Bought (Unchained Vice Book 3) (8 page)

Everything was involuntary, even the juices that leaked from inside her.

With a slow tease, he dragged a finger through the viscous trail spreading it down to her bottom, making her squirm and rattle the clamps all by herself.

Jerricho slipped his lubed finger inside the tight opening, making her gasp.

“Today, this is where I fuck filthy girls.”

Before her body could adjust, he pushed a second wet finger inside her. Twisting them, he slowly fucked her, teasing hungry nerves before pulling his fingers out, spreading her wider.

The violation burned so sweetly she mewled. When his fingers slipped from her, she felt strangely empty.

“What’s your safeword, Scarlet?”

“Red. My safeword is red.” She turned her head to the sound of his buckle clicking open.

He reached for a condom packet. “Now would be the time to use it.”

She gave a breathless laugh and shook her head. She wasn’t going to stop him.

Standing at the bottom of the bed, he hooked his arms under her knees, grabbing her thighs, and pulled her up against his body. He pushed his cock past the tight muscle and slid inside, burying himself deep inside her ass.

He held her there, pinned against him. The fabric of his pants prickled against her soft skin as she twitched around him, the state of their undress arousing.

The sensations swelling until she ached to move.

She needed friction. She wanted the burn. She craved the soothing strokes of his cock.

Her body trembled in anticipation, random little spasms of desire sparked along her nerves.

And then, thank God, he moved.

Slow hard thrusts. The snap of his hips against her jangled the clamps on her pussy. Pain flared with each plunge as his cock pumped into her.

The tormenting pleasure mellowed into a muddy ecstasy.

She arched her neck back, eyes closing.

The bliss of the relentless rhythm built and built and built.

When she started rocking, he thrust harder, each bump taking her closer, higher.

She could hear herself moaning, begging him not to stop, and when she grabbed, knuckles locked, fingers straining, at the bed, he mercilessly jerked the clamps free.

Pain ripped blindingly bright through her body as blood rushed back into the pinched flesh.

She screamed out as her body sang.

He massaged the throbbing flesh as she bucked against him. His thumb slipped between the slick, swollen folds and found her clit.

She came again, body clenching hard on his cock. Her pussy empty as it convulsed, muscles and nerves jumping out of control.

He waited until all that was left was twitching.

She could feel him still hard as he pulled out of her, her legs like jelly as he dropped them.

He discarded the used condom and reached for another one.

She found her voice. “How many of those do you think we’re going to go through?”

He laughed. “Many.”

More barriers. Suddenly she couldn’t stand the thought of them.

“I’m clean.” She’d been tested, even though she’d told them there was no reason.

He stopped and looked at her. “So am I.”

When she said nothing further, he dropped the packet.

The high was leaving her system and the ache was settling in. She started to move her hands to soothe her aching sex, rub the indentations left by the clamps, and then she remembered. Clenching her fists at her hips, she groaned.

“Sore?” He’d been watching.

She nodded.

He walked back to where she was lying. She hadn’t moved, too lazy. Her legs dangled off the bed as he knelt down between them.

“Then let me kiss it better so I can fuck it next.”

She wanted to watch, wanted to feed on him while he fed on her.

Hot breath reigniting the heat, and then the balm of his tongue and lips.

Heavy eyelids sank.

Sweet.

So sweet.

She wanted to tell him that, but only a sigh escaped her lips.

Scarlet managed to avoid the real world until the warm sunlight faded into sultry evening. Now, body protesting with aches even Jerricho couldn’t kiss away, she trudged back up to the house, stomach sinking with each step back to reality. There was still Killian to deal with.

The instant she spotted the Porsche parked in the driveway, her chest tightened.

Killian had always called the shots, in and out of their bed. It was part of his attraction. She’d understood from day one, you don’t get on the roller coaster then try to steer.

She knew all that, and still she was livid.

She stopped next to the sleek machine on the gravel stones, bent at the knees—her panties still somewhere on Jerricho’s floor—and picked up a large, jagged stone.

She ground her teeth, her thumb brushing the sharp rock edge. It was so tempting to take that unforgiving edge and scratch it down the petrol blue paint. Racing stripes à la feminine fury.

She counted to ten.

Had she enjoyed the afternoon after she got over the shock of it? That was not the point.

She counted to twenty.

Whatever Killian thought he was doing, his reasons were wrong.

After a quick and angry search, she found Killian in the library. Jason Wright’s photograph of Jerricho hung on the wall above him, the subject of their hostility.

