gasps of panting breath, until she hung on the edge, desperate to tip over, and he abruptly pulled away.

“God, please—”

“Shh,” he said, stuffing two fingers in her twitching hole as he wiped the back of his other hand across his mouth. He fingered her for a moment, thumb pressing on her clit, watching the perfect agony pass over her face. Then he lifted her legs and pushed her knees back against her chest and took her swollen nub back into his mouth, sucking on it quick and without pause until she was shuddering, her pussy spasming, a scream caught in her chest and her toes curling.

She could barely see straight when he let go, put one knee on the seat beside her hip, released his cock, and stroked it rough and desperate, enough time for her to drag in a labored breath or two before he came across her bare breasts, painting them white and making her moan his name in exquisite satisfaction.

She felt so blissfully good in that moment, elevated high on pleasure and intimacy, that she didn’t understand why, in the exact instant Declan pulled her in for a kiss, her throat seized up with apprehension and made her choke down the urge to run away.

I
t was too much
. All of it. From her sick brother to the investigation and Dr. Stevens, Ronald’s newfound maliciousness and the dark side of Declan—everything piling up on her all at once and it didn’t help that she was falling in love amongst it all, that all of her feelings of doubt and fear and dread about everything in her life warred with the emotional weight of developing love.

And she couldn’t help thinking that she was setting herself up for a fall, lining up the pieces for the game Declan couldn’t help but play. Because that was what he was. A player. She knew it, and Grant had warned her, and still she’d jumped head first into this
thing
with him, the thing that was growing too big for her to handle. There was every chance he couldn’t change his ways, no matter how hard he tried. She didn’t want to be an experiment.

But he looked at her with such sincerity. His voice, when he spoke to her in their intimate, private moments, was full of affection. She felt it from him, whenever he touched her—that intangible thing that said this wasn’t just a game to him.

Whatever was between them, it was
big
.

And she wasn’t ready.

I
n the days
following the Ronald event—or, as Declan liked to put it: that time he nearly beat the shit out of a slimy little creep—things were tense. Maggie spent more time at her own place than with him and he wasn’t sure what to make of it—if she was just seeking space enough to clear her head, or if she was distancing herself from him. He knew he’d lost his temper with that bastard ex of hers, but how else would anyone expect him to react to seeing a man assault a woman—any woman, let alone Declan’s girlfriend.

And Maggie was his girlfriend, at least in his eyes. He had no intention of seeing anyone else, and wanted nothing more than to come home to the welcoming sight of her beautiful face every day for the rest of his life. Trouble was, she seemed to be pulling in the opposite direction.

There was no movement on the Grant thing—at least as far as he knew. He was quickly losing patience with his old friend, although he was torn on how to handle it. A massive part of him wanted to tell Maggie everything; he was already full of guilt at how long he’d kept quiet.

On the other hand, he was desperate to give his friend a chance. Surely, beneath the addiction, underneath all that mess, there was some decency left within Grant strong enough to make him do the right thing? It was a hope to which Declan clung with determination. There was no way Grant Emerson wouldn’t come through in the end. He was too much of a good man. Maybe he just needed a little extra time to find the courage. And Declan would give it to him, but not for much longer. He couldn’t let Maggie continue thinking her career was in danger.

Just like their relationship.

He could feel it, how she was pulling away from him. Returning his calls less and less, only spending one night at his in the past few days. He saw her yesterday, but he already missed her terribly.

Sick of the uncertainty, he did the only thing that made sense: he went to see her, bouquet of roses in hand and a hopeful smile on his face as she answered the door.

She was wearing threadbare pajamas with little penguins on, her wild hair piled up on top of her head, big fuzzy socks pulled up to her knees, and not a single lick of makeup. She was, in that moment, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The breath punched out of him.

Her smile was tight, a little bit apologetic. “Hello,” she said, her eyes glittering.

“Hi.” He held out the flowers. “For you.”

She took them, although the smile dimmed a little. “I thought I said I’d see you on Friday.”

“I know. Hear me out. You’re not working tomorrow, are you?”

She hesitated. And then, slowly: “No…”

“I’ve got a cabin, a couple hours away. It’s in a real pretty spot. Lots of trees.” He rearranged his face into something he hoped conveyed how much her agreement would mean to him. “I can have you home early Friday morning?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You want to take me to some secluded cabin in the woods?”

“No murder, promise,” he said, lifting his hands, and shared a laugh with her. He watched, with his heart leaping into his throat, as her expression softened. She brought the flowers to her nose, smelled them, glancing up at him through her lashes.

