Exiled (Anathema Book 2) (34 page)

The
party lasted well into the night without the guest of honor.

I
made it out before anyone noticed Blade was missing. Anathema would figure it
out soon enough, but we’d be on the run as soon as they started to search.

And
then?

I
hadn’t thought that far ahead.

The
door locked behind me. I rested against it, releasing a breath I held all
night. The jumble of panic and adrenaline hadn’t passed yet. I needed a drink.
Maybe two. But the shot I took from Lyn’s bellybutton still buzzed in my head.

We’d
done it. At least our parts of the plan.

The
door to the bathroom was closed. Steam rolled from under it, and the shower
pattered against the tiles. Brew returned, but I had no idea which man I’d find
under the water. The road was kinder to him than he was to himself, but the
chains of guilt and loathing should have freed him.

In
his exile, Noir protected himself from horrific memories and heartache with
violence and consuming vengeance.

At
home? The ink in his blood strengthened in the shadow of Anathema. Surrounded
by his brothers and fueled with the power of his club, Brew was reborn.
Stronger. Fiercer.

Honest.

I
loved them both, but he still hated himself. That wasn’t something fists and
bullets could fix.

That
responsibility fell to me.

I
slipped out of my clothes before I entered the bathroom. The heavy steam rolled
in the hot water, and I breathed in the cleansing heat entangling my body in
the swirling mist. The air thickened with warmth and teased with his scent.

He
didn’t respond as I tip-toed into the shower. Brew faced the wall, arms flexed
and bracing against the tile. The water trickled over him, tracing the thick
lines of tattooed muscle that tensed under the heat. The tribal bands lashed
against his shoulders and back in sweeping brands and haunting emblems. His
actions and mind may have betrayed Anathema, but his flesh remained loyal,
inked with every sworn vow and pledge of honor to his brothers.

His
head lowered. His face was framed by dark hair that deserved its flecks of grey.
Thirteen years separated us—a lifetime of bloodshed and violence, wrath and
vengeance, and devoted, unconditional love. Years of mistakes. A day of
redemption.

The
water poured over his straining body, rampaging even in stillness. He flexed
his fists against the wall. Let the shower scald him. Absorbed the sins of the
club to right a wrong he took as his responsibility.

Now
the deed was done.

And
he looked as lost as ever.

I ducked
under his arms, pressing my back against the tile where he stared. His eyes
opened. The coiled smoke still smoldered within the heat and dampness of the
shower. My skin flushed against the spray of the water, the delicate skin over
my chest and belly pinking.

It
wasn’t just the water.

My
body flushed under the intensity of Brew’s gaze.

His
stare seared with lusted hunger and desperate claiming. He feasted upon my
offered nudity and traced my bared flesh with the path of his eyes.

A droplet
of water formed over my chest, gently rolling along the goose-bumped swell of
my breast. The water beaded on my stiffening nipple, nearly boiling where the
tease of my skin tightened for him.

I
pushed against the tile and arched. It wasn’t on purpose. A reflex. A defense
against the clench of his jaw and rush of blood to the hard cock thickening
between his legs.

What
did I expect? A soft hug. A quiet moment. A gentle kiss? I wanted to pass the
message from Red—that the warehouse was cleaned and Blade’s body handled. No
one would ever find out what happened.

Brew
didn’t need consolation. It wasn’t remorse or fear that strangled him—justice was
claimed, as remorseless as the crime. But Brew still fought against his needs.
He wouldn’t spill his own blood, and the imagined darkness tore him apart bone
by bone.

His
aggression didn’t make him his father. It made him the man I trusted with my
life—a man who needed to be shown how strength didn’t just take and force, but
promised and protected and
loved
with every primal ferocity our bodies
craved.

Brew
exhaled as I knelt before him. His ragged breath was as much a growled command
as any words he might have uttered. The prickling warmth of the shower centered
deep and low in me. My knees braced against the tub, and, though every other
man I served in such a way ordered my gaze down, I had to study him.

My
eyes drew along the ink working low on Brew’s leg, the incomplete sleeve that left
him rough and raw. The tattoo surrounded the base of his deliciously thick
cock, throbbing with an impossible size. The muscles tightening his abs and
chest lost him within the threat of his utter strength, but the tattoo on his
shoulder brightened him. The crimson red of the rose represented both the color
of blood and the promise of sweet hope.

I
met his gaze, and my stomach flipped with every intention commanded through the
fierceness of his eyes. He understood what I offered, but neither of us spoke.

His
hand curled in the wet locks of my hair. Hard, but not to hurt. Only to
control.

I
melted, my lips trembling over the hushed whisper of his name.

He
didn’t let me speak. He guided my lips to his cock, and I didn’t hesitate
before taking his thickening length within my mouth.

His
hiss of pleasure wasn’t a gift to me. He breathed his own victory. His hardness
trapped me between his body and the wall. I groaned with him as his hands
tightened their grip in my hair.

My
loving attention shuddered him in a freeing pleasure. The burdens washed away
in the striking water. He took the promise of my willing and puffy lips and
pulled me closer, increasing my movements, using my tongue against his hot
flesh to tease the reward from his body.

