Muscling In (17 page)

He winced.

“What?” I asked, surprised. I
knew damn well Ed had a high tolerance for pain.

“Nothing.” He shook his head.
His eyes seemed to penetrate right through me.

“That’s not nothing.”

“Leave it.”

I reached for the base of his
t-shirt and gripped it. “If you’re in our lives, Ed, then you need to be honest
about the things you can be honest about. The things that are not covered by
the Official Secrets Act. And if being bruised and battered is how you are
today, then you need to be up front about that, okay?” I’d spoken firmly,
probably more than I’d intended but it was how I felt. He might be big and dark
and in a brooding mood but I had a right to know if he was hurt.

He swallowed, shifting the
bruising on his neck. “Yeah, okay.”

A small bubble of triumph
burst within me. “Good.” I peeled his top up, revealing his flat abdomen with
its trail of dark hair, his sternum and pecs.

He raised his arms and allowed
me to remove the garment completely.

I let it fall to the floor.
Shock washed through me. His gorgeous body was peppered with bruises, some so
dark they were almost black and others red in the middle and faded on the
edges.

“You should see the other
guy,” he said, rubbing his hand over his right collarbone that did have a
particularly nasty swelling on it.

“Bloody hell,” I said.

“It’s fine, really.” He
huffed. “Had more impressive knocks. This will be gone in a few days.”

“What happened?” I shook my
head. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You could tell me but then you’d
have to kill me, right.” I laughed but it held no humor.

He reached out and tucked a
strand of my hair behind my ear. “I ended up in a situation where it was just
me and one insurgent. I was out of bullets so it was fist fight or die. I
picked the fist fight but he was no pushover. He got a few hits in.”

“And a stranglehold by the
looks of it.”

He shrugged, then winced again
and put his hand on his collarbone. “He had a go but didn’t get very far. We’ve
all got to go at some point but I wasn’t about to let some raghead do me in
with his bare hands in a shit hole of a house.”

“So what did you do?”

“I removed the threat.”

“Ahh, okay.” I could guess
what that meant. He’d killed him. I looked at his hands. Hands that I knew
could be gentle and loving but were also capable of killing…

“And the mission was
successful, so here I am,” he said.

“Was it that woman, the
hostage?”

“Now you know I can’t talk
about that.” He bit his bottom lip.

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

“Got any coffee around here?”
he asked, glancing at the kitchen.

“Yes, of course, come through,
and you really should have a cold compress on that swelling on your clavicle.
It’s nasty.”

“Nah, the medics cleared me.
It’s fine.”

“Well it’s maybe not broken
but it still needs attention.” I led the way into the kitchen and pulled out a
chair for him to sit on. “Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Will you stay and eat with
us?”

“I’d like that.” He spun the
chair so it was facing into the room, then sat and placed his hands on his
leather-clad thighs.

I fussed around putting on the
coffee, then searched for a bag of peas in the freezer. We only had sweetcorn
but I figured that would work just as well. As I moved I could feel his quiet
attention on me.

It was what I’d craved, his
attention, his desire, and something in the heated way he was looking at me
made me wonder if I finally had that.

After wrapping the sweetcorn
in a tea towel I stood in front of him. His eyeline was level with my breasts.
“Here, this is cold.” Very gently I rested the cool package against the
swelling. He didn’t wince or shift but instead looked up at me.

I caught my breath. I’d been
right. His eyes were on fire with lust. The dark depths burned with longing. It
was a longing I was sure reflected back at him because I wanted Ed so much.

Chapter Twelve

But right now Ed was injured.
He was bruised and battered and not up for any sexy action.

“Fucking hell you’re a sight
for sore eyes,” he said, slipping his hand into my hair, his palm scraping over
my ear.

“Ed…” I said breathily.

“So fucking beautiful. Coben’s
a lucky guy to have you.”

“You can have me too.”

He mashed his lips together. A
small tendon jumped in his cheek, beneath the bruising there.

My heart galloped and my
stomach lurched in anticipation of what I was about to ask. “If you want me,
that is.”

He pulled my face to his and
hovered his lips over mine. “Did you ever doubt that?”

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

He kissed me in a hot, hard
way that sent white-hot need racing through my veins. The sweetcorn fell to the
floor as he wound his arm around my waist and tugged me closer. His hold on me
was vice-tight, his strength evident in every muscle beneath my palms.

I straddled his legs and he
urged me to sit on his thighs. Our heads now level, the kiss deepened. Our
tongues tangled, our breaths quickened. I wanted him. I wanted Ed in my pussy,
fucking me. The way he’d fucked Coben with determination and desperation, I
wanted that too. And damn the guy deserved it after what he’d been through.

He fisted the hair on my crown
and tugged.

I was forced to tip my head
back and as I stared at the ceiling he kissed and nibbled his way down my neck.