“Why?” It was a demand more than a question.

Killian finished pouring his whiskey before he turned around. He raised his glass then he threw his head back and drank the shot in a single gulp. Still holding the glass, he wiped the back of his hand over his lips.

“Dammit, Killian, why?”

“You said you didn’t want a friend.”

“So you bought me … a what? What exactly do you think this is?”

His gaze roamed over her and she knew what he saw—the messy hair and creased clothes.

“A fuck.” He flashed a cold, knowing smile.

“I can manage that on my own.”

He laughed and raised his empty glass in a salute before putting it down.

“We’ve always had an open marriage. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then don’t act guilty.”

Don’t hide it behind my back.

The words were unspoken, but that was what this was about.

Not because she’d fucked someone but because he thought she had intended to keep it from him. He was wrong. She’d wanted him to know. Wanted him to know that she wouldn’t break if someone touched her. She just hadn’t found a way to tell him yet.

“Why hire him? Why not tell me over the phone?”

“Because I knew you wanted him. Because I knew you’d say no. And I knew your answer would be different when you saw him.”

Enough.

Hot anger caught flame.

She darted forward. The flat of her hand against his cheek resounded in her ears.

He didn’t flinch from the blow. Only the turbulent blue of his eyes made him human. The rest of him was immovable, hard, right down to his smile. “I see I was right.”

She bit back the tears as she raised her hand to slap him again, but this time, he anticipated it. He caught her wrist mid strike.

She tried to wrestle it free, but Killian was unshakeable. He jerked her a little closer and stared into her eyes. So much heat between them.

So much rage.

Her chest heaved with it; Killian was unruffled by his.

“So pretty to look at.” His lip curled into a sneer. “You always did have a good eye, didn’t you, Scar? Tell me, is he as good as he looks?”

She yanked her hand again and he let it drop. “You want to know?”

Bitterness burned her throat and tongue as she grabbed her skirt, crushing the already creased raw silk as she scrunched up the hem. Killian didn’t acknowledge her nudity underneath. Didn’t blink as she slipped her hand between her legs and into the wetness of her sex.

She held up fingers sticky with evidence of what she’d done. “You really want to know?”

He gave her nothing.

Nothing.

The story of ten months rolled into this one single moment.

She smeared her fingers over his lips, viciously rubbing the stain of her and another man into his skin.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t speak. He didn’t stop her. He did nothing but stand his ground, his lips glistening with her spite.

“He’s magnificent.” Her voice broke. “One of the best I’ve ever had. Make no mistake, when he’s fucking me, I’m the whore.”

She wanted to wound him, hurt him in the worst possible way.

The fact that he let her just hurt her more.

“Can you smell him on me?” She sucked her wet fingers into her mouth, lewdly cleaning them.

She wanted to hate him, but the only hate she had was for herself.

And then Killian saved her by looking away.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered, because it was too hard to stop the tirade. “You got exactly what you wanted.”

He looked back at her, letting his mask fall, revealing a raw pain that staggered her.

He’d wanted her to say no.

He’d done all this while all the time, deep down, he’d hoped she’d say no and turn Jerricho away.

Oh, Jesus.

They were a car crash and she was stomping through the wreckage.

“No,” he said quietly, “you got exactly what you wanted. You were always going to go back for more.” His mask shuttered back into place. “I just made it easy for you.”

He started to walk toward the door, ignoring the broken sound she made.

Then, as if he had forgotten something, he turned.

For an illogical moment, Scarlet thought it might be her, hope flaring so desperate it hurt.

“Not in my bed.” Gritted words, his harsh gaze pinning her. “You hear me, Scar? You fuck him anywhere you want … but not in my bed.”

He left.

Bitter cold started to slowly creep over her. “And which bed would that be?” she yelled out after him. “Because I’m not so sure anymore.”

But he was gone.

She sank to the floor, too weak to stand.

***

A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye caught Killian’s attention. Scar stood in the doorway of the bedroom watching him as he sat working on the bed, whiskey at his side. It was too late to be up, but he couldn’t sleep. It seemed neither could she. Instead, they haunted their home like the ghosts of who they’d once been.

He’d spent most of the night running, punching, hurting in the gym downstairs. Sweat had washed the taste of Scar off his lips.

The taste of Black.

Eventually, at the point of breaking, he’d dragged himself up to the room. He refused to think of this room in its understated tones of elegance as his.

“You used to play hard. Now you just work.” There was still so much accusation in her tone.

