NINETEEN

Emerging from the bathroom several mornings later, her only covering the lacy black panties with a tiny, vividly pink bow just above the cleft of her rear and a matching bra sporting a bow between her breasts, Lyrica came to a stop at the sight of Graham stepping into the bedroom wearing nothing but loose black cotton pajama bottoms. Carrying a large tray in his hands with several covered dishes, he was obviously surprised to see her awake and showered.

“Breakfast?” A flush washed through her at the gleam of interest reflected in the glitter of gold in his eyes.

“Breakfast works.” Clearing her throat, she moved for the silky robe she’d left lying on the bottom of the bed.

“Please don’t.” The rasp of command that filled his tone was tempered only by the hunger that filled his gaze. “You look perfect the way you are.”

Perfect the way she was? Oh Lord, she was barely dressed. The lacy lingerie was no more than a tease, covering only what it had to.

Moving to the bed, Graham set the large tray in the middle of it before carefully removing the covers he’d placed over the food.

Fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly fried bacon, diced fresh tomatoes, and golden brown toast.

“Come on.” Motioning to the bed with a jerk of his head, he climbed into the center and waited.

She didn’t make him wait long.

This was another memory for her to tuck away and take out when it was over and she was forced to return to reality once again.

“No sandwiches this morning?” She grinned, secretly hoping she’d never see another sandwich in her life.

“Kye and I eat out a lot.” He chuckled as she tasted the eggs and bacon and almost moaned at the taste of home-cooked food.

She could see why, she admitted, as the taste of the fresh tomato exploded against her tongue. For something so simple, the meal was exquisite.

For the next few minutes they were silent, the food consuming their attention until finally Lyrica sat back, replete, and eyed the amount still left on the plates.

He must have scrambled a whole carton of eggs, she thought in amusement.

Lifting the coffee cup nearest her to her lips, she sipped and hummed a sound of appreciation. Just the way she liked it. A little coffee with her cream and sugar.

“How do you drink it like that?” He chuckled, lifting his own and bringing it to his lips.

No sugar, no cream, just straight, rich coffee.

Lyrica suppressed a shudder, but not the doubtful look she gave him. “It’s a little strong for me,” she admitted, holding back what she was sure would have been an embarrassing giggle.

Setting the cup on the bedside table, Graham moved the tray to the dresser before returning to the bed, propping himself against the headboard as he retrieved the coffee and watched her closely.

“You surprise me,” he said then. “I expected you to become bored while you were here. I didn’t expect you’d find so many ways to entertain yourself while we were trying to track down whoever’s responsible for the attempts against you.”

The night before, she had finished a spreadsheet she’d been trying to find time to complete for Dawg’s lumber store. The night before that, she’d finished the new menu layout for the restaurant Natches and Janey owned. A detailed supply list was still awaiting her attention for Natches’s garage in town as well as an advertising plan for the marina Rowdy and his father, her uncle Ray, owned.

“I keep a lot of little projects for downtime,” she admitted, curling her legs to her side as she leaned on the pillows propped against the headboard and faced him. “Between the four main businesses Mackay Enterprises began with, and the two apartment buildings Dawg, Natches, and Rowdy bought, a pawn shop Janey had to have, and a convenience store Eve and Brogan just added, there’s always a new program needed, a shopping cart to set up, or an inventory system to improve.”

Tilting his head, the dark blond and light brown strands of hair falling over his forehead, he watched her curiously now. The short length of his beard and mustache, his bare chest.

He was the image of a rakish pirate, scars and all.

Reaching out, she touched a circular scar at his shoulder, a whisper-caress over flesh that seemed not long healed. Below it was a long, thin scar that the light mat of curls covering his chest didn’t hide near as well as one might think they would.

“That one was a long time ago.” Remaining still, one broad palm resting on her ankle, the other resting over his bent knee, he watched her with a faint smile. “Dad and I were hiking above the house. I was fourteen, bouncing around, showing the old man up.” Fondness touched his expression for a moment. “I tripped on something, damned if I remember what it was, and went head over heels back down the damned incline. When I came to a stop, my shirt was sliced open and my chest along with it. The first time I ever saw Dad scared.”