“Oh God,” I moaned. Each
section of skin he’d touched felt so alive. I rocked forward and felt the bulge
of his erection forcing itself on his leathers.

“Ah yeah,” he moaned. “I’m
going to make you come so hard.” He slipped his hand up the inside of my top
and cupped my right breast.

“More.” I pushed my crotch
over his, feeling the thickness of his shaft even through our clothing.

“Much more.” He squeezed my
breast over my bra, gathering up all the flesh and the cup.

I squirmed in exquisite
discomfort.

He released the tight hold on
my hair and I looked at him again.

His lips were damp and
slightly parted and there was a flush on his cheeks. “You’re the perfect
woman,” he murmured. “Hot and sexy, yet gentle and kind. I want you. I want all
of you.”

“And I want you.” I cupped his
cheeks and held his face.

A sudden bolt of realization
hit me. We couldn’t do this. Not without Coben. It wasn’t fair. I belonged to
him. I was his wife. And although he was looking forward to the threesome fantasy
and had been fucked by Ed it was something we all needed to do together.

“Coben,” I managed.

“Yeah, he’ll be home soon
right.” He leaned in for another kiss.

“Yes, but…”

“Oh fuck, there’s a but?” He
stilled.

“Yes, you know there is.” I
wriggled.

 
He slipped his hand from beneath my top. He
smoothed out the material by gently running his palm over my chest. “You want
Coben here when we fuck, is that right?”

I nodded. “Yes. It has to be
that way. He’s not normally into sharing me. He can be jealous on occasion.”

Ed chuckled. “Really?”

“Why is that funny?”

“I didn’t know that about him.
No one else came near either of us, so it wasn’t ever a situation.” He paused.
“I like it, though, that he’s territorial. It’s sexy.”

“You reckon?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head
within my hands.

I let my palms drift down to
his neck and rested them gently over the bruising.

“I want you both,” Ed said.
“And to be honest I can’t fucking believe my luck that you both want me, so I’m
happy to play by your rules.”

“Not rules just necessary, for
him, for his emotional well-being.”

“You’re a good wife, you know
that.”

I grinned and shifted on his
lap, felt the hardness of his cock again. “Not that good.”

“No one is without a little
bit of bad.” He swept his lips over mine. “Now where is that coffee?”

I became aware of the mellow
scent of the roasted beans and stood. “Here.” I handed him the sweetcorn. “Keep
this on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You want something to eat
with this coffee? A sandwich or something to keep you going?”

“That’d be cool.” He shoved
his hands down the front of his leathers and appeared to adjust himself. “If
that’s what’s on offer.” He winked.

“For now.” A delicious feeling
of anticipation was zinging through me. I was turned on but happy to let the
sensation linger, keep me buzzing until the time was right. Until Coben was
here to join in the fun.

I set down a mug of coffee on
the table, then a glass of water and a couple of paracetamol. “Take these.”

“What for?”

“Make that more comfortable.”
I pointed at his shoulder, then his face and finally the string of bruises on
his ribs. “All of it.”

He kind of huffed as though
the idea was silly but took the medication anyway.

“Ham sandwich?”

“Perfect.”

I set about spreading butter
on two slices of bread. The sky had become dark and the kitchen gloomy. I was
just reaching for the light switch when an almighty rumble of thunder rolled
overhead.

“We’re in for a good one,” Ed
said, sipping his coffee.

“Yes, I could feel it in the
air.” I flicked on the overhead light and returned to adding ham to the bread.

“What time will Cobe be in?”

“Late. Might as well get a
comfy seat to eat this.” I added the round of sandwiches to a plate and nodded
at the living room. “Will be better for you than that hard chair.”

“Whatever,” he said, smiling
and standing.

He followed me to the living
room and I set the food next to the soft armchair. I fussed, plumping cushions
for his poor, battered body to rest on and added one high up for his head.

“When did you last sleep?” I
asked.

“I dunno.” He thought about
it. “Yesterday, on a plane.”

“Well, sit and put your feet
up.”

“I could get used to this.”

The room lit up as lightning
streaked over North London.

I jumped a little and he
rested his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yes fine.” I glanced outside
as another loud grumble of thunder made the windows rattle. I’d never been a
fan of storms. “I’ll just be glad when Coben gets home.”

He grinned. “Me too.” He sat,
his naked upper torso looking dark and powerful against the rose-pink chair.
“Thanks for this.” He picked up his snack and bit into it.

“No problem. Here’s the remote
for the TV. I’ll go and get something more substantial cooking.”

“Sure, do what you need to
do.”

As I wandered back into the
kitchen I heard the title music of the BBC news. I could hardly believe it. Ed
was back. Not just back he was here, sitting in our home, eating and resting
and waiting for Coben.

