- CHAPTER ELEVEN -
SCOTCH
Men who do dirty deeds shouldn’t taste so clean. It was like kissing a rushing river or pressing my lips to the side of a mountain: flavorless if I didn’t think too hard about it. It gave me the idea that Costello didn’t want to be remembered and that this wish had sunk deep into his skin.
But I was stripping away every hope he had of ever being forgotten.
I did it with my lips on his, with my hands clawing up his back and tugging at the seams of his well-fitted vest. Recording his smell, his taste, his everything was my new job, and I did it with gusto.
I’d never let him slip from my mind.
No matter what.
“Scotch,” he growled against my ear. The sound spun through me until my insides became cotton candy. All pretense of calling me by any other name was over. “Fucking hell, Scotch.”
“What is it?” I breathed, fighting to make sense of his tone. He’d said my name like a question, with a little uptick at the end.
The hallway lights outside our room were bright enough to trick you into thinking it wasn’t late at night. The wedding was still roaring outside; I could hear it through the thin walls and thinner windows that the owners called “rustic.”
Under that white glow, Costello’s eyes were clouded. He dropped his gaze to my chest. It made me blush like a reckless teen on prom night. “If we go in there,” he said slowly, “I won’t stop this. I won’t try to hold back any longer.”
“Is that supposed to scare me?” I asked, starting to smile.
His fierce stare ended my humor. “Yes. It is. You don’t know me, Scotch.”
I lifted my chin and put my hand on his chest; his heart stuttered beneath. Fuck, that made me feel powerful. “Maybe not. But you know that I’m bold enough to take down a maniac with just a bottle of champagne.” I wanted to ease the tension, but he just kept staring. “I’ll tell you one more thing about me. I never, ever back down from something that I want.”
He’d left his hands steady on my shoulders. Abruptly he dug in, fingertips flexing, his jaw going so rigid I could see the tendons along his perfect neck. “You really have no idea how awful I am . . . how dangerous this family is. If you did—”
“I’d still want you.” My eyes were straining. When had I last blinked? “And . . . I do know. I know enough.” His thumb moved over my skin until he was cupping my chin, and I shivered helplessly. I just wanted him to kiss me again; kissing was better than all this angst. “I know more than you even realize. So shut up and drag me into the damn room.”
There—his delicious mouth twitched on one side. My brief delight at seeing his smile vanished along with the bright hallway lights. Costello was pushing me into the room, not pausing to flick the switch in here.
The door clapped like thunder at my heels. Costello was the black cloud, the lightning bolt. In the darkness he was a thousand mouths and a million hands and I wanted to feel every finger. Every fucking kiss. I wanted all of him.
If there had been a wall between us, I didn’t sense it any longer. The only hard piece of Costello was his cock as it pressed warmly on my belly. The dress was choking me, tangling around my upper body while I tried to wriggle out of it.
Agile fingers took over, freeing me of the outfit he’d surprised me with. I couldn’t see where it fell, but my eyesight was adjusting to the shadows. The window was only half-covered by curtains, light from either the moon or the reception highlighting the edges of everything with gold.
Costello was glowing like an angel. But he was nothing like an angel. I watched his tongue trace his lips, saw them spread, and felt my name before he even breathed it. “Scotch . . .”
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Get on the bed.”
Perching at the foot of it, I looked upward at his beautiful face. His scar wasn’t ugly, it was just one of the many mysteries of the world. Fun fact: I adore mysteries. And Costello was the biggest one I’d ever seen.
He reached under his vest, sliding his gun out from where it had been tucked safely away at his lower back. Seeing it sparked something in me. He kept that on him even at the wedding? He’d hidden it well, too, because when we’d danced I hadn’t felt the shape of it.
It was a reminder of our predicament. Costello half bent and slid the weapon under the bed. He didn’t want to think about the gun. Didn’t want me to think about it, either.
“Wait,” I said, inching forward as he began to unbutton his vest. His questioning stare melted when I began plucking at the hard little disks. Every button I freed sent a ripple between my thighs.
