“I’ll never be worthy of you.” His mouth suckled my left breast, his hot, wet tongue swirling until I gasped and writhed.
“I’ll never understand how I stole your love.” His lips found my other nipple, granting it the same treatment. His voice never rose past a caress, lulling me into him with every syllable.
My back bowed and I grabbed his head, holding him against me. He devoured every millimeter of skin, rising over me to trail wet kisses from my cleavage, to clavicle, to mouth.
I gasped as his lips claimed mine again, bending my neck with a fistful of red hair until I moaned and handed myself completely into his control. He was merciless while I was meek. He was dominant while I yielded.
He took everything and I let him.
Demanding.
Feral.
Consuming.
Arthur was everywhere at once.
In my mind.
My heart.
My soul.
His taste.
His scent.
His heat.
He planted a hand on my sternum, forcing me backward until my spine met marble. My rib cage strained against flushed and sweat-misted skin. My breathing was wild and loud.
“Fuck, Cleo. You’re so goddamn beautiful.” His fingertips trailed my exposed skin. My tattoos glowed beneath the Edison bulbs and my scars shone with disfigurement. I was both inked and ugly but in Arthur’s eyes, I was exquisite.
“I’ll never tire of looking at you.” Something hungry and dangerous flashed over his face; his fingers dug into my multihued skin. “You’re my miracle.”
I tried to rise—to grab at his T-shirt and jerk off his boxer briefs. But he shoved me back roughly, pinning me in place. I didn’t care that he was brusque. I didn’t care that my back twinged with pain.
I was in pleasure heaven.
I need him.
He commanded, “Don’t move. I need to look at you. I need—”
I moaned as his hand fell down his front, cupping his hard length and squeezing. “Goddammit, I want you.”
“Take me, then,” I whimpered.
Arthur yanked my hips forward. We groaned in perfect unison as his hardness molded with my damp panties. I couldn’t stay still as he grinded unashamedly. I was stuck between cold marble and the hard heat of him.
My breath caught as his hands moved from my thighs to scrape against my naked rib cage, slinking upward. His thumb grazed the underside of my breasts.
I moaned again. “Please, Art. Stop teasing me. Take me.”
“God, I love it when you beg.” He thrust against my panties. “Tell me what you want.” His voice was deep and gruff, threaded with lust and need.
Heat was everywhere. My head fell back as he cupped my breast, tweaking my nipple with dexterous fingers.
“I want you to fill me. I want you to bite me. I want you to do anything you want to me.”
My stomach melted; my core grew wet. I’d never wanted someone this much before. Never found utopia in a simple touch echoing with unspoken adoration and power.
I tugged his T-shirt. I needed skin on skin.
Arthur got the message. Grabbing the material, he ripped it over his head. His chest was broad and tanned. His muscles created grooves and shadows, leading toward a perfect trail of hair disappearing into his boxer briefs.
My mouth watered.
I reached out and traced the shape of his erection, barely contained by the black material.
He shuddered; green fire blazed in his eyes. “God, you drive me insane.”
I had no reply. I was past speaking.
Arthur fumbled with my panties. His fingers brushed against my damp core.
I shot off the counter at the barest pressure. The spindles of an orgasm twisted and teased.
Arthur wrenched my panties down, tugging angrily as they caught around my ankles. In his rush, he ripped the delicate lace. “Oops.” His face transformed with a grin even as lines feathered around his eyes from his never-ending headache.
I beamed, falling deeper into love with this complicated man. “You’re rich. You can buy me another pair.”
“If it were up to me, you’d never wear underwear again. I could slink my fingers inside you whenever I damn well pleased.”
I suffered a full-body convulsion. “Consider it done.”
With a harsh growl, he tossed the tattered lace away. It was a beast of a sound, not from a man, but a lusty male who was past the point of reason.
His eyes dropped, feasting on my exposed, glistening sex.