Thirty minutes later, they sat together in the back of the limo, Declan wishing he could’ve had the foresight to take a different car—this was the very seat they’d put to use after the Ronald incident, the day everything started going intangibly wrong for them.

The silence in the car was thick with tension, so bad that Declan was beginning to wonder why she’d agreed to come on this little trip with him at all. And then she turned to him abruptly and said, “Look—” just as he said, “Maggie, listen—” and they stopped, laughed, the tension easing a little.

“I was just going to say,” Maggie continued, “that I know I’ve been a bit off with you. It’s not—there’s no particular reason for it. I just…I don’t know if I trust this. Trust
you
. And then you were so aggressive to Ronald, and it was fine, I mean—I’m glad you showed up when you did. But I’d never seen you so angry before and…I don’t know. It threw me. And on top of everything else, with work and Grant and all the things weighing me down right now, I guess—I guess I just couldn’t be
here
, you know? In the moment. With you.” She stopped, blew out a breath. “I needed a break.” She grimaced, her makeup-free face scrunching up adorably, and added, “I’m sorry.”

He wanted to hug her, squeeze her tight, tell her everything was fine, that he understood. But he was stuck on one thing in her tumble of words, and his heart thudded painfully behind his ribs.
I don’t know if I trust this
. She wasn’t sure of him, of what they had. She was
scared
.

He took her hand, swiped his thumb over her knuckles. “This trip is gonna be exactly what you need,” he said, and made a silent vow to remove that fear she had for them.

He started with the journey. Two hours sitting in the back of a limo, nothing to distract them but their own thoughts—and he knew how dangerous that could be. He asked the driver to put the radio on and settled in close to her, asking her questions about her job and her friends, getting her to talk, to relax, a conversation they carried all the way up to the cabin.

She already seemed lighter when they stepped out of the limo, and her eyes lit up as she took in the sight of the cabin—all polished wood and wraparound porch, situated in a secluded woodland clearing like something straight out of a picture book.

“Declan, this is beautiful,” she said breathlessly, gazing at the ivy, the white shutters. He smiled, thought,
You put it to shame
, and led her inside.

After putting their things in the bedroom and giving her a brief tour, he took advantage of the last drop of sunlight and took her for a walk around the surrounding pathways, held her hand and talked to her about his memories coming here as a kid, how he’d brought Grant here once, the two of them climbing trees and chasing badgers. Talk of her brother dulled her sparkle a little so he quickly changed the subject, tucked his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple, reminded her of better times.

That evening they ate soup with warmed bread and drank wine by the fire, and she kissed him in the light of the dying embers and removed his clothes, and then her own, the amber glow highlighting every swell and curve of her body, making him want to kiss every inch.

She let him—laid back on the hearth rug with a pleasurable sigh, arms resting above her head, body splayed out entirely unselfconsciously, and he hoped she looked in the mirror and saw the perfection he beheld right now, because he hardly believed something could be so beautiful. For an age, he kissed her, trailed his lips and tongue across hips, thighs, stomach, breasts. Kissed her until her skin glimmered with a rosy flush, until her breath escaped her in broken stutters, her fingers twisting in the fibers of the rug and her legs drifting open, the scent of her arousal kickstarting his own urgency.

They made love for an hour, warmly and without hurry, learning each other in a way they hadn’t yet taken the time to do. He whispered words of sentimental nonsense and kissed her plush lips and buried his face in her breast, held on tight as wave after wave of climax crashed through him, her orgasmic gasps lighting him up on the inside.

After relocating to the bed, they slept until dawn, tangled up together and waking up once to pull each other close again and touch until they trembled. Morning came bright and Maggie’s smile beamed brighter, and Declan looked at her over the breakfast bar and thought with sudden clarity,
Careful, buddy, or she’ll have your whole heart.
But he didn’t want to be careful. He didn’t want to give her anything less than everything.

He took the old Jag out of the garage and fired it up, surprised at the life that roared through it, and he and Maggie spent the day in the small neighboring town, whiling away hours in the quaint book store and tea shop and a cozy dress boutique. He wanted to buy her the lacy number he caught her eyeing up but she wouldn’t allow it, suggesting he buy her lunch instead. They took it late at a quirky café that sold tea on saucers and gave cake for free, and by the time they encouraged the old, stalling Jag back up to the cabin, the sun had set and Maggie was breathless with laughter.

After cracking open another bottle of wine, Declan dug out an ancient TV/DVD combo from a closet in the back bedroom, found a stash of movies in a box behind it, and that evening they watched
The Holiday
and
Notting Hill
on the creaky sofa in front of the fire, Declan spending half the time wondering who the hell brought these DVDs to his cabin, and the other half wondering how he got so lucky to have Maggie Emerson curled against his side right now.

