JAKE
Steam fills the bathroom as I check the water temperature in the shower. It’s just short of blistering, which is perfect. I step inside and turn, holding out my hand. Mac takes it, letting me lead her. I pull her close until her naked chest is pressed to mine.
We have the duplex to ourselves, and we’re taking advantage. My arms slide around Mac’s silky skin. She relaxes into me and buries her head in my neck as the spray of water scalds our skin red. Lust spreads hot inside me, but I ignore it. We’re both exhausted. I just want to hold Mac close and revel in this quiet moment.
It’s been twenty-four hours since the party, but it feels like a lifetime when you’re busy worrying every single minute of it. I’m still waiting to hear back from Steve. My body has been so tight with tension over the whole situation that I’ve been suffering a dull headache since I woke this morning. And Henry called earlier. He’s spending time with Grace at the loft. His father arrived from Melbourne, and they’re having a quiet family gathering tonight.
I absently stroke Mac’s hair, my heart hurting for Grace, Henry, and Casey. They’re my family. And it’s so hard to know what to do or say. Sorry can be such a trite word. It doesn’t convey the depth of emotion you’re feeling as you watch the lives of those you love completely unravel.
Mac sighs. She’s so quiet. “Are you okay?” I ask, my voice husky.
“I’m just tired,” she mumbles into my neck. “So tired. I want to stand under this hot water with you for an eternity.”
My lips kiss a soothing path along her brow. “Whatever you want, Princess.”
Her lids flutter against my skin, soft as a butterfly. I like her this way. Her trust in me right now is strong, vital, and it tugs at my chest. If I’ve gained anything from our tumultuous past, it’s the knowledge that this trust is fundamental to our future. We won’t survive without it, but I can’t explain about Ross.
I don’t even want to think about him right now. I push all the worry to the back of my mind, though I know it will resurface later tonight leaving me sleepless for hours. Taking Mac’s shoulders, I turn her so that her back faces me. Right now is just for us.
I pick up the soap. The suds are thick and creamy as I lather over her skin. I set the bar aside and massage her shoulders with firm hands, digging deep in the tense knots. She moans with pleasure, her head tipping back.
My eyes take in her beauty with wonder. That she agreed to marry me still hasn’t sunk in. “Will you take my name?” I ask at random, because it rolls through my head. Mackenzie Romero. It doesn’t have the same rolling lilt as Valentine does, but it gives me a sense of satisfaction. A sense of belonging. Of finding home. In her.
A furrow forms in her brow. “I haven’t thought about it.”
Disappointment wells. I push it aside. I proposed only yesterday. Mac needs time for it to sink in too. Time to think about the smaller details.
“Do you want me to?” she asks.
“Of course I want you to.”
My hands fall away as Mac turns, and the shower beats down washing the thick suds away. “You don’t think it’s a little archaic?”
“Seriously?” I swipe drops of water from my face. “No. It’s not archaic. It’s a tradition that binds us, and our kids, as a family unit.”
Mac steps back beneath the spray and the sudden distance feels more emotional than physical, as if a wall of hesitation has erected between us.
“I’m not going to force it on you, Mac. If you don’t want to take my name, you don’t have to.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she protests. “It would just feel … I don’t know. I’ve always been a Valentine and I never imagined that changing. Do we have to decide now?” she asks, her chest rising and falling in agitation. “It’s not like we’re getting married tomorrow.”
It’s my first inkling that marriage is something she feels uneasy about, and my stomach drops. Did she say yes out of obligation? I want to ask and yet I supress the words. I’m a coward. I don’t want to hear she’s changed her mind, but I don’t have to hear it when I’m beginning to sense it. Once again, our future feels hazy when just moments ago it was clearer than the green of her eyes.
“You’re right,” I say, reaching across to turn off the taps as hurt thumps deep beneath my ribcage. The bathroom settles into silence, save for the residual drips from the showerhead. “It’s not like we’re getting married tomorrow.”