The vest drifted to the carpet. Next I peeled his long-sleeved shirt away. It came apart down the middle, a butterfly opening its wings. I’d seen him naked from the waist up before. It wasn’t any less breathtaking the second time. In that old motel I’d been teased by the vision of him—denied access. But not now, not anymore.
Costello hadn’t moved. He still didn’t, as if he was curious to see what I would do next. My hand shook when I rested it on his chest. His ribs shifted with an intake of air—so sudden and raspy. The first he’d taken; he’d been holding his breath as I’d been holding mine.
His heart beat a drum line under my palm.
“Wow,” I whispered.
“Are you shocked I have a heart?”
My eyes flashed upward. “No. Just that it’s beating as fast as mine.”
The corners of his mouth tightened, and his fingers did the same when they closed on mine. “Go on,” he urged. “Take off my belt.”
Slipping the leather through the loops, I worked it free from his hips. The front of his pants was tented from his erection. The sight of it stole the last of the saliva from my mouth. This was the reality of his desires: he wanted me, and there was no way for him to disguise it.
I touched the zipper and he groaned. “Hurry,” he said, all husky. “You have no idea how challenging it is to stand here and wait.”
He was wrong. I knew how hard it was because I was suffering just the same way.
Heat spread up my back, then down toward my belly—beyond. Rolling my hips became a compulsion. Under my palm, his cock flexed through the cloth. He’s huge, Christ. I was one big heartbeat as I pulled his pants and boxers down his slim hips.
His length bounced into the light, defying gravity as it bobbed heavily. Goose bumps moved up my arms. Wrapping his girth in my fingers, I squeezed lightly; Costello groaned. His cock flexed in my hand, massive and warm and impatient as any of us.
I enveloped him with my lips. All the taste buds on my tongue were shocked awake. Costello tasted the way I’d hoped: sweet, tangy, unforgettable. His musk made me dizzy. So did trying to get him deeper in my throat.
Then his fingertips brushed my jaw. I glanced up, saw he was watching me like I was the most fascinating thing in our whole corner of the universe. He massaged my cheeks, my jugular, the bit of muscle just behind my ears. Every time he sighed it swam through his skin and into me.
Such tenderness left me floating in a pool of seduction. How could a man with so many scars be so caring? But I knew there was still fire hidden in him; it peeked through behind his pale blue eyes. It turned them into steaming salt water, scalding me until I shrank under his hard touch while his shaft buried itself in my mouth.
Costello coiled his grip in my hair and tugged, forcing me away. “Enough,” he said. I gasped for air, spots in my eyes. I’d been so swept up in tasting him that I’d forgotten to let my lungs do their job. “If you keep that up, I’ll finish in your mouth. That’s not where I want to do it.”
Wiping at my numb lips, I tried to focus on him. It was a chore with his shiny, thick cock hanging near my cheek. “Everything feels so hot,” I whispered. I ran a palm down my stomach, hovering over the joining of my thighs; I pushed them together and thrilled at the pressure. “I can’t keep waiting. Why are you going so slow, are you scared I’ll run if you just do what you want?”
Costello’s hand fell away from me. “That’s what you think. That I’m going slow out of fear.”
“I’m not scared of you, Costello. And I’m not going to run. Just let go, it’s okay.”
He knelt in front of me at the foot of the bed. He cupped my knees, and his long fingers trailed over my skin. When he got to my hip, to the fabric of my cotton panties, he stopped. “It’s funny. You think, after going this far, that I’d let you run. As if it’s even possible.” Kissing my knee, he lifted my tiny hairs in a prickle. His eyes were black beneath his eyelashes. “Scotch . . . I warned you. Your chance to run was before we came in here.”
My blood rippled faster. I clutched the blankets, but that wasn’t enough to keep me from being yanked against his face. “Costello!” I gasped. He’d spread my legs, settling between them while he buried his palms in my ass.
“I need to eat you out,” he growled against the front of my soaked panties. “I have to know how you taste.” Expertly he slid my underwear down my legs, lifting my calves over his head. When they tangled at my ankles, he wrapped them tighter, trapping my feet by his ears.