There was a warmth to his voice as he spoke of his father.

“Kye rarely mentions your parents,” she said softly. “And there are no pictures in the house of them except the one in the living room.”

A single five-by-seven that sat next to the formal couch on a cherry side table.

“Kye’s still angry, I think.” He sighed. “She was only fourteen when they died. I was still in the Marines with several more years to go on an additional tour I’d taken. She was home alone when Zeke, Rogue, and Shane had to come out and tell her they were gone.”

“She seems very bitter,” Lyrica observed. “I mentioned them once, and she completely shut down. It’s one of the few subjects she refuses to discuss with me.”

“She doesn’t discuss them with anyone,” he admitted as his thumb stroked against her ankle almost absently, his gaze seeming to settle on the past rather than the present. “She and Mom were incredibly close. Girlish secrets, shopping trips.” He breathed out heavily. “She was here when they left that night. She heard them arguing about the trip. Mom hadn’t wanted to leave because Kye had a dance that weekend and she didn’t want to chance returning home late. She’s still very angry at Dad, for convincing Mom to go.”

His head settled back against the wood of the headboard as he focused on Lyrica then. “It was a hard time for her, for both of us.”

“You were close to your father then? And your mother was close to Kye?”

He laughed at that. “That wasn’t what I said,” he pointed out. “Kye was their baby; I was their son. She was the surprise they were certain they’d never have another chance for, and she was a delicate, fragile little girly girl.” He shook his head as he smiled. “Dad, though, he was a very distant person emotionally, but he loved us. It just wasn’t a love he was able to show. He kept me with him for the most part while he worked on the farm, so I guess I didn’t get to know Mom nearly as well.”

A shadow touched his gaze then, as though some thought had spoiled the memories he was allowing himself to touch.

“My mother always spoiled us with love. She still does,” Lyrica said softly. “We didn’t have much, but we never missed it. Mom made so many things an adventure and tried so hard to ease the nightmare that Chandler’s visits made in our lives.”

She looked down at the hand covering her ankle, the broad, strong fingers, the way his thumb brushed against the skin covering her anklebone.

“You have very gentle hands,” she said softly. “Chandler didn’t. He was very harsh and always so very angry.”

Thankfully, the man who’d fathered her and her sisters hadn’t been around much.

“Elijah said Brogan mentioned that he had you and your sisters taken from your mother at one time?” he asked her gently.

Lyrica inhaled slowly, deeply. “It was horrible,” she admitted, shaking her head at that memory. “We were placed in foster care with Kenny and Lucy Tannley.” She almost shuddered at the thought of them. “Kenny was a drunk that leered at Eve and Piper like an animal stares at meat. Lucy thought foster children were no more than her personal servants and maids.”

They had slept in the basement on a few thin blankets. Eve and Piper had kept Lyrica and tiny little Zoey between them and the three of them listened to Zoey as she cried most of the night for their momma.

“I’m sorry.” The apology had her lifting her head to stare back at him.

“It’s over.” She shrugged as she pushed the past behind her once again. “There were a few bad experiences, but we survived. And we survived intact.”

“Dawg raged for weeks after Timothy brought you home with your mother. I was home that week. I was actually at the bar when Natches, Rowdy, Alex, and Zeke were called to collect his drunk ass.”

She winced at that. “It’s the one and only time Dawg got drunk after his marriage to Christa. I felt so bad for that.”

“He loves the four of you, probably about as much as he loves his daughter,” he told her. “It broke his heart that he hadn’t known about you or your mother.”

“We had no idea Chandler had another family. That we had a brother or cousins. Though I guess we should have. Momma said the marriage the village priest performed was never made official though. Timothy checked. It didn’t surprise her, or us.”

He was petting her.

His hand stroked her ankle, brushed over her calf, caressing, just gentle touches meant to ease memories that might hurt.