If at all …
I step out and grab a fluffy white towel, handing it to Mac. She clutches it to her chest, watching me with tired eyes as water drips from her hair. “Are you okay?”
No. I’m not okay. My insides are bruised as if I’ve taken a punch to the gut. I want to stomp off and sulk, but I can’t seem to tear myself from her side. Her hold over me is so strong the entire world could implode and it still won’t break.
“I’m okay,” I say, because above all else, I care most about what she wants. About her happiness. And I care about the limited time we have together. I don’t want to ruin it with another in a long line of endless fights. “Come here.”
Mac steps out onto the bathmat, her eyes shuttering, but not before I see the relief. That they shuttered at all just about kills me.
I take the towel she’s clutching to her chest. She stands still as I use it to dry her off, letting me take care of her. “What do you want to do?” I ask, rubbing at her hair. She’d let it grow for a while but now it’s back to its short, choppy style just above her shoulders. I love it this way. It’s sexy. Sassy. It suits her perfectly.
“How about a movie?” Mac suggests. “I can make popcorn?”
“With butter?” I ask as she steals the towel from my hands.
“Uh huh,” she murmurs, dabbing drops of water from my chest. Her eyes glaze a little, like they always do when she stares at it. I enjoy knowing my body gets her hot. A single glance and the rise in her blood pressure is entirely visible. But only to me. The crest of her cheekbones flush the palest of pinks. It gets my cock stirring eagerly. I flex a little and get treated to the corners of her lips tipping upward. “And a drizzle of golden syrup.”
Mac knows my favourite.
An hour later we’re settled on the couch, our bellies full. Mac is wearing a thin cotton tee shirt and panties. The most I bother with is a pair of boxer briefs, the colour a deep red.
I’m laid out on my back. Mac rests on top of me, but further down. The side of her face is pressed to my naked abdomen, her tits are squashed against my hips, and her fingertips flutter along my thighs. They trail upward, tickling lightly, absentmindedly, until I feel them tug a little at the red cotton. “I like these,” she murmurs, her eyes on the television. We’re watching a Dwayne Johnson action movie. Mac was agreeable because she thinks he’s hot. Lucky for me she has a thing for the big, bulky dudes.
“That’s because you bought them for me.”
“I knew they’d be perfect on you. Red is your colour. It looks nice against all this tanned, tattooed skin,” she says, her palm skimming up and over my abs. They contract slightly at the feathered touch. “Mmm.”
Her touch lowers, leaving a trail of warmth in her wake. I snag her wrist before she reaches my rapidly hardening dick. “Uh uh,” I rebuke, setting her hand to the side, though it pains me to do so. “Movie.”
Mac huffs and my chuckle is deep, making her head wobble where it rests against my stomach.
My gaze returns to the screen of the television, but a scant five minutes later the flutter of her fingertips travel along my hip. Lust tingles down my spine.
“Mmm,” she moans huskily when my cock jerks against her breastbone.
“What are you up to, hmm?”
“Nothing.” Mac tilts her head and presses a kiss to my heated skin. “Nothing at all.” Her tongue snakes out with a slow lick and a shiver racks my body. “Watch the movie, Romero,” she orders.
Mac slithers downward. Her tongue trails a delicious path until it reaches the edge of my underwear. Then she hovers her mouth above my covered cock for a long moment. Her breath is light through the thin fabric, yet my cock feels it and gives another almighty jerk, knowing how close it is to receiving pleasure.
I grasp her chin with my thumb and forefinger, my grip harsh as I lift her head. Mac’s green eyes are dark when they meet mine. “Somebody’s hungry,” I say, my voice gruff because having her like this, submissive and at groin level, steals my breath. “You want to suck it, Princess? You want it in your mouth? Or do you want it in your pussy?”
Mac licks her lips. “Jake …”
“Tell me,” I say, giving up all pretence of watching the movie. “What do you want?”