Gliding forward, he parted his lips an inch from my pulsing clit. Heat burst through my body. Tensing up, I held my breath and watched as he studied my pussy. Two fingers spread me open, outlining either side of my folds.
I was hypersensitive and he’d barely touched me. Not how I wanted him to.
The room was blue, the color of shadowed snow. I’d adjusted to the dark; focusing on him and all his sharp corners was easy. I saw how he parted my lower lips with his thumbs. Sinfully good trembles rocked through my muscles. “Ah,” I breathed out, curling and uncurling my toes. One foot bent inward, my legs trying to pull away from where he’d locked them around his shoulders. All I managed to do was feel his thick hair tickle over the bottom of my heel.
“You’re so warm,” he whispered. I jumped at the feel of the air passing through his lips. His voice became a baritone, heavy with lust. “I can’t wait anymore. I’m done trying to.”
I thought he meant waiting to taste me, but the way his words cracked in his throat . . . I wondered if he meant something else. How long had Costello waited to touch me? Not just me, I thought with growing disbelief. How long has it been since he’s allowed himself to be with anyone?
Quickly I saw his actions in a new light. His tremors, his stone-cold intensity, all making me think he was teasing me with his patience. But now the feverish need in how he traced his tongue over my slit, how he gripped my thighs like a vise . . . they were the clues to solve this mystery, to solve Costello Badd himself.
I’m the first person he’s touched in ages. The realization burned through my heart. But it didn’t turn me to ash; it set me aflame like a damn phoenix. Was it his scar, was it his family, or was there something unknown that had kept this man from letting anyone close to him?
Anyone . . . until me.
His nose ground along my wet folds, his fingers circling my entrance. My focus faded until I was lying there, doing nothing but experiencing his skill. He didn’t ask if what he was doing was good; he could tell. I was shaking, biting my tongue around my soft whines.
He fluttered his fingers in me, then curled them to explore the textured slope of my inner roof. Purple exploded behind my eyes. “There,” he purred. “That’s what I was looking for.”
Knots formed in my arms from how hard I gripped the blankets. Pressure crested in me, centering on my lower belly, then flowing down farther. I felt the tingles in my clit, in my thighs, in my fucking ears.
Costello rolled his fingers inside me. His lips circled my swollen clit, kissing, nibbling, sending me up a wall. I was lost in the pleasure that spiked in waves. Maybe I was wrong; how could he be so good if he hadn’t been with anyone in a long while?
Rubbing me over and over, he slid in a third finger. “Too much,” I hissed, delirious with wicked pleasure and a little discomfort.
“Shh,” he soothed me. “If this is too much, there’s no way you’ll survive me when I fuck you.”
Sticky sweat collected in my navel. It coated my cheek where I pushed it into the bed, because I couldn’t watch him anymore. Costello had me close to coming, the heat so immense it was giving me vertigo.
“Think about it,” he whispered, his voice strained. He was coming apart and trying to hide it, I was sure. “Think about my cock filling you up.” Fingertips massaged my G-spot, his thumb making perfect circles on my clit. “It’ll be so much bigger than my fingers. The second you come, Scotch, I’m going to spread you open with it. So imagine that.”
It was easy to imagine. I’d tasted his cock, felt my jaw ache from the size. He was pumping in and out of me, caressing my insides, my outsides, confusing my world. One final kiss on my stiff clit did me in.
“Fuck—ah!” I squealed, spine arching, back cracking. Orgasmic waves made me shake—I choked him with my knees, legs unable to fall because my feet were tied. He clung to me as I shivered. Through the sounds of my own moans, I heard him lapping at me, refusing to let a single droplet of my juice escape his hunger.
He sat between my thighs, eyes bright but free of any sort of light. Energy danced in every tiny twitch of his muscles as he crouched. “Scotch,” he said, tasting each letter, still tasting me. His chin was glistening.
