Queen of the Knight (Surrender Games Book 2)

  It was dangerous to care this much for another person. He’d learned that lesson early on in life. But no matter how he tried, no matter how hard he willed himself to take it slow, he knew there would be no undoing the imprint Isadora left on his soul.

  She was an addiction he couldn’t resist falling into, a breaking point between his solitary existence and a possible partnership, a beautiful sense of home felt only in her presence. He’d surrender every pleasure to keep her. There would be no letting go of her. His Isadora.

  Chapter Nine

  “Sometimes I worry our past will follow us like a shadow we can’t escape, dark, looming, always a little bigger than we actually are.”

  Scout

  In a peaceful sleep, Parker’s subconscious prickled before his eyes opened. The sense of being watched slithered through him and he only spared a second to take a deep breath before catapulting into self-defense mode.

  Bolting upright, he cocked back and took aim. A sharp intake of breath—Isadora’s gasp—jerked his brain into the present and his surroundings registered.

  The thud of his heart competed with the sharp intake of her panted breaths. Regret seeped through him, washing away the remnants of slumber, and leaving him positioned like a fool with his fist in the air.

  Muscles flexed, he focused on uncoiling the tension in his shoulders and forcing his fist to drop. Isadora watched him with large unblinking eyes as she cowered at the edge of the bed, her body twisted into the pose of a frightened child.

  His fingers unlocked, and he slowly showed his palms, fingers splayed wide and unthreatening. “I’m sorry.”

  Her brow twitched, but she made no other move to show she heard his apology. Her body language remained distrustful and rightly so. He’d drawn back ready to kill someone. What the fuck was wrong with him? He stumbled off the mattress, giving her space.

  The tense set of her shoulders loosened only after he staggered a good six feet from the bed. More than the startled look in her eyes was the shocked uncertainty of someone who had their trust shaken.

  Giving his head a hard shake, he roughly rubbed his face. “I’m sorry. I forgot where I was…” Fuck! It wasn’t a nightmare, just more fucked up baggage he’d assumed he’d let go years ago. It wasn’t about her.

  Keeping a safe distance, he calmly tried to explain. “I’m used to sleeping alone.”

  He hardly recognized the thready rasp of his voice. Distrust clouded her expression, ripping through his chest with a sharp ache.

  “I wouldn’t hurt you, Isadora.” He hadn’t hurt her. He’d snapped out of it in time to realize he was safe. But he didn’t feel safe now.

  What if he found control two seconds too late? Just enough time to prove she was sharing her bed with a guy from the wrong side of the tracks. Fuck!

  He wouldn’t blindly swing at her. It was just an old habit—one he thought was dead and buried. He hadn’t hurt her.

  Fear lingered in her dark eyes, filling him with self-loathing and the all-consuming worry he’d just ruined everything. Mortified, he took a small step forward only to freeze in his tracks as she drew her body back, away from him.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She had to know that. He would never lay a hand on her or purposely frighten her. The idea of hurting her made him sick to his stomach.

  But how would she know that? Everything they had was based on blind trust. All he had to do was show her Lucian was right and she could bolt.

  Breathless with fear, he looked away. Actions always spoke louder than words, but this was an accident. A reflex. “I’d never hurt you, Isa.”

  She didn’t move from the edge of the bed, but tilted her chin toward her chest and whispered, “You were going to hit me.”

  He shook his head adamantly. “I wouldn’t hit you. Ever.”

  Her shoulders remained locked, her hands behind her hips supporting her weight as her knees pressed together in a self-protective pose. “I was just watching you sleep.”

  His mouth tightened with distaste. Normal guys didn’t flip out when their girlfriends watched them. What the hell was wrong with him?

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t want to start the day with recollections of his past. He wanted to hold her and enjoy her, yet he couldn’t stop corroding normal moments with the filth of his unsavory background.

  Last night was supposed to be perfect, and it was until he had to do the right thing and tell her he had the track record of a junkyard dog. Now this?