“Both,” she croaks, her fingers tightening against my skin. I feel their pull, their need to touch, all the way down to my toes. “I want both.”
My hand releases her chin in unspoken permission.
Free to do as she pleases, Mac tugs my underwear down. My hard dick surges upward, pulsing heavily. Without wasting a single second, her hot, wet mouth closes over the head. I watch as she slides down and sucks upward and my head tips back against the arm of the sofa. A hoarse groan breaks free of my throat.
Just like that I’m ready to come. My cock surges further inside the wet heat, desperate for more. I fist my hands at my side to stop them yanking on her hair to shove her mouth further down.
I let myself surrender to her mouth and tongue for an entire minute. Then I sit forward and grasp underneath her armpits, pulling her off and dragging her upward. Anymore and I’ll shoot through the roof.
“I’m not finished,” Mac snaps before my lips cover hers and smother her complaint as she straddles my hips.
She sinks into my body with a moan of surrender. The sound sets me on fire. My blood burns as I grab her thighs. My fingers dig into flesh as I stand from the couch and lift her with me.
I take the stairs one at a time as Mac kisses me, her lips soft, wet, and relentless. We reach her room and I toss her gently on the bed. She bounces backward, her breath hitching when I reach for her panties and inch them slowly down before tossing them behind me.
Leading with my left knee, I climb on the bed between her legs and spread them as I move upward. My calloused palms glide along her skin until I reach the crease of her thighs.
My finger skims along the golden skin just above her right hipbone. “You need a tattoo,” I say, circling the area. “Right here.”
“Oh?” Her body quivers when I lean down and lick my tongue flat across the spot. “What should I get?”
I bite down on my bottom lip, doing a bad job of halting the possessive grin. “Property of Jake Romero.”
Mac gasps but her eyes light up with laughter. She rips the pillow out from behind her with a giggle and whacks me in the face with it. It’s the equivalent of getting punched by a butterfly. “I’m not your possession!”
I laugh and cup her pussy with my palm. “Maybe not, but this is.”
She tosses the pillow to the side and grabs for my cock where it still pokes out above my underwear. She holds it like a handle. “Then that makes this mine. Perhaps you should be getting a tattoo that says Property of Mackenzie Valentine.”
I grin. “Gladly. He’s proud to be all yours.”
“Oh he is, is he?” My dick is still hard as stone, and she gives it a good squeeze. “And how do you know that? He’s likely proud to be anyone’s.”
“Shhh,” I whisper, putting a finger to my lips. “He has tender feelings, Princess. He’ll be hurt to hear you think him so fickle.”
Mac shakes her head, lets me go, and falls back on the bed with a giggle. “You’re a total nut, Romero.”
I grab both her knees before she can blink, lifting them up and spreading them wide. Holding them apart, I dip my head to where her pussy gleams pink and lick it in one long stroke. She hisses sharply and my eyes find hers, flashing with humour and lust. “But I’m your nut, Mackenzie Valentine.”
“Yes,” she agrees, breathless, her eyes rolling back when I find her clit and suck with relentless enthusiasm. “Mine.”
Freeing my hands from her knees, I stroke my cock and ease the violent ache as I fuck her with my tongue and fingers.
“Please,” Mac begs, her voice reedy and thin. I love hearing her lose control with me the way she does with no one else. She thinks I’m teasing, but if she came home with that tattoo I’d probably fuck her until my dick chafed raw and then blow my load all over the inked words. I can be a possessive, sordid bastard when I want to be.
“Because you asked so nicely,” I answer, rising up and removing my boxer briefs before tossing them to the floor. I lift her hips and shift forward. Aligning my cock, I sink inside with one smooth thrust. Wet heat is a vice that sets my every nerve on fire.
“Hard and fast,” she commands, so I rock against her with a painful, leisurely pace instead.
“Asshead.” Mac’s curse is muttered and slightly breathless, and it makes me laugh.