Suddenly self-conscious, I covered my face. Faster than a cobra he snapped at me; my arms were ripped away, his tone fierce and husky. “Don’t.”
I gaped up at him. “Don’t what?”
“Hide yourself. Especially not from me.” Costello’s fingers loosened, but they didn’t leave my wrists. “You’re beyond beautiful; that’s not something to be ashamed of.”
I flooded with pink heat. It surged up my throat, giving me enough strength to tug on his arms and guide him down on top of me. The bed shifted under our weight. “Why are you normally so quiet?” I asked, nuzzling his ear. “You’ve got such wonderful things to say. Lyrical.”
Reaching back, he untangled my panties from my ankles. A thimble-size drop of fear made me sit up—was he stopping us? Had I said something wrong? He caught the look on my face, his serious mouth curving up on one side. “I’m just giving you more movement. Relax.”
“More movement, like I’m going somewhere,” I chuckled.
Wordlessly he hooked his arms around my knees. A single flex of his body and he hoisted me farther up the bed, setting me on the pillows. His hands cradled my waist. It brought his carved torso closer to me, his chest brushing over mine.
My tendons argued, the stretch delicious as he forced my ankles and knees flat on the blankets. He tested me slowly; I was open to him, more than when he’d been buried in me up to his knuckles.
Costello was breathing unevenly. His slacks and shoes were gone, abandoned on the floor, his cock a gorgeous curve where it hung between us. The heat of it radiated over my sensitive, naked skin.
A dot of sweat moved down his temple. I knew I was sweating, but to see him coming undone . . . unraveling . . . it melted my insides and made me feel soft all over.
His scar split his face in a fashion, the edges made longer by the shadows. Watching me closely, he said, “I don’t have a condom.”
I’d expected him to say something dirty or romantic; I bit back a laugh. “What guy doesn’t carry those these days?”
His eyes shot to the side; I’d been right. Costello was handsome and mysterious and rich with many things. There was no doubt women fancied him. But my silent soldier, my quiet Mafia prince, he didn’t let anyone near. Why carry condoms if you explicitly plan to avoid dropping your guard long enough to have sex?
With a firm palm, I made him look at me. Something shifted in his eyes, gone when I crushed my mouth on his and stole away his unsaid whispers. His lips didn’t resist, but he held back, allowing me to explore.
My tongue made a line over his bottom lip. I followed the top row of his teeth, traced his canines, and knew he could leave marks if he dared to. The idea made me rock my hips up, pushing his cock against his belly with the pressure.
Costello groaned into my mouth. The vibrations kept going until they coiled in my chest, taking hold behind my ribs and never letting go. Tugging him by his hair, I said into his ear, “It’s okay. Lucky for us both, I’m on the Depo shot.” I’d started taking birth control a long while back, just in case—just to be safe. Safety meant a lot to me.
It was paying off now.
His elbows rested heavily on either side of my head. Holding my hair, he pulled me away from his ear, his nose rubbing mine, his mouth starving for more of me. His tongue swept over the roof of my mouth.
Between us his length pulsed. Easing up on his knees, he rubbed the tip of his cock over my pussy. Up, down, he bumped and prodded with gentle but unstoppable pressure. I was slick from coming; it made it easier for him to enter me.
“Tch,” I hissed. “You’re huge.”
“I’ll go slow at first.” At first. Costello’s whole body was buzzing under my palms, especially when I reached down to feel the indents on his lower back, the hard muscles in his gorgeous ass.
His hot breath tickled the threads of hair hanging in my face. A simple shift, and he was inside me another inch. Again he moved, the ridge of his cock-head scraping along my inner walls. Lying there as he pushed me to my limit, holding steady under his weight and strength . . . it was like nothing else.
Being frozen in his embrace made his slow insertion more of an experience. If he’d slammed right in, it would have been simpler. Costello didn’t do simple. He was making me live through this single stroke that went on forever.
How did he have so much damn control?
“Wow,” I gasped, “how much more of you is there?”
He sounded as if he’d been swallowing gravel. “Just wait. Wait a bit more. Fuck, Scotch, you’re so tight.” I glimpsed his eyes—wild, dark. He was losing himself as he sank inside me.