Soaring upright, I grabbed his biceps, digging my fingernails into his flesh. “Please … Arthur.” His flesh was on fire. “Come here.” My skin missed his skin. My lips wanted his lips.
He pounced on me, mouth crushing mine. I tasted urgency on his tongue, the metallic tint of desperation. He needed this as much as I did. Something drove us. Something primitive.
It was my turn to fumble with his boxer briefs. Spearing my fingers through the waistband, I pulled them with no finesse. The tip of him escaped, then his girth, until finally his tight and drawn up balls were revealed.
Without moving away, he shoved the tight material farther down his legs and kicked them away.
Naked, I spread my legs wider, beyond ready for him to take me.
But Arthur had other ideas.
Bending over me, he scooped me from the unforgiving marble and carried me from the kitchen. My legs wrapped around him, pressing my core directly against his erection.
We both gasped. Arthur paused in his stumble to kiss me—savage and swift. Then we were moving again, swaying with sexual need and lurching with lust.
I rode him. I didn’t care. I rubbed against him like a cat in heat. I had to find some relief from the bonfire in my blood. The flames that’d marked me now lived inside, whipping around until I boiled with desire.
“Arthur, I have to have you inside me.” Sinking my teeth into his shoulder, he groaned as I bit harder than I ever had before.
We’d passed soft caresses and tender touches. I wanted to be bruised and to bruise. I wanted to mark him while seeking beatific pleasure.
“God, Cleo. You’ve poisoned me. Your lips are fucking venom. I’ll never get enough of you.” His voice was thick as he stumbled toward the couch. The sliding doors were wide open, the dark evening hiding onlookers and witnesses.
Before I could worry about being watched, Arthur dropped me. I sailed through the air, then hissed as my back connected with the sofa. The ache from being thrown was nothing to the way it amplified the fire inside. I loved that he was so far gone to be gentle with me. I loved that he felt the same way I did—dangerous with desire.
The moment I was horizontal, he climbed on top of me, smothering me into the cushions. He gave me no time to adjust to his weight or heat.
“Oh, God!” I cried out as one long finger disappeared into my heat.
“I want to crawl inside you and never fucking leave.” His voice and the way he hooked his digit inside hurtled me toward a searing orgasm.
My back arched; all reasoning shot out of my head. Holy sex on fire, his finger was amazing. Slow and firm, curving and stroking. He pushed another finger deep. I bit his shoulder, piercing his skin, my nails scrabbling at his back.
I had to have him. Now.
Reaching between us, I squeezed his cock. With my other hand, I grabbed his ass, trying to guide him inside me. I shivered as his butt clenched beneath my touch, his hips pulsing with need just as strong as mine.
He didn’t stop touching or kissing me. It was as if his new mission in life was to make me insane. “Now,” I demanded.
He laughed, shaking his frame, causing unique sensations with his fingers inside me. “Always so bossy.”
“Do it.”
“What if I want to lick you first? What if I want your taste on my tongue?”
“Later. Please, God, later.”
He chuckled, loving my unraveled behavior. “Do you need something, Buttercup?”
“You know I do!” Frustration wobbled my voice.
My skin blazed as he kissed my neck. He cupped my core, grinding the heel of his palm over my clit.
Shit.
“You can have me, then, woman.” The animalistic lust on his face tore a moan from my lips. I pumped his cock, working him so his eyes snapped closed. He shuddered in my grasp.
I wiggled closer, guiding him with my hand. My world ceased to spin as I pushed his tip inside me.
His eyes flew open.
He swallowed a curse.
Then he gave up and thrust into my heat.
I cried out.
I welcomed completely.
My skin enveloped him, sucking him deeper until there was no space between us.
Arthur froze as I moved my hips.
He felt so good. So thick, so long, so mind-shatteringly good. My entire being was full, every nerve ending sparking. Frustration built. I needed a release. Why isn’t he moving?
“Art—take me. Fuck me. I’m begging you.”
His breathing turned heavy and noisy, his face scrunched up.
He’s in pain.
From holding back his orgasm?