“Dawg’s our hero.” She grinned up at him. “Him, Natches and Rowdy, Uncle Ray. When Timothy first put us on that plane and told us he was taking us to our brother, we were terrified. We’d found out about him weeks before when Eve went searching for Chandler. We had no idea he was dead. And Momma was so sick.” That was a bad memory. There had been days, nights, when they were certain she would suffocate, it had been so hard for her to breathe. “But, from the moment we arrived, we were family.”

“Everyone who knows him and Natches agrees the four of you were put on this earth to prepare those two for their daughters’ adulthood.” He chuckled.

“Oh god, don’t go there.” She hung her head and groaned in amused horror. “We’re not practice; we’re their training in how to torture their daughters fully once they realize there’s life out there that doesn’t include Daddy. They should have had more kids.”

“Why didn’t they?” Graham was amused, almost chuckling at the thought.

“I think they might have, if it hadn’t been for our arrival.” She did laugh then. “Right off the bat Eve and Piper were slipping out at night, testing their wings, testing their freedom. I think they terrified Dawg and Natches, though Rowdy has always found it highly amusing. So I imagine they decided one daughter was enough and they’d probably be exhausted by the time they managed to force the girls into convents that no boys could possibly breach. We exhausted them.”

He smiled with genuine warmth. “I can’t imagine that.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her lips. “Natches can see the beauty his daughter is going to be in you. Do you know how many rednecks around here are terrified to even look your way?”

“You weren’t,” she pointed out, leaning closer, wanting a taste of his kiss again. Wanting his touch, his warmth and strength.

“I was terrified,” he admitted, though his eyes told another story. “Natches threatened to cut my dick off if he caught me around you.”

Disbelief shot through her, causing her to pause as she drew closer to him. “He did not!”

“Oh, yes, he did.” He didn’t wait for her to complete the journey. He pulled her to him, grinning down at her as she ended up against his chest. “I decided the risk was worth it. He’s not as good as he once was, I’m sure. And I can’t see Rowdy helping him, so I figured my man parts might be reasonably safe.”

“I would have protected your man parts.” Nodding, she stared up at him with all seriousness as laughter tried to tug at her lips. “Trust me. I would have never let him get anywhere near them.”

“Had plans for them, did you?” Hunger gleamed in his eyes, filled his expression.

“Well, I definitely intended to put them to use,” she admitted, her breath becoming hard, uneven at the feel of him releasing the catch of her bra.

“Put them to use now,” he whispered, one hand cupping the back of her head and holding her in place as his lips lowered to hers. “You just go ahead and put them to hard use, baby. I promise not to object in the slightest.”

His lips took hers, moving against them with a slow, heated hunger that had a whispery moan falling from her lips as she lifted to him.

The feel of him smoothing the bra straps over her arms and pulling the material from her body didn’t make much of an impression. But when he pulled her closer, her nipples brushing against the soft rasp of his chest hair, the pleasure went so deep, so fast, her stomach clenched with it.

Parting her lips with his tongue, Graham tasted her kiss, drawing the hunger and need that were lying still but aware inside her fully free. Within seconds he had her burning, her clit swelling, the tender flesh between her thighs growing slick and wet as one hand smoothed to the lace-covered curve of her rear to cup it erotically. His hand slid to her thigh and lifted her leg over him until her thighs straddled his, the sensitive, lace-covered folds of her pussy pressing against the engorged length of his cock as it rose below the thin material of the cotton pants he wore.

Pulling back, breaking the incredibly heated kiss, his lips moved to her jaw, to her neck.

“You burn me alive,” he growled a second before his teeth raked against the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. “Like the sexiest fire in the world.”

“I can’t think when you touch me.” She was breathless, pleasure racing through her system and overtaking her again. Holding out against the exquisite sensations was impossible.

She was greedy, Lyrica admitted.

Greedy and so hungry for more of him that the need was almost painful.

