Aloha, page 7
He smirks. "What about you? Are you afraid of a little risky behavior?"
My insides melt at how he looks at me—like he wants to test my cookie and see if it's good.
"Because you're right," he says. "I like a little risk. It makes me feel alive."
A surge of heat ripples through my veins. "I like to feel alive, too."
His eyes darken.
"Which is why I shy away from specific risky behavior," I say, biting my lip to hide a smile.
"What kind of specific things are you talking about?"
I laugh, ignoring the bead of sweat dotting my skin.
Renn knows precisely what I mean. It's the foundation of this little back-and-forth we engage in every time we're together.
Brock would slaughter us both if Renn and I did anything more than this. My brother is a good sport when Renn and I flirt, and he ignores us when we routinely toe the line between friends and friends-with-an-impending-one-night stand. Because that's all it would be—a one-night stand.
I've been tempted many, many times over the years. Renn is the embodiment of what I love in a man. He's gorgeous and fierce, fun and carefree. He makes me feel beautiful and memorable, and I eat that shit up. But as much as he's exactly what I love, he's absolutely what I don't need. And, at the end of the day, he's not what I really want.
My thirtieth birthday is approaching, and the date on the calendar has made me face my future in a way that makes me uneasy. I've lived the last ten years with little regard for the moment when going out on the weekends, hooking up with random bad boys, and doing the walk of shame in the mornings wouldn't feel as fun.
That moment is now.
It's time I begin to make constructive choices, not just those that feel good in the short term. It's time to investigate life insurance and understand how mortgages work. And every day that passes ushers in a deeper desire to have a baby. To start a family of my very own. That won't happen if I continue to humor delicious bad boys … like Renn Brewer.
He takes a bite of a cookie. I watch his jaw flex with every movement.
Why do I have to be responsible?
"We need to get out of here," I say, gathering the ribbon off the bed.
"Why is that?"
I look up. Our gazes collide, causing sparks to fly across the room.
The temperature rises ten degrees, and sweat drips down my breasts. Renn tosses the cookies on the bed—his eyes never leaving mine.
He holds his breath, and I'm not sure what he will say. Will he crack a joke? Will he change the subject? Will he say something ridiculous?
"Blakely! Where are you?" Brock shouts from downstairs. "I want you to meet someone."
Renn blows out his breath, making me chuckle.
"Coming," I shout back.
"You could've been, but no," Renn says, rolling his eyes.
"Stop it."
"Things women never say to me for two hundred dollars, Alex."
I laugh as we head for the door.
Thanks for reading! For more Renn and Blakely, read The Proposal.
Twisted Tighter
A Sparrow Novella
Aleatha Romig
Chapter 1
Laurel
The dip of the mattress brought me to the present. Inhaling, I blinked my eyes, seeing the handsome green stare of my husband and inhaling his fresh scent. He tilted his forehead toward mine seconds before his strong lips brushed my nose and lips.
The scent of bodywash mixed with the mint of his toothpaste filled my senses. Droplets of water fell from his long hair, dripping onto his wide colorful shoulders. I was immediately drawn to his warmth, the heat within him raging. I reached out, roaming my hands over his back and lower to his firm butt. My exploration confirmed what I suspected. The man above me was completely nude.
“I didn’t mean to wake you, Doc.” His deep voice reverberated within me.
“I don’t mind,” I said with a tired grin. “I was trying to wait up for you.”
He looked at the notebook now lying to my side. The notes within were chemical formulas of a recently released medication, one that accomplished what I’d set out to do. Their research was solid—the research of Sinclair Pharmaceuticals. Yet it wasn’t exactly the same as what I’d been working on. I was curious about the differences.
Mason scoffed, turning the pages. “I’m surprised you fell asleep. This looks like riveting reading.”
“Would you believe me if I told you it was?”
“I always believe you, Doc.” He tossed the notebook to the floor beside the bed. “I’d believe you if you told me you wanted to go back to sleep.”