  Eventually, he’d reach her limit and she’d see he wasn’t worth her trouble. He just wanted to be normal and have an ordinary fucking life!

  He needed a moment to find his bearings, and by the look on her face, so did she. “I’m going to go wash up. Please … just ... don’t go anywhere.”

  She nodded, but didn’t move from the corner of the bed. Her gaze followed him as he stalked to the bathroom.

  Shutting himself inside, he braced his palms on the vanity and glared at his reflection. Muscles taut, he clenched his teeth. If anything like that happened again, he couldn’t continue to stay the night with her, at least not until he was certain his old demons were out of his system—which he’d stupidly assumed they were.

  He was not a violent person, but kick a kind dog long enough and it would eventually bite. His earlier years quickly taught him to never leave himself vulnerable. There was nothing more vulnerable than a young orphan sleeping in an abandoned mill full of derelicts and thieves and perverts.

  In the past, he’d woken up to his possessions gone, strangers rummaging through whatever belongings he’d scavenged the day before, and, worst of all, predators pushing their luck on his defenseless body.

  It was literally beaten into him to wake up swinging and ask questions later. But Isadora wasn’t a predator or a thief. She was his girlfriend.

  Shutting his eyes, his breathing gradually settled. “Jesus.”

  He cleaned himself up and warily returned to the bedroom. Isadora had moved back to the head of the bed and sat cross-legged with her back to the pillows. As he met her gaze she pulled the sheet defensively higher on her chest. Her eyes reflected misgivings that hadn’t been there last night.

  Sighing, he paused at the foot of the bed. “I can go.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Well…” It was as if she’d put a shield around herself. “Could you please stop looking at me like that? I forgot where I was and I…” His shoulders drooped. There was no excuse. “I’m gonna go.”

  “Wait,” she leaned forward and paused, worrying her lip. “Does that always happen?”

  His dry chuckle was full of self-loathing. How should he know? He hadn’t slept beside someone in ages, and he’d never slept beside someone he loved. His thoughts derailed.

  Did he love her? A resounding yes, echoed through his brain. It made perfect sense he’d realize that the second before she learned how broken he actually was. He needed to fix this.

  He understood a person’s subconscious could backtrack, but he didn’t expect his to spring back to those tendencies now, not after so many years. And he didn’t want to keep reminding her where he’d come from, but they had to move forward with eyes wide open.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, keeping his motions slow and passive, he sighed. “It hasn’t happened in a long time.”

  “But it is a habit of yours, to wake up swinging?”

  He shut his eyes, wishing for a moment that he could be someone else. “Get robbed in your sleep enough, you eventually stop caring who you hurt.”

  She drew in a sharp breath and worry clouded her features. “But I wasn’t touching you.”

  Yes, but you’re someone I value and someone I don’t want to lose.

  Maybe his instincts were triggered because of that. It had to be the significance he’d tied to her and his underlying fear that everything he loved eventually got ripped away.

  His gaze dropped to the carpet. “All
I can say is I’m sorry. The moment I saw you and remembered where I was, I realized my mistake.”

  She scooted closer and he shut his eyes, afraid his heart might snap in two as she cut him loose.

  Her hand softly brushed his shoulder and he flinched. Undeterred, her lips pressed to the center of his back and he stopped breathing.

  “I think I understand. And I’m sorry that things have happened to you—bad things—for you to react that way, thinking to protect yourself. But I think I get it, Parker. I believe you’re sorry and that it was an accident. I forgive you.”

  But he couldn’t forgive himself. He’d come to terms with his past. He’d moved on, but rummaging through the debris, baring all his old, jagged scars to a woman who had never known more than a gentle touch or a polite glance… Suddenly, their differences announced themselves in a way that screamed incompatible.

  Her hand traveled around his ribs and down his belly, but he caught her fingers before they could travel any lower.

  “Isadora.”

  “What?” Her lips teased his spine as she kneeled behind him, clearly trying to replace the tension with something more palatable. Her other hand trailed over his shoulder, giving his nipple a playful flick. “Forget what happened, Parker. Let’s have a good morning. Make love to me.”