Then he was there, resting, pulsing. I could swear he was under my navel, spearing me in half. I knew better, but logic didn’t win over my arousal. Shaking, I tried to wrap my legs around him, but he pushed his palms on my knees, keeping me spread severely.
I’d been afraid of how much of him there was, but now it wasn’t enough. It didn’t become enough until he started pumping into me with greater speed. The impact was solid; it rattled my teeth. My clit throbbed with every smooth roll of his pelvis.
His chest pounded against mine, his lungs working overtime, his throat shredding. Costello’s mouth was pulled into a grimace, as if this was hurting him. As if this was too much.
Even in his sexual haze he sensed my worry. He smothered it with his teeth on my throat, nipping more than kissing, pricks of pain I wanted never to end. Here there was no fear. I wasn’t being chased, no one wanted me dead. Costello and I could live forever like this, bonded by our hips and hearts and everything in between.
I wanted that.
More than anything, I . . .
Grunting, he hunched into me. “I’m coming, I can’t hold back any longer. Scotch, fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good.” His voice rumbled in my ear. My brain gave up, letting down what fraction of ego was left so that I finally moaned with abandon. My sobs echoed, whimpers thrilling us both.
He flexed in me, becoming impossibly thicker. That was all I needed to come again, my bones threatening to detach as I shook under the wild, savage bliss. His shaft swelled, warm wetness soaking into my already saturated depths. He came in me, and still he remained solid through his aftershocks.
Costello gazed into my eyes. His eyebrows were contorted, his pupils small as the points of sewing needles. His sharpness was gone, obliterated by our connection. Sweet as honey he kissed me. My lips tingled, close to abused by his earlier fervor.
I leaned back, smiling uncertainly. “That was amazing.”
He hung his head and turned away. Releasing my knees, Costello pulled out of me with a hiss. My body was clinging to him. I didn’t want him to leave, not a little bit. I was relieved when he didn’t abandon me, instead collapsing beside me on the bed.
Looking at the ceiling, he said, “It really was.”
Watching him was its own kind of pleasure. He was naked and beautiful, reclining with his arms folded behind his head. His biceps were big enough that they could hide his cheekbones at the right angle. The designs on his skin rippled when he adjusted his position.
“Do they all have a story?” I whispered, tracing the ink.
“Yes.”
Biting my lip, I followed the hollow of his throat and down his sternum, lingering on the blue-and-black drawing of a bird in flight. “This one.”
His chuckle was warm as whiskey in the morning. “That’s a swallow. I had it done after I went skydiving in Australia.”
I whistled. “Fancy.” He curled his lip in mock disgust; I loved it. “And here, this skull?”
His fingers stilled where they’d begun caressing my naked shoulder. “The first time I ever killed a man.”
I’d known from day one that Costello was dangerous . . . that he was capable of killing, and surely had many times. But lying beside him, I wasn’t scared. My uncle had accused me of being morbidly curious too many times to count. He’d assured me it would help me someday.
There was no way he could have predicted how.
Resting there with my head in the crook of Costello’s arm, I wandered with my fingers, pretending they were tiny legs. “This one,” I said, testing the hardness of his ribs where the black-and-red crown tattoo slept. “It’s really beautiful.”
Costello inhaled, and his lungs became so big I shifted under his expanding chest. “How much do you know about my family?”
He’d reacted less when telling me he’d killed someone. “Why?”
“You know we’re dangerous, but what else?”
Ah. I had a hunch where this was going. “You’re trying to find out if I know that you’re a prince.” Costello eyeballed me warily, so I said, “They always talk about it in the news. ‘Badd Prince Arrested Again,’ that sort of stuff. Your family is notorious among the locals.”
I wasn’t being entirely honest. Yes, I did know he was royalty . . . but it wasn’t thanks to the media. The papers spilled tons of false info and half truths.