Sliding her hands along his shoulders, her nails rasping against the tough flesh, Lyrica tilted her head back, giving him free rein to the tender flesh of her neck. A gasp escaped as he cupped her breasts at the same time, his thumbs and fingers finding the hard points of her nipples and tugging at them firmly.

A burning, erotic fire attacked the tender points, ricocheting through her system to strike at the swollen knot of nerve endings between her thighs.

“Like that, pretty baby?” he groaned against her neck.

“Love that,” she whimpered, her nails digging into his shoulders, her hips moving helplessly against the hard flesh of his cock grinding between her thighs.

She loved him.

She was lost to him, and Lyrica knew it.

Every part of her was lost to him.

Then his lips moved until they covered one nipple, drawing strongly on the swollen tip as he sucked at her erotically. As he swirled his tongue around the nerve-laden tip of her breast, his gaze held hers, staring up at her as he sucked at her with increasing heat and hunger.

“Graham.” She whispered his name, couldn’t help herself.

Drawing back and releasing her flesh from the tortured pleasure, his hands moved to her hips and the elastic lace of her panties. Before he could remove them, or tear them from her, she let her nails rake down his chest, her own head lowering.

It was her hunger now. Her need to bring him the same riotous pleasure he was giving her. The same sense of erotic chaos building through her senses.

Finding the hard, muscular contours of his chest, she moved lower, easing back along his thighs as his hands speared into the hair at the back of her head. Hardened, flat male nipples drew her attention first. As she lashed at one tight disc with her hungry tongue, his groan sent a surging increase of need racing through her senses.

She loved the pleasure he gave her. Loved it, ached for it. She was becoming addicted to it and determined he would never forget her particular flavor once she was gone.

Moving lower, her senses becoming drugged with searing hunger, her heart began racing with sensual power. Beneath her touch Graham tightened. His hard body lifted to her lips as they moved to the powerful planes of his abdomen.

—

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

For years, as shameful as he’d known it was, he’d lain back beneath his lovers when they’d touched him like this and imagined it was Lyrica. Imagined her lips touched him. Imagined her nails were rasping over his flesh as she lowered the waistband of the thin pants he wore over the pounding length of his cock.

“Fuck!” The groan was torn from his lips as her hair, like warm, living silk, brushed over his sensitive length.

“Ah hell, Lyrica, baby . . .” His body tightened to a breaking point as her hot little tongue moved lovingly over the crest of his cock.

Licking, tasting him, she drew the bead of pre-cum from the slit at the tip as her emerald gaze darkened in rising hunger. A heated flush covered her face, and drowsy, sensual, sexual pleasure suffused her expression.

When her swollen lips parted and sucked the engorged, darkened head of his cock into her mouth, he nearly lost his control over the semen pounding in his balls. She was loving it. He could see it in her eyes. Loving the pleasure she was giving him. Loving the tension and rising hunger building inside him that was impossible to hide.

The lashing pleasure enclosing the sensitive, too tight crown drew a hard, agonized grimace of pleasure to his face. Jaw tight, his thighs bunching, he felt the electric heat surrounding him, searing into his cock as she sucked him deep. Her tongue stroked as her mouth worked over the heavy width. Drawing him in, drawing back, taking him until he knew the full depths of her mouth with an intimate eroticism he wouldn’t have expected.

“That’s it,” he groaned, the sound resembling a rasp of erotic torture. “Suck it deep, baby. Give me that pretty mouth.”

Those pretty, pouty lips stretched around the width of his flesh, consuming the crown and working it with such pleasure that holding back was becoming next to impossible. His hips moved to her suckling, her caressing, the moist heat of her mouth causing his cock to throb, his balls aching to release.

Tightening his grip on her hair as he leaned back into the pillows behind him, his hips lifted, thrusting shallowly as the innocence in her eyes combined with the carnal act sent his blood pressure rocketing.

Son of a bitch. She was killing him.

“Fuck. That’s it, Lyrica . . . baby . . .” Groaning at the whiplash sensations racing to his balls and gathering at the base of his spine, he knew holding back had become a second-by-second triumph.