“If I told you to slow down, you’d probably go faster than a rabbit, wouldn’t you?”
“Stop complaining,” I say as I pull almost all the way out and punch back in with a hard thrust. She gasps with pleasure. “You like it any way I give it to you.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because you’re always wet for me. All I have to do is look at you and you start dripping,” I goad, increasing my pace.
“I do not!”
“You can protest all you like, Princess, but your body betrays you.”
“You’re so full of it.”
I bury my head in her sweet-smelling neck, full on thrusting now and laughing at the same time. “Au contraire, my dear. It seems you’re the one full of it right now.”
“Oh good lord!” Mac snorts and then moans. “You’re determined to have the last word tonight, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” I lift my head and look down into her eyes. “And if you have any sense, you’ll let me,” I say, slowing the drive of my hips. “Otherwise, I won’t let you come.”
“In that case.” She cups my face in the warmth of her palms. “You’re domineering and loyal and incredibly sexy, and I love you, Jake Romero.”
My hips still completely. Her words soak deep beneath the layers of my skin until they reach my bruised heart. I lift a hand, brushing a wayward tendril of hair from her brow in a soft, gentle gesture. “I love you too.”
There’s your last word, her gleaming eyes say silently.
Ah hell. I surge forward, unable to play any longer. My thrusts become hard and fast, setting a frenetic pace, one she matches. Then the image of that mock gun pointed right at her flits through my head, and I falter.
The effort of suppressing the Ross situation all night has made my anxiety build, and now it’s broken free from the restraints and surges through my head in a flood. I want to kill Ross for his sinister gesture. I want to hunt him down and tear each limb from his body until nothing remains but pieces. He wants to destroy what I love, a punishment, before he destroys me too. I can’t live with this threat hanging over us. Ross hasn’t let my exodus go like I’d hoped. He’s held on to it all these years, letting it build into a need for retribution.
“Jake?”
I lift my head. The question in Mac’s eyes makes me realise I’ve stopped completely. And worse, started going soft, even though she feels perfect.
Mac trails her hands down my back and grips my ass with needy fingers as she wriggles her hips.
“I’m sorry,” I say around the lump in my throat, my insides heavy.
“What’s going on?”
“Just stress,” I mutter, grinding my hips, trying to recreate the easy pleasure of just moments ago. This is a first. My body is failing me and my stomach clenches with the frustration of it. I bite back a filthy curse.
“The tour?”
We leave for Spain in a week—the first leg of an international tour headlining for Sins of Descent, one of the biggest bands in the world. Mac has been in the throes of planning every detail for weeks. We’ll be gone for weeks. I’m looking forward to it. Getting her out of the country. The timing of this tour couldn’t be more opportune.
“I guess.” Sweat breaks out across my shoulders. Her tight heat feels incredible, yet my erection is gone. Completely. “Christ,” I mumble. I lift my body from hers and pull out with a jagged breath.
“Jake, it’s okay,” Mac soothes, seeing my aggravation.
“It’s not.” Drawing back, I sit kneeled on my backside, my stupid dick hanging like a useless lump between us.
“It is,” she insists though her eyes are clouded.
Avoiding her confusion, I shuffle backward between her legs and dip my head, stroking her pussy with my tongue. At least I have this. She tastes sweet and musky, her texture sleek like velvet. It’s more soothing to me than any of the verbal platitudes she’s trying to offer.
“You don’t have to …” she pants, trailing off with a moan.
“Shut up,” I order between licks. I do have to. Leaving her unsatisfied galls me. And I love this. Every stroke of my tongue, every thrust of my finger inside her, is a physical adoration. Whenever Mac snaps at me, or fights with me, I remember her like this. Her body agitated. Her moans breathless. Her skin hot as the sun.
“Don’t stop,” she gasps.
As if. It would be easier to stop a freight train with my bare hands.
Mac comes against my mouth, her back arching, hips leaving the bed. When she comes back down to earth, I lift my head. Her eyes are glazed, her body languid.