I was relieved when he eased back on the pillows, convinced enough by my explanation not to dig deeper. “You really know that much.” He traced his ribs. “More people know about my father’s royal heritage than they should. Some things are best if they remain a secret.”
A tiny little nibble of shame began eating at me. I knew all about secrets. Sitting up, I caressed his jaw. My thumb pad rested on his scar; his flinch was full body. “The one thing I really want to know about . . . is this.”
He guided my wrist away until my fingers danced within an inch of his cheek. “No.”
“If you’re worried I can’t handle the details—”
“The details,” he repeated, tightening his grip. “What does that even mean?”
“Just . . . if it was gory, is all. And you’re worried it’ll freak me out so you don’t want to tell me the whole story.” The buttery sweetness between us had gone rancid. Lowering my voice, I whispered, “Whatever happened, it looks like it hurt.”
All of a sudden his eyelids drooped—so heavy, so tired. “It still hurts.”
“What?”
Costello released me, turning away on the pillows. “It’s time to sleep,” he said. “You need to rest. Both of us do.”
My wrist throbbed from his touch. Brushing my fingers over it, I hugged myself. We’d been naked for hours and I hadn’t minded. Now I felt painfully exposed.
I didn’t want to put the reception dress back on. He’d given it to me, he’d stripped it away, and now it was crumpled on the floor. It never really suited me anyway, I told myself as I slid on the clothes I’d “borrowed” from the jet. These clothes didn’t suit me, either, though. I grunted softly as I struggled into the too-tight jeans. Costello remained silent through it all.
Fluffing my hair, I spared a glance at him on the bed. I could see the broad shape of his shoulders in the dark. He faced the wall, keeping me from knowing if he was awake or asleep. I doubted he was sleeping so soon, but . . . it made me feel better to think so. Explaining away the heavy silence was easier that way.
I found my cell phone in the jeans’ front pocket. Fingering it, I headed into the bathroom. Talking to Gina would cheer me up. But she’ll want to know about me and Costello, and I don’t think she’d believe me if I said nothing happened this time. I can’t call her, I thought, flicking on the light. Lifting my head, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess, my cheeks still a little pink. When I leaned closer I could see the tiny bruises on my neck where he’d kissed me so roughly.
With one finger I traced the bridge of my nose. The spot where my piercing would be felt strangely blank. I poked my skin, imagining the hard stud like a phantom limb.
My disguise was a poor one, but it had worked. Right. That’s what I should be thinking about. I wasn’t at this wedding because it was supposed to be fun . . . this was about hiding. About staying alive.
Instead of focusing on Costello and his hard hands that had left fingerprints on my body, I needed to focus on Darien. On the Deep Shots. On not getting blamed for something I didn’t do.
How messed up was I that he kept popping into my brain?
Costello . . . what did you do to me. It wasn’t a question because I knew the damn answer. He was in my bone marrow, on my tongue. I could taste him now, and it was pure decadence. He wore a shell, but for a brief time tonight, I’d seen beyond it. He’d held me close as our hearts thudded. If they could have, they would’ve escaped our chests and melted into one big throb.
Then I’d asked about his scar . . . and the walls had returned.
Sighing, I gripped the sink and hung my head. My hair trailed into the drain. His scar is so obvious, no way I’m the first to ask about it. The porcelain was cool; I dropped to my knees so I could rest my forehead on the side of the sink. Costello’s words swam through my skull, circling until they formed a sinkhole.
It still hurts.
What did that even mean? Groaning, I bumped my head gently on the hard surface. He’s a damn enigma. Why couldn’t I crush on someone less mysterious? Filling my lungs, I made myself stand. This time my reflection looked much more confident. “Hey,” I said to myself, pointing. “Stop being sad. Everything is fine. You slept with him, you both had fun, and in the morning everything will go back to normal.”
It was only a tiny bit reassuring, but I grabbed on to it.
Yes, I thought. It’ll be fine. Sleep makes everything better. When I opened the door, my knees turned into wet paper on the threshold.
Costello was standing in the middle of the room. Except he wasn’t alone.
Maverick Badd was waiting for me.