I didn’t care if he spurted inside me with no other movement than a quick rock. I could come. My release would obey my summons to explode the next second he thrust. I was achingly sensitive.
But … he didn’t.
He didn’t open his eyes or thrust.
I scratched his back, bit his ear, yet he stayed frozen. His biceps bunched as he clutched the cushion behind my head.
“Arthur?” I raked my nails down his back. “I’m begging you to fuck me, President Kill.”
He gave a half chuckle, half choke. “I … I can’t. I’m on the edge as it is.” His hand stilled my hips, stopping me. “Give me a second.”
My core screamed for release. This wasn’t fair. He promised me something he couldn’t deliver. He was the one to grab me. He was the one to bring us to this point with no conclusion.
I twisted beneath him. “Yes you can. I want to come together. I don’t care if it doesn’t last long.”
I didn’t think he’d obey. But with a furrowed frown, Arthur pressed his hips into me.
Once.
Twice.
My vision glazed over. Yes. Something built incredibly fast. It gathered and congregated. It hovered hard and determined in my belly. Yes.
Arthur stopped. He inhaled as if he’d run miles. His face shone with sweat. “Cleo … wait.”
No, don’t do this to me. “Don’t stop.” I bit his ear. Needing this orgasm, needing to feel connected to him—to let go of our tension through pleasure—I grabbed his ass and sank my nails into his flesh. “Take me.”
He cursed and lost control. He thrust into me, pressing me deep into the sofa.
He dropped his walls and gave in.
We rode each other as if any moment one of us would disappear. We claimed each other. We adored each other.
“Yes!”
His strokes lost all sophistication and turned downright dirty.
I loved it.
With each stroke, I panted faster and faster. I was so focused on where we joined, his lips on my neck, hands on my breasts, and cock driving inside me that everything else ceased to exist.
My release began with a pleasure-pain I’d never experienced before. Building, building. Seeping energy from my cells and centering them in one part of me screaming with feeling.
Arthur grunted. Skin slapped against skin.
And that was it.
I screamed and shattered. I was delirious with sharp spasms, swept away by passion, completely besotted in the way he made me explode.
I didn’t hear the agonizing moan from Arthur.
I didn’t see the whitewash of his skin.
I was far, far away.
I was spiraling into bliss.
I was self-obsessed, self-absorbed, self-consumed as my lover slipped away from me.
I didn’t notice.
How did I not notice?
Arthur never did come with me.
His elbows buckled, his body crumbled.
And he fell into unconsciousness.
Chapter Fourteen
Kill
I’d died today.
I hadn’t meant to. Not that anyone meant to die. I’d drowned at the beach when I’d lost my footing and became a wave’s plaything. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for my brother. He’d been the only one there. Despite our strained relationship, he’d risked his life to bring me back to shore. He’d given me CPR. He’d saved my life. I owed him. But Cleo didn’t like my newfound tolerance for my brother. She’d tried to warn me. Tried to distance me from my family. But they were my family. I couldn’t turn my back on them. —Arthur, age fifteen
“Will he be okay?”
Will who be okay?
“He’ll be fine.”
Who will be fine?
“I told him last night to avoid rigorous exercise. The swelling in his brain hasn’t diminished enough to raise his blood pressure to such extremes.”
“It wasn’t planned … it sort of just happened.”
A sniff, then a condescending quip. “Yes, well. Next time, don’t let him break my rules and no sex.”
Sex!
Everything came tumbling back. Shit, the last thing I remembered was the sensation of champagne bubbles building at the base of my spine. That feeling was common and known: I was about to come. My heart was racing. My thoughts were spinning. My cock was thrusting.
And then … nothing.
What the hell happened?
The pain inside my skull invaded the rest of my body. My neck throbbed with crippling aches. I felt as if squeezed with a vise, my back crippled with aches. I felt as if someone had taken an axe to my spinal column.
Cracking open my eyes, the lounge came into focus, along with the smell of cooking, stickiness of sex, and nausea of concussion.