“Ah hell.” His fingers clenched in her hair again, hips rising and falling as he held her to him, fucking her lips with tenuous control. “Baby. This isn’t going to last much . . . ah fuck!”

Delicate, silken fingers encased his balls, playing with them, her fingertips rubbing and stroking, sending erratic, electric currents wrapping around his scrotum, tightening . . . The sweet, hot suckling flames surrounding the crest of his dick tightened, drew him deeper. Her tongue licked and stroked and Graham lost his mind.

He felt it rupture. Felt his control snap, pleasure exploding through him with tidal waves of force as his body jerked tight and his semen blasted into the snug depths of her mouth.

And she took him.

Pulse after pulse of his seed spilling to her throat and he felt her shuddering, felt her vibrating around his cock as he swore something far more important than his release rocked from his senses and flowed from him to her.

What the fuck was he doing?

What was he allowing to happen with this woman? What was he losing to her when he’d sworn he’d never lose another part of himself to anyone?

And he was helpless against it. He was helpless against her, arched in a pleasure he knew he’d never before touched as he spilled his release to the suckling depths of her mouth. But she was the one marking him, he knew. She was marking his soul, destroying him, and he was helping her.

Pulling back, watching her lips release him, seeing the sweet, soft innocence in her eyes, he knew it didn’t matter how hard he tried to tell himself no woman could be so innocent. He’d been telling himself that for six years now, and it did him as much good now as it had that first day he’d met her.

Because he wasn’t pulling away from her.

His senses were so immersed in her, so rocked by the pleasure and the sensations overtaking him, that his cock was just as hard now as it had been before he spilled his release to those tempting lips.

God help him.

Quickly rolling a condom on, he couldn’t think of anything but having her again. Feeling the warmth of her, the sweet innocence that still softened her gaze.

Pulling her to him, over him, he tucked the head of his cock at the saturated entrance of her vagina and, holding her hips with one hand, began easing her onto his erection.

Breathing harshly, air sawing from his lungs, he tried, oh god, he tried to go easy. Tried to take her gently. He wanted to take her gently. But the lust raging through him had other ideas.

His hips pushed upward, separating swollen muscles, becoming enclosed in a slick, so-fucking-hot, rippling vise of pure ecstasy.

“Ride me, Lyrica,” he groaned, finally seating himself fully, her fist-tight grip surrounding his sensitive flesh and throwing him straight back into that swirling vortex of inevitable destruction.

Straightening above him she began moving, her hands lifting to her breasts, watching him, drowsy, dazed green eyes glittering between heavy lashes. Lashes that flickered in growing ecstasy as her thumbs and fingers plucked firmly at her little nipples.

Gripping her hips in desperate hands, he moved under her, giving her a rhythm to follow as her panting breaths became whimpering moans that drove him crazy with lust. The sounds of her pleasure sounded drawn from her soul. Low, resonating with a pleasure neither of them had a hope of controlling.

“Fuck me,” he growled, watching her, moving harder beneath her, rocking her against him as his balls began to throb with the need to spill his release again. “That’s it. Ride me harder.”

He was dying with the need to come. It was burning through his cock, pounding at the crest, racing through his bloodstream.

Holding her to him, he reversed their positions quickly. Coming over her and lifting her hips to his penetration, Graham felt his senses overloading with the pleasure he’d only found with this woman.

His lips covered hers, drinking in her cries, her pleasure as he began driving into her, fucking her with a hunger, a need he’d never experienced in his life.

Her cries echoed around him.

When her orgasm gripped her, the muscles of her snug little pussy tightened with almost painful intensity around his cock, triggering his release along with hers. Flames rocked up his spine, shot back to his balls, and exploded through his senses.

He was coming, filling the condom with a release that he wanted nothing more than to feel surging into the unprotected depths of her flesh, marking her as his.

His.

God help him, if he wasn’t careful, he would belong to her.