He bit his tongue; she never used to break his balls this hard either. He ignored the inner voice that said he’d never deserved it before. Times changed.

But him and her, they didn’t have to.

He looked up from his work, giving her his full attention.

“You knew I’d find out about him, Scar. What reaction were you chasing?” He wished he could get the hardness out of his voice, but when you held on so tight, everything became brittle.

“Maybe I just wanted to still feel alive. We’re still
alive
.”

“There’s more to dying than just not breathing.”

Until he’d met Scarlet, he had never known he’d been searching. Hadn’t been aware that souls really did get split in two. Like the world’s last fucking romantic, he didn’t have a clue. He’d loved her too fast, too wild, too hard. And he didn’t regret a day of it.

Not even now as he watched her hurting.

Pain meant something.

Fighting meant something.

He’d grown up in the boxing ring. He knew when there was no fight left, that was when you went down. Pain kept you fighting. Fighting kept you hoping.

Her lip trembled as her gaze moved up his body. He knew what she was looking for; between the two of them, he still bore the scar. The bullet had stopped an inch from his heart.

He’d die for her.

When everything else failed, she would always know that.

“Do we mean so little, you brought him here?”

Her question surprised him.

“No. No, Scar, you mean so
much
.” He took off the glasses he seldom wore and rubbed sore eyes.

Did she think hiring Black had been easy?

Yes, there had been lovers in the past, but never exclusively.

His gut told him she needed Black. The night before, there had been a sense of ease about her that he hadn’t seen in a long time. He didn’t think it had simply been the fucking. The fact that she didn’t mention it to him, proved him right.

Black gave her something she needed, and he loved her enough to get her what she needed.

He held out his hand to her.

A tattoo covered his thumb, the weeping tears of blood dripping down the stem of a rose—a reminder of his transgression.

A reminder that he’d failed her.

That he didn’t deserve her.

But then her fingers were pushing between his and grabbing on to him; he didn’t want to think about anything else but grabbing back and keeping her.

He yanked her onto the bed, curling her into him as he reached to switch off the light. She wriggled closer and he nuzzled her neck.

She smelled so good.

Heaven.

Everything he needed and nothing he deserved.

“I want you.” Her whisper traveled up in the dark.

He gripped her tighter. He didn’t have the words, didn’t have the poetry or the eloquence to tell her how he loved her.

She seemed content in his silence, her nails scraping lightly on his arm in tune with the rhythmic lulling of their breathing. They simply lay there and absorbed each other’s presence.

Eventually, she stirred, grabbing his hand and tugging it to cup her breast. The pebble of her nipple pushed her t-shirt against his sensitive thumb, creating a burning itch to strum the teasing peak.

“Make love to me.”

Her words jarred; he’d been lost in the feel of her.

“Here. Now.” She crushed his hand against her, making him squeeze her breast. “Make love to me please, Killian. We’ll let him go. Pay Jerricho off and let him walk out of here.”

He wanted to. Jesus, she had to know he wanted to.

But he couldn’t touch her … not yet.

He couldn’t let her forgive him.

He had to suffer.

He needed to never forget what it felt like to die and stubbornly keep breathing.

He made a choked sound as he rested his forehead against her. The smell of her hair invaded him, threatening to weaken him. “I can’t.”

She pulled free, pushing his hands off her, and he realized she’d moved before he’d even spoke, as if she knew what was coming.

Head down, she didn’t make eye contact. He had no doubt the curtain of hair hid her tears.

Pain tore at his heart. He was no different from his father. Instead of protecting the people he loved, he was only hurting her. He wished he could make her understand the compulsion that held him back, but it held him by the throat. He couldn’t even talk about it.

She walked gingerly to the door, body tight as if she was a whiplash victim.

He’d done that.

He willed her rage,
wanted
it, because bruising each other was still touch.

A wave of relief rushed through him as she stopped at the door.

Except she didn’t turn, she didn’t look at him. Hand on the doorjamb, her words came over her shoulder. “You know what I’m starting to look forward to? The day I don’t care anymore.”

She was gone.

His fist slammed into the headboard, hammered it into the wall. Tendons straining in his neck, he held back a roar.

For ten months he’d been searching for the bastard who’d taken her. Until he washed his hands in the blood of the animal, he’d never be clean enough to touch her.

But she needed contact; she’d always been highly physical.

Eloise was wrong about the intimacy, Scar needed touch.

He didn’t know who needed Black more, her or him, but even now, he believed he’d done the right thing.