When Maggie became more yawn than alertness, her eyes pushing shut, he carried her to bed and kissed her goodnight, tucked her in tight and headed back into the living room, grabbed his phone and called Grant. He didn’t answer, but he had voice mail.

“I’m not waiting any longer,” Declan said quietly. “I can’t lie to her anymore. You’ve got until the end of this week.” He paused, and then added, “Don’t let me down.”

Then he went to bed and held her all night.

The limo arrived early the next morning, before the sun had truly risen, and the journey back was quiet but comfortable. Once back in the city, he stepped out to walk her to her door, dropped her bag in her hall, and kissed her on the doorstep.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at him, arms around his neck. “This was exactly what I needed.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Will you come over tonight?” he asked her, and waited with breathless anticipation for her response. Her answer now would determine how successful this little mini-break had really been—if he was back in her affections, or if she planned to distance herself again.

“I can’t,” she said, and his heart sank to his shoes. But then she added, “I’m working a double shift. I can come tomorrow—spend the weekend?” And he could’ve powered all fifty states with the elation that rushed through him.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he murmured, kissing her again, and then again when heat overtook them. They were moments away from committing a public indecency crime when she broke away gasping, laughing, pushing at him and telling him to
get out of here
.

Declan stopped off at Grant’s on the way to the office, but got no response. Sam the doorman said he hadn’t seen him in a few days, and worry coiled in Declan’s gut. Empty apartment, unanswered calls… No drugs had gone missing since before Maggie’s suspension, which meant Declan was getting them elsewhere. Or worse—he wasn’t getting them from anywhere, and the withdrawal had him knocked out and on the brink somewhere.

Declan had no fucking idea what to do. He
needed
Grant to come clean himself—a confession would limit the legal consequences, and there was a chance they could all put this whole sorry mess behind them before the year’s end. The longer Grant stayed in the dark, left Maggie under suspicion, the worse he would make things for himself.

The warm glow of the mini-break fading under the weight of his concern, Declan pounded the treadmill that night, shoved on headphones and cranked up the music and ran and ran and ran, until his mind washed clear of everything except pleasurable exhaustion.

But still he felt amped up, unable to settle, and he eyed the weight benches on the far side of the gym, considering how much usable energy he had left in him.

“You feel like a little competition?” a voice said behind him after he switched off his music, and he turned with a smile on his face.

“Trixie.” She wore figure-flattering gym gear and all of her makeup, a towel over her shoulder and a bottle of water in hand. She’d caught the eye of most men currently working out in the room, and some of the women, and Declan understood it. Because she was stunning—slim, tall, blonde, perfectly made up. But he’d never really seen her that way, aside from one disastrous date a million years ago when they first met. Comparing Trixie’s aesthetic perfection now to Maggie’s soft-figured, makeup-free, wild-haired company these past couple days, and it was easy to figure out what he preferred. It wasn’t even a close finish.

Still, Trixie was beautiful to him in other ways—her kindness, her compassion, her wicked sense of humor. She was one of his best friends, and even though Maggie had gotten the wrong idea about them, he wasn’t going to cut Trixie out of his life. He hoped, one day, that the two women might become friends.

He hugged Trixie now, sweat and all, laughing as she squealed in disgust and pushed him away.

“You
stink
,” she told him, wrinkling her nose. “How long have you been here?”

He shrugged, rubbing his hair with a towel. “An hour, maybe. I hit it pretty hard.”

“Yeah?” Eyebrow quirked, she looked at him with an expression of concern. “Everything okay?”

He could tell her—about Maggie, Grant, his conflict over the whole thing. She would keep it to herself, there was no doubt about that. He could tell her he’d murdered someone, and her only response would be to help hide the body.

And yet, he hesitated. Trixie knew of the Emersons. Everyone did. Which meant she wouldn’t be hearing a story about some stranger. She would discover that Grant Emerson was a thief and an addict, that Maggie Emerson was currently being investigated by the police, and tomorrow she’d have lunch at the club with Mrs. Emerson, unable to say anything. It wasn’t fair to anyone—to Grant and Maggie for telling their secrets, and to Trixie for putting her in that position.

So he smiled and said, “Yeah, just a long week at work. You want a spot?”

“You got time?”

“Always, for you,” he said, hooking an arm around her neck and yanking her in close again as he steered them towards the weight benches. She yelled at him and he laughed, and behind the cheerful veneer, his stomach churned with foreboding.

Time was running out. He could feel it.