  His inner debate was steamrolled the second she pulled her hand from his grip and reached between his legs to caress his hardening cock. He was weak against such temptation, defenseless against her, but certain he hadn’t earned this sort of pardon.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Shut up, Parker.” She eased his shoulders to the bedding and kneeled at his side. Still naked from the night before, she leaned over him, her pert breasts trailing in a hot glide over his heated flesh.

  Her mouth took a slow tour of his chest and abs and his body hardened despite the turmoil in his mind. Staring at the ceiling, he battled with his conscience as his lungs filled with the soft scent of her skin.

  The tease of her delicate hair trailed along his stomach. He didn’t deserve this. Lower and lower, her lips traveled.

  His hips arched forward out of sheer reflex. She chuckled, her voice raspy and flirtatious as his eyes snapped shut and her warm mouth closed over him.

  “Jesus.”

  This wasn’t right. He should be driving home after that episode. Why would she forgive him so easily?

  “Is this okay?”

  Peeking through his lashes, his heart skipped a beat. Her dark eyes shined up at him with absolute innocence.

  She was more than okay. She was perfect.

  Something broke inside of him, his protective affection for her shoving his own bullshit aside to assure she never doubted how much she pleased him.

  He gently gathered her hair, pulling it away from her face. “That’s perfect, baby.”

  She hummed and dipped lower. His chest expanded, unable to draw in enough breath as pure satisfaction unfurled in him. Her palm flattened on his tight stomach, fingers splayed wide as her nails pushed into the muscle. Every touch was ecstasy.

  His free hand stroked her spine. The soles of his feet tingled as the pleasure climbed. His fingers traced slowly over the curve of her ass, admiring the slope and smooth texture.

  She moaned and arched into his touch like a feline begging to be caressed. So pretty. So sexy.

  He twisted and slid his fingers between her lush thighs and glided easily, deep, into her wet pussy. She let out a pleasant sound that reverberated down his cock. He teased and pumped his fingers until her hot breath trailed over his wet flesh in an open mouthed gasp.

  Losing a bit of her balance and rhythm, she pulled her hips out of his reach. “I can’t concentrate when you touch me like that.” She laughed softly, returning her focus to him.

  Well, he couldn’t keep his hands off of her when she touched him. He leaned forward and caught her by the waist.

  “What are you—”

  “Hush. Come here.” He adjusted her legs over his shoulders, her belly to his, and put his mouth between her legs.

  She lifted her hips. “Wait!”

  No way. Gripping her ass cheeks so she couldn’t escape, he pulled her back to him. “I want to taste you.”

  “Then I’ll lie down.”

  “No, I want you to keep doing what you were doing.”

  “But—”

  He ignored her protests and slid his tongue from clit to taint. They could discuss the logistics of the Kama Sutra later.

  “Parker!”

  “Hush.” He gave her soft inner thigh a warning bite and went to work.

  Her chest collapsed on his lower body, her breasts smashing against his stomach as he feasted.

  Sliding his hand up her spine, he fed his fingers through her hair and turned her head, showing her what he wanted.

  “Oh.” She sucked him hard, her moans muffled as her own pleasure distracted her from the task until the sensations became too much to passively bear and cried out. “Good Lord, you’re good at that.”

  Dragging his tongue deeper, he held her to his mouth, sucking and pulling and licking her into a trembling frenzy. Her body rocked as he coaxed her release, her arms stretching down his legs as her fingernails dug into his calves. When she finally came it was wild and uninhibited and he savored every drop.

  Flipping her onto her back, he tore open a condom. She sighed, her mouth hooked in a cockeyed grin, her half-lidded gaze following his every move.

  He needed to fuck her—hard. He pulled her legs apart, retaining his hold on one ankle as he raised it to his shoulder and aligned their bodies. He slid into her with perfect precision, stabbing deep and holding them locked, pelvis to pelvis.