Running my palms up his back and over his wide shoulders, I read the story of Mason’s past written in Braille. It was a tragic story of death and destruction, the obliteration of a life—no, of many—yet the story wasn’t complete. Seven years ago, the ultimate twist occurred. No fiction writer could do it justice.
A boy from my past.
I was no longer the girl he remembered, nor was he the boy I knew.
What was meant to be was unstoppable even by death. No, we’re not immortal, just damn fortunate that life played out as it had. Today we’re together, living and enjoying the fruits of our labors and the bond of our extended families.
Colorful tats covered my husband’s body from the nape of his neck to the tops of his feet. And at this moment, they were all visible, every single one of them. A grin curled my lips. “Based on your lack of clothing, I’m not sure you’re to be believed.”
Mason reached for my waist, and in one quick move—one that only a man with his strength could do, we twisted and spun until his head was on the pillow and I was left straddling his muscular torso. With only my silk pajama shorts and camisole separating us, his smile broadened and the golden flecks in his green eyes shimmered. “I’m very believable.”
With my hands on his shoulders, I enjoyed the friction of his skin at my core as well as the probe of his erection at my back. “I think you meant to wake me.” I moved my knees, swaying forward and backward. With each pass, my nipples hardened and my core dampened. “I’m glad you woke me. I miss you when things are busy.”
Mason’s large hands moved beneath my camisole. His fingers splayed on my lower back and stomach as he directed my movement. “I fucking love how soft your skin is.” His gaze met mine. “But you’re overdressed, and I want a striptease.”
The rumble of his request sent a jolt of electricity through me.
Slowing my motions, I reached for the hem of my top and slowly pulled it over my head. My breasts bounced and my nipples grew even tauter at the cool air. Next, I lifted myself on my knees and tugged at the waist of my shorts.
Mason’s intense stare was on me. Much like a hot laser, it added heat to my exposed flesh and bare core.
“No panties,” he observed as he shook his head. “What happened to my good girl?”
My lips curled. “I’m good, and I can be bad.”
I tossed my shorts to the floor as I scooted back and fisted Mason’s large erection. The skin stretched beneath my touch, a velvety softness covering a hard-as-steel rod. The first time we’d made love had been in a dark room. That was probably a good thing. If I’d seen how large he was, I might have run for my life. Bending at the waist, I kissed and licked the salty tip.
The muscles in his biceps bulged as he placed his hands behind his head. “Keep being bad, Mrs. Pierce, and you will be sleeping with a reddened ass.”
“If that’s supposed to be a deterrent, you need to up your game.”
I lifted myself until I had his erection positioned. Biting my lower lip and feeling the invasion, I eased myself down, sheaving him with me. Yes, he was large, but I was used to large. I was also wet and ready. Mason was right—I had wanted to be awake or for him to wake me.
Arching my back, I took in the stretch and fullness.
My long brown hair flowed over my shoulders.
Mason’s hands came back to my torso, lifting and lowering me. Even if I was the one on top, he was the lead in this dance. I didn’t mind. When it came to making love or fucking—because we did both—I was happy to take his direction.
Such as fireflies lighting a Chicago night, my nerves began to crackle, sizzle, and ignite. The buildup was slow at first, but as the night progressed, the flashes of synapses were more numerous, coming quicker in rapid secession. Light after light, explosion after explosion. Our flesh dampened with perspiration, and our bedroom filled with the primal sounds of every couple before us.
As I was about ready to reach my climax, my world shifted.
I was the one with my head on the pillow, and Mason’s incredibly handsome face was above mine. My knees spread farther to accommodate this mountain of a man. The muscles and tendons of his neck protruded as his thrusts came faster and faster. The sky was now ablaze with flashes of light.
Fireworks exploded in a finale worthy of the Fourth of July.