The
attention wasn’t fast. It didn’t need to be. He wasn’t taking anything I hadn’t
already given. Each slow and supple drag of my lips against his shaft was a
gifted desire. I worshiped. I adored. I swallowed as much of his cock as my
throat allowed just to prove how devoted I was to my protector. The man I
trusted.

The
man I loved.

He’d
never let me call him a hero. I’d think it anyway, and nothing he ever did or
said would change that conviction. I’d prove it to him one day. When he was
ready to listen.

I
usually kept my hands on my thighs, delicate and pretty, while I offered my
mouth, but I couldn’t resist touching Brew. My fingers drew along the muscles
of his thighs, curled behind him as I clung to his strength for balance. I
dared only to touch his cock when he pulled my head back to let me fist his
shaft as my lips devoted their softness to the sensitive tip. I pumped and
sucked, moaning against the promise of his thickness.

Brew
had fucked me before. Slowly and gently. Fiercely and pummeling. He could take
me however he wanted, just so long as my attentions tempted him for something
more than my lips.

I
needed him inside me.

He
needed me too.

He
pulled me off his cock with a sultry pop as my lips released their hold. I didn’t
shake his hand from my hair. I watched with a twisting fascination as he jumped
his shaft in his hand. He stared at me.

Making
a decision.

Seizing
control.

Submitting
to him.

“You
trust me,” he whispered.

It
wasn’t a question, but I nodded to reassure him. The thoughts hardening his
features might have frightened me if it were any other man.

“You
want me.”

I
nodded again.

“All
of me?”

“More
than anything.”

He
released my hair only to pull me to my feet. His kiss possessed me with such
fierceness I reveled in the feel of my swollen lips. I collapsed into his arms,
but he demanded more. He spun me, pushing me against the shower wall and held
in place with a strong arm and warning.

“Don’t
move.”

I
obeyed as he slipped from the shower only to return within seconds. He pressed
against me, gripping my hair again. His lips captured my neck, but the kiss
promised anything but sweetness.

I
shivered as his hand coiled over my belly and pressed down. His fingers wove
over my slit, flicking the all-too-sensitive nub of my clit. He liked that I
flinched. Liked even more when I whimpered as his finger teased within me. My
heat trapped him, and I instantly clenched against his finger, grinding despite
the best intentions of my waning control.

“Give
yourself to me.”

The
rumble of his voice pounded inside me. I sighed with the longing of his breath
against my ear.

“I
did that long ago.”

“It’s
not enough.”

His
finger twisted in me. He added a second, holding me tighter as I dared to move
against his hand.

“Anything.”
I swallowed as his thumb rocketed over my clit. “Anything you ask, it’s yours.”

His
fingers pulled from me, slick with my excitement. I bit my lip to suppress my
groan.

My
breath stilled as his fingers moved further back, rubbing a gentle circle
against a far more sensitive part of me.

“Anything?”
He repeated. I tensed. His finger circled a tender pressure against me. “Prove
it, Darling.”

My
breathing trembled. “I’ve...”

“Have
you ever been taken like this?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“It
wasn’t...meant to be pleasant.”

The
tension rose over him, banished with the snap of his voice. “I’ll never hurt
you.”

He
didn’t stop rubbing. My body shivered and twitched. I trusted him, but a quiet
apprehension shadowed my consent.

“You...can
you be...?”

His
finger poked, a timid exploration of a part of me that hadn’t the fortune to
feel anything less than violent before. Brew’s shifted, the hardness of his
erection heating the small of my back. His other hand gripped the crest between
my legs, rubbing along my wetness as his finger tested my resistance.

“Hands
on the wall,” he said. “Don’t think. Trust me, Martini.”

I
obeyed him, trembling as his finger eased inside my tightness, earning a
full-body shudder that wasn’t good or bad. Just different.

I
braced for pain. His heavy breath held as he teased me with just his index
finger. The discomfort never came, and his attentions on my clit worked faster
than the pressure of his intrusion.

The
pleasure betrayed me. My slit drenched his hand, and my body bucked,
accidentally jostling the finger preparing me for a mounting I hadn’t imagined.
The sensation rocked me with a newfound sensitivity. Brew kissed my neck,
nipping and holding as he gradually withdrew only to thrust within me again.

He
meant it.

He
wanted to take me. To fuck me. To control me.

This
was a completely different type of domination. I expected slaps to my ass, gags
shoved in my mouth, the denial of my pleasure as I debased myself for another.

Brew’s
cock twitched with my every mew and whimper. He liked my excitement.
Commanded
my pleasure. And his desire to take me in the darkest and most devious way a
man could own a woman was every binding, every lashing, and every demand I
needed.

I
couldn’t deny it felt...good.

“Easy.”
Brew tested my entrance with a second finger. The pinch of his entry passed as
the fullness conquered me in goose bumps and threatening promise. I stretched,
falling into the wall. My breathing ached, and he had hardly explored, hardly
touched.

My
body didn’t care. I pushed, gasping as the sudden violation wrapped me in a
shiver so wicked I groaned his name.