  He loved the moment of penetration when her lips parted on a profound sigh and her eyes darkened from brown to black in time with his first thrust.

  Pulling back, he snapped his hips forward and she gasped. Again he drove into her and soon he had both ankles wrapping around him. He pulled her higher, lifting everything but her shoulders off the bed.

  She cried out, her fingers clawing at the sheets with every snap of his hips and he came undone. His control frayed as he pinned her body beneath his, possessively holding her hips to him, driving his cock into her tight pussy with a need so desperate he hoped she’d feel him inside of her for days.

  Raw, pleading, lusty breaths beat out of them as they greedily took from each other. Her breasts jostled temptingly. Stretching out his legs, he braced his weight on his palms and sucked the sharp tip of her nipple into his mouth. Her fingers twisted in his hair, yanking the strands in a silent plea for more. Oh, he’d give her more.

  His teeth grazed the tight tip, his tongue teasing in rapid swipes as he plumped her flesh in a possessive grip. The fist in his hair tightened, urging him on. Biting the point of her nipple, he closed his lips around the puckered pink bud and sucked as hard as he could.

  Her chest lifted, feeding him her delicate flesh as he greedily left her nipples wet and swollen. Stunning. He couldn’t draw himself away and she wouldn’t let him go. The longer he sucked the darker her skin turned. Rosy. Tempting. His.

  Every breath that passed her lips was accompanied by a clipped, raspy moan. She lifted her hips to him and let out a satisfied cry just as her sex clamped tight, milking his own climax from deep within his soul.

  Every jerking nerve in his body set his balance off kilter. A guttural moan escaped as he let loose and pumped his hips hard.

  His release jerked out of him, thick and hot. His shoulders twitched with every pull of ecstasy. She wrung him dry, left him panting. So incredibly satisfied. He collapsed against her, his arms gathering her quivering form to his chest.

  Their hearts pounded as one as he shut his eyes and rested his mouth against her shoulder. They wheezed, their bodies slick with sweat, their flesh smudged with scratches and fingerprints.

  The pleasure abated in slow throbs and his nerves twitched with each satisfied sigh. Aftershocks and li
ttle convulsions sending random shivers down his spine. He hated the idea of leaving her.

  “I’m crushing you.” Slowly withdrawing, he stilled when her hand pressed to the small of his back.

  “Don’t go.”

  How could he resist such a request? He rested his weight on her a while longer, truly savoring the aftermath of their lust.

  Unfortunately, the more comfortable he got the more aware he became of the condom. “I’ll be right back.”

  Sliding off the bed, he removed the condom and walked into the bathroom. After washing up, he returned to the bedroom, clumsily losing his footing and lurching to a stop as his eyes took in the picture she made.

  Isadora lay, sprawled on the bed, the pink of her labia swollen, her hair in tangled disarray, and his fingerprints marring her skin. The marks were already darkening from deep rose to purple. Her nipples were overwrought, engorged and turgid, surrounded by whisker burn from his unshaven jaw.

  Son of a bitch. He stepped back and turned away, unsure what to do.

  Thinking quickly, he went to the bathroom and turned the faucet to warm. Plush white hand towels rested in a basket and he grabbed two, drenching them with water.

  When he returned to the bedroom, she hadn’t moved a muscle. Carefully, he parted her thighs and placed the cloth over her swollen folds. She gasped, but settled quickly.

  “Shh, just relax and let me take care of you.”

  He dragged the warm cloth over the darkest parts of her breasts and her mouth turned in a lopsided grin, but her eyes remained closed.

  As he washed her skin the marks didn’t fade. He silently berated himself for handling her so roughly. “Next time I’ll be gentler.”

  “I like when you’re rough,” she whispered, her words coming out slurred. “I like when you’re gentle, too. I just like you, Parker Hughes.”

  He frowned and focused on his task. Once he’d done all he could, he pulled the covers over her shivering body and tossed the hand towels toward the hamper. Curling under the blankets, he pulled her to his chest and held her protectively. Her breathing slowed and her weight sank into his side.