A symphony of sounds came from my lips as I held tightly to his shoulders and rode wave after wave of my orgasm. Soon our bedroom filled with a guttural roar as Mason’s body shuddered and he joined me on the other side of bliss.
Our hearts beat one against the other as Mason collapsed over me. Again, I ran my hands up and down his back. When he looked up, our eyes met.
“I love you, Doc.”
Even after seven years of marriage, those words melted my heart. “I love you, too.” I lifted my eyebrows. “Are you going back downstairs?”
Downstairs, a floor labeled 2, was the command center from where Mason and the other top Sparrows ran Chicago. It was also where I had a makeshift lab and office. A few years ago, the Sparrow men broke their own rule and allowed me entry. It was a gesture I appreciated and would never abuse. I knew how sacred that space was to them.
Mason rolled onto his back, severing our connection. “Not until morning.”
A smile lifted my cheeks as I snuggled at his side.
Morning was not a specific indication of time.
It could be a minute after the clock struck midnight or maybe not until after all the cohabitants of the tower met in the penthouse for breakfast. As I drifted to sleep, I was aware that I may wake alone, or I may wake to early morning sex.
As long as I had this time with my husband, I was satisfied.
Chapter 2
Laurel
The sun rose over the city of Chicago as Garrett, a trusted capo in the Sparrow regime, drove Araneae and me to the Sparrow Institute. The institute was Araneae’s idea. As the queen of Chicago’s underworld, she chose to use her wealth for good. The institute’s goal was to bring human trafficking out of the shadows. The institute counseled, housed, and educated victims of human trafficking, helping the women and men to build a foundation that would carry them into the future.
Working with law enforcement and of course, the Sparrows themselves, this endeavor was meant to bring an end to the inhumane and unjust world hidden not only in Chicago but around the world. While the arrangement seemed odd to me at first, now years after entering the glass tower high in the sky of Chicago’s skyline, I saw the good that Araneae had done and the possibilities for future efforts.
While I oversaw the counselors and psychologists at the institute, my main objective was refining a pharmaceutical formula designed to camouflage traumatic memories. As it could be assumed, victims of human trafficking had more than their share of disturbing memories. The formula I hoped to perfect wouldn’t be limited to use with the people who found their way to the institute. The premise could aid others who suffered from PTSD, no matter the cause. My formula had a different mechanism of action than the one developed at Sinclair Pharmaceuticals and recently approved for sale.
Looking up from my tablet, I turned to my friend, seeing the way her head was tipped back against the headrest. “Are you feeling all right?”
Araneae’s lips pressed into a straight line, and her complexion paled as she turned my way. “I’m good,” she said with a nod.
“You’re pale.” I thought back to breakfast in the penthouse kitchen. “I didn’t see you eat this morning. Maybe you need coffee.”
She smirked. “I do, but I won’t be having any.”
“Is it your stomach?” I held multiple PhD degrees but was not a medical doctor; however, that didn’t stop me from an innate need to help whomever I could.
“I guess you could say that.”
The metaphoric puzzle pieces began to slide into place in my head.
“Oh, Araneae,” I said in an excited, hushed tone. “Are you pregnant?”
She sighed. “I didn’t want to tell anyone, not yet.”
Our eyes went toward the rearview mirror, seeing Garrett’s attention was on the road. Even if he overheard, he wouldn’t say anything. That was an unspoken law in the world where we lived.
I reached over and laid my hand on her knee. “How long have you known? Does Sterling know?”
“Only a few days.” Her lips curled upward. “He does. Even though we planned on Goldie being an only child, he’s excited.” She tilted her head back and forth. “He’s concerned and overprotective.”
“That’s a shocking new development.”
She laughed. “It’s not, but if I remember back to when I was carrying Goldie, those qualities kick into overtime when I’m expecting.”
There was an incident that occurred while Araneae was carrying Goldie that had our entire world on edge; that’s a story for another day.
I grinned. “You’re on your way to the institute, so he hasn’t gone full ‘lockdown’ yet.”