My limbs took a while to register ownership, and I twitched as I came fully awake. A blanket over my hips tickled as it began to slide downward.
Snatching it quickly, I cupped the area of my body that’d gotten me into this mess.
Doctor Laine’s warning last night came back.
“You’ll be fine if you take it easy. Rest. No exercise or stress. Take these tablets three times a day with food and drink plenty of water.”
I’d always been stubborn; ignoring doctor’s advice was a forte of mine. Pity it’d backfired so completely.
Tilting my head on the pillow, I assessed who was in the room with me.
“Holy fuck.” I grabbed my chest, trying to keep my heart from seizing as Cleo and Doctor Laine suddenly loomed over me from the back of the couch. They had twin expressions of concern.
“Ah, good, you’re awake.” Doctor Laine bent over and pressed cool fingers against my clammy forehead. “You haven’t been out for too long, so you shouldn’t suffer anymore side effects.”
I flinched away from her touch, scowling. “How long?”
“I got here within ten minutes of receiving Mrs. Killian’s call.” She looked at Cleo. “So, what? About fifteen minutes would you say?”
Cleo nodded. “No more than that.” Her hair crackled with static, her cheeks painted with worry. “Arthur, do you remember where you are?”
At some point in my snooze, she’d slipped on a black knee-length dress. Everything about her yelled sex—from her wild hair to her pink and kiss-swollen lips. My eyes drifted to her chest; her breasts were braless, taunting me with pebbled nipples.
I clenched my jaw as my cock came back to life. “Yes. I remember where I am, who you are, and what we were doing before …”
Doctor Laine snorted. “Typical man. What did I tell you last night?”
When I didn’t respond, she stood upright and listed on her fingers. “No exercise, no stress, no sex, and under no circumstances, no strenuous activities such as heavy lifting.” Narrowing her eyes at t
he kitchen and discarded clothing leading toward the couch, she pursed her lips. “I think everything I told you not to do—you just did.” Planting her hands on her hips, she snapped, “Feel happier knowing you aren’t superman and should’ve listened to the woman you paid a fortune to ensure you heal?”
A grin tugged at my mouth. Who knew? The doc had a temper.
Cleo moved to sit beside me, patting my leg through the blanket she’d draped over me to protect my decency. “We won’t do it again, Doctor.”
My eyes snapped to hers. Like hell we won’t.
“No, you definitely won’t.” Doctor Laine wagged a finger in my face. “Because if you do, you might not get up again, or you might kill off more brain cells and wake up a completely different person.”
Ice water joined the rocks inside my head, freezing me solid.
Wallstreet would have a fucking fit if he knew what I’d done. The upcoming battle with my father was only half the war. The other half didn’t rely on fists and bullets but negotiation and public speaking.
I have to be personable and quick—not a fucking dim-witted buffoon.
How could I risk being such an idiot when my livelihood was on the line?
I shivered as Cleo gripped my thigh. Her fingers landed so damn close to my cock.
That’s why I played roulette with my brain. Her.
Buttercup was my Achilles’ heel—a witch who made me hot, hard, and so fucking weak.
Her green eyes flickered from me to the Doc. “Um, excuse me if I’m slow to catch up, but what do you mean? Kill more brain cells?”
I stiffened. “Nothing. She meant nothing.” Digging my hands into the soft cushions, I propelled myself upright. The room spun, but I deliberately kept the vertigo and throbbing pain from showing on my face. “Thank you, Doc. I feel ten times better and would like to get dressed.”
The doctor looked at me with far too much understanding in her gaze. She knew I was embarrassed, pissed, but, most of all, scared shitless that this seemingly simple thing had the power to strip me of everything I knew.
Is this how Cleo felt with amnesia?
I shook my head—that hurt far too much to even consider.
“Yes, thank you for coming again.” Cleo stood. Her face was gentle but her eyes burned with questions—no doubt preparing to spit them in my face the moment we were alone.