And he
did
want me.

I hugged my arms around myself
and stared at the fat drips of the rainstorm landing wetly on the window.

Ed desired me. He thought I
was sexy and gentle and perfect. He wanted my body next to his, his cock
sinking deep. The three of us really could become one.

I nipped back into the hall
and grabbed my purse. Ed had his head resting back on the cushion. He didn’t
appear to notice me. Quickly I pulled out my iPhone and sent a text to Coben.

Ed’s here! X

Within seconds I had a reply.

What! Keep him there.

I tapped at the screen.

He’s not going anywhere. He’s
settled in the living room with food and painkillers. Don’t be late X

Again the response was quick.

I’m on my way now.

I smiled. Coben would be
feeling the same way I had when I’d seen the motorbike and Ed at the door. It
was a heady mixture of relief and excitement, a complex tangle of love and
lust.

I poured a glass of wine, then
flicked the oven on. I had chicken breasts in the fridge. Ed looked like a
hearty meal, and not something out of rehydrated sachet or a can, would do him
the world of good.

As the storm grumbled and the
rain became an angry torrent against the window I peeled vegetables and made up
a creamy mushroom sauce. The news was still on. I could hear the low drone of
voices coming from the living room.

After I’d put the chicken in
the oven I picked up the coffee pot and went to see if Ed wanted a refill.

I stopped in the doorway of
the living room. He was fast asleep. His head was tilted back, his mouth
slightly parted and his chest rising and falling softly. The bag of sweetcorn
was balanced on his swollen injury.

A smile tugged my lips. It was
good he felt so relaxed in our home. That he could just fall asleep even with
the TV on and a storm raging.

I reached for a throw and lay
it over his legs and halfway up his chest. He didn’t stir. Goodness only knew
the extent of his exhaustion or when he’d last slept somewhere comfortable.

I turned the volume of the
news down a little but not off completely in case that disturbed him, then went
back to the kitchen. I tidied up and made a whipped chocolate mousse for
dessert, one of my specialities.

The storm picked up, the loud
claps of thunder relentless. Twice I glanced at Ed to see if he’d woken.

He hadn’t.

Eventually I heard Coben’s key
in the front door. I dashed to greet him.

He was standing dripping on
the mat. The short run from car to house had managed to drench his hair and his
suit jacket.

“Bloody awful out there,” he
said.

“Shh…” I pressed my index
finger to my lips and shut the door with a quiet
click
. “He’s sleeping.
But I don’t think he’ll wake easily. He’s not stirred even with this racket
going on.”

“Likely he’s exhausted.
Batteries on empty.” Coben shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the coat
stand. He tugged off his shoes. “Is he in there?”

“Yes.” I followed Coben as he
wandered into the living room.

He stopped and stared at the
sleeping Ed.

“Just a few bruises and
scrapes,” I whispered, linking my hand with Coben’s.

He squeezed my fingers and
exhaled long and slow. “Thank God for that.”

“Yes.”

Coben indicated the empty
plate. “He’s eaten?”

“A sandwich for now. I’ve got
chicken cooking.”

“Good.” He leaned down and
pressed a kiss to the top of Ed’s head.

Ed still didn’t stir. He just
continued to breathe steadily, his features relaxed and the flickering light of
the TV screen dancing over him.

Coben looked at me and smiled.
“It’s a good day.”

“It is.”

He pulled me close and wrapped
me against his damp body.

“You’re wet,” I said quietly
and smiled up at him.

“I’ll go and get changed.
Maybe he will have woken by then.”

****

Five hours later Ed was still
snoring gently. He’d barely moved apart from a few slight stretches of his
spine as though his body ached even in his sleep.

Coben and I were cuddled up on
the sofa. Our bellies were full and I’d eventually put Ed’s meal in the fridge
for him to have when he awoke, or even tomorrow.

The news had been on again and
now we were both lazily watching some quiz show that had mildly humorous
guests. The storm had long since passed and the open window let in the scent of
wet, warm tarmac.

 
Coben yawned.

“Shall we go to bed?” I asked
softly.

“What and leave him?” He
nodded at Ed.

“He’s a big boy. I’m sure
he’ll be fine.”

Coben frowned.

“Come on. I can’t sleep here
or I’ll pay for that tomorrow. He knows where we’ll be if he wakes up.”

Coben still didn’t look
convinced.

“He’ll be fine.” I paused.
“And let’s face it, he could sleep like that for another eight hours.”

“I suppose.”

“Go get a warmer blanket for
him and I’ll shut the window and lock up.”

“Okay.” Coben stood.

I busied myself in the kitchen
and checked the back door was secure. I then did the same with the front door.

As I went back into the living
room to shut the window Coben was gently spreading out a cream fluffy blanket
over Ed.