“I’m not spending the next eight months locked in the tower. Sterling knows that hormones can make me…different. He’ll send a thousand Sparrows to watch over me before he does an eight-month lockdown—for his own good.”
“Different?” I asked.
“You know…there’s the morning sickness and in the second trimester, he has to deal with an overactive libido.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”
“You’re right,” she said, pink returning to her cheeks. “And third trimester is all sleep. Remember, pregnancy even zapped Lorna, and that woman is a spitfire.”
Lorna was my sister-in-law, Mason’s sister.
“I know the science behind it.” I sighed. “I also knew marrying Mason that pregnancy was something I’d never experience.” I sat taller. “Besides, I’m too old.”
Araneae tilted her head. “I thought your child status was by choice. I mean, you’re great with all the children. And then there’s your career. You’re amazing at what you do. Children are a lot of work, even with help.” She patted my knee. “You are not too old, not if you want a child.”
Araneae was the youngest adult in our tower. While all the men were basically the same age, Lorna, Madeline, and I were close to our husbands’ ages. The queen of Chicago was six years younger. That didn’t in any way mean she was incapable of fulfilling the duties of her position. If you asked…well, any of us, Araneae was the only woman in the world who could handle Sterling Sparrow. Whether the occasion took an equal sparring partner or the gentleness to calm the beast, Araneae was the woman for the job.
“It was by choice,” I said, nodding. “I chose to marry Mason and spend my life with him. I also knew that after what he’d been through—physically…basically, the burns, the explosion…well, he can’t…we have a wonderful sex life.” My muscles were still keenly aware of the workout we’d had last night. “It’s that he shoots blanks.”
Araneae’s eyes opened wide. “I never knew or suspected. Have you talked to Dr. Dixon about it—or any physician?”
I shook my head. “It’s not a subject we discuss. It just is what it is.”
“You could adopt.”
It was my turn to scoff. “Our world is perfect and also dangerous. I don’t think I could bring a child into it, knowing what I know.” I quickly turned to Araneae. “I don’t mean I wouldn’t have a child, only that I don’t see the Cook County Court being quick to approve an adoption, no matter how much love we have to offer.”
“You know that Sterling could—”
Pull strings.
Yes, Sterling Sparrow had power that was basically second only to God.
“I’m happy with the way things are,” I said. “I am. I love my husband, and he loves me. We support one another, and we have all of you.” I patted her knee. “And more of you on the way. Having our men home safe and all of us secure in the tower each night is all I want.”
“What you said, about the danger,” she mused. “It’s why we planned on only one child. Goldie is now almost four.” Araneae sighed. “I’m just thankful she’s had Eddie and Jack and she’s used to other children. Otherwise, I think springing a sibling on her would rock her world.”
“Oh, I would bet it still will, but she’ll survive. She’s a Sparrow, after all.”
Garrett turned the car toward the underground garage at the institute.
Chapter 3
Mason
The sights of Chicago grew grayer as Christian, one of the Sparrows’ top capos, and I made our way toward the shipyard. On the shores of Lake Michigan, this area was large enough to be a city within itself. Hell, it was bigger than the entire country of Monaco. If it were a city or country, few people would choose to live here. Rows and rows of containers lined what could be described as roads. In reality, it wasn’t a city but a vast enterprise fenced off from the rest of the world.
“Can you imagine patrolling this chaos before GPS?” I asked, speaking my thoughts aloud as I directed Christian toward our destination, watching the blinking beacon on the screen of my phone.
Christian shook his head as his gaze narrowed.
The limited sunlight on this cloudy day was obscured by the rows and stacks of shipping containers. Most people were unaware that one cargo ship could carry about 24,000 TEUs—twenty-foot equivalent units. That was the equivalent to a forty-four-mile-long train. It was why, even in today’s world, transporting goods over the waterways was still the most economical and efficient means of logistics. That fact was what made port cities grow.