“You’re amazing,” she mumbles.
“I know.”
“Come here.” I flop down beside her and pull her against me. “Do you want me to—”
“No.” I cut her off before she can finish the embarrassing question. “I’ll be fine, babe.” My lips press to the warmth of her brow. A quick kiss before I squeeze her body tight to mine. “Just give me an hour to nap and my trusty sword will be poking you before you can even blink.”
“Do me a favour?”
“Mmm?” I mumble into the side of her face.
“Don’t ever call it a sword.”
“Why not?” I mock complain. “We can play pirate and busty wench. I can steal you away on my ship and tie you to the post in my cabin. I’ll bend you over, lift your skirts, and fuck you silly with my heroic sword as the seas rage around us.”
My cock twitches at the outlandish image and its heady relief. Fuck. We need to introduce some kind of role play into our lives.
Mac groans with exasperation. “I think you’re forgetting something.”
“What?”
“I’m not busty.”
I reach over and grab a handful of tit, squeezing the delectable mound. “Damn, you’re right. Maybe you should get a boob job.”
Mac sucks in a sharp breath. “Excuse me?”
My greedy hand cops a slap and I retreat, laughing. She knows I’m teasing.
“Maybe you should try growing some muscle on that weedy frame of yours,” she retorts.
I flex a bicep. Mac tries to wrap both hands around it but can’t get her fingers to touch. “Not big enough, huh?”
“Not nearly,” she jokes, letting go and settling into my side. “How are you supposed to give me my Dirty Dancing moment with those puny twigs?”
“Ha! You’re a closet romantic!” I crow. Evie plays that movie so much my eyes will bleed if I have to suffer through it one more time. Who knew Mac was secretly watching it a thousand times too? “Should I start calling you baby now?”
“Fuck off, Romero.” I can’t see her face; it’s buried in my neck, but I feel her grin against my skin.
“No?” I drag her body on top of mine. Mac sits up and straddles my hips. I take advantage and tickle my fingers down her sides. She hunches, giggling. “Nobody puts my Princess in a corner.”
We tease and play for a few minutes before settling down. Mac eventually drifts off at my side as I trail gentle fingers through her hair. It’s hard to imagine not having this every day. That she might not want this every day. Moments like these are heady for me. They heighten my love for her so much it hurts.
When I’m sure she’s asleep, I climb slowly from the bed, careful not to wake her. After tugging on my underwear, I jog down the carpeted stairs and walk to the kitchen where my phone rests on the counter. I pick it up and dial. It’s late but I don’t care.
“Romero. Son,” Steve Valentine answers in a groggy voice after three rings. “What’s up?”
I lean over the kitchen bench as I reply, resting my elbows on the counter. “I want to know if you have any update on the Ross situation.”
I’ve been told that father and son don’t keep in touch. Alan has no contact information for Ross. And according to Elijah, Ross finding him in the parking lot of the Florence Bar was a random approach. Ross was trying to hit him up for money, which makes sense, considering Elijah is just three short months away from a considerable inheritance.
“I tried phoning Alan earlier,” he tells me, “but I got voicemail. He’s at the annual Governor’s Ball, so I imagine he hasn’t any new information. Hang on.” A muffled clang comes through the phone. “Let me check my emails.”
He taps at his keyboard for a few moments before he replies. “He’s sent a quick message. Intel shows Ross returned to Melbourne yesterday. They located his flight details, and they have video confirmation of him exiting Melbourne airport.”
My relief is so acute I sag against the counter.
He’s gone, I repeat to myself. He’s gone.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Steve assures me. “We’ll keep tabs on him. That gesture he made last night was probably nothing more than him trying to get to you. And it worked.”
“You’re right.” I sigh deeply. “He got to me.”
“Relax, son. He won’t be coming back, but if he does, it won’t be without us knowing about it first, okay? Get some rest. You have a tour soon. You’re going to need it.”