Killing Me Softly: A Romantic Suspense Anthology, page 102
I feel a burning need to tell this man, this beautiful stranger who saved my sister, saved me, and irrefutably changed my life that I love him—that I’ve fallen madly in love with him. The only thing that keeps me from saying those words is my fear that he doesn’t feel the same.
“Don’t look at me like that, wife. Not if you’re not prepared to deal with the consequences,” he warns.
“And just how exactly am I looking at you, husband?” I murmur, licking my lips. The space between us heats, and the sadness changes, morphing into need that we are both clearly feeling.
“Like you’re starving for my cock and not the steak on your plate,” he answers unashamedly.
I choke on my wine, my cheeks blazing with heat. His piercing gaze has me shifting in my seat, and my clit throbs for his attention as I remember the way his huge cock feels inside me.
“You’re still doing it,” he growls under his breath.
“Am I?” I bat my eyelashes at him flirtatiously.
“You want to play, baby girl?” He cocks his brow.
“Depends on the game,” I lick my lips.
“Get on your knees,” he orders, those blue orbs narrowing dangerously.
“What?” I croak, thinking I must not have heard him right. “You mean here? Where everyone can see?”
“I don’t care. You either get on your knees so I can feel that pretty mouth of yours on my fat cock, or I’ll bend you over this table right now and fuck your sweet cunt. Your choice, Layla, but I won’t ask you again.”
My heart races at the threat in his eyes. I look around and see that everyone here is either distracted by the conversation they’re having with their dates, or too involved with the delicious food on their plate. I do as he says and slowly lower myself to the floor in front of him. The huge bulge in his pants tells me he’s as eager and needy as I am.
“I’m waiting, Layla,” he whispers, weaving his fingers through my hair. I run my tongue over my dried lips as I unzip his trousers and free the monster that was hiding underneath. I smile when I see he’s commando, giving me easy access to him. With my gaze fixed on his, I swipe my tongue up the large vein on the side of his cock. The little hiss he lets out fuels my desire for him, and within seconds, my lips are wrapped around his huge shaft, sucking him for all I’m worth.
He curses under his breath and digs his fingers into my scalp, pushing my head down to take him deeper. I relax my jaw and throat to swallow him as far as I can, rubbing my thighs together with the salty taste of him on my tongue. Feeling them slick with my own desire, I want to push him to see if he really would fuck me here, but I also want to feel him explode down my throat.
“I love fucking your mouth almost as much as I love fucking that tight, dripping pussy of yours,” he whispers lovingly as he slams down my throat.
Tears begin to form at the corners of my eyes, threatening to ruin my makeup, yet I can’t find it in me to care. All I want is to make this man, this beautiful man before me, feel as good as he makes me feel every day. His cock swells in my mouth, and I grip his base with my hand as I jerk him off. My core feels so fucking empty without him, needing him and only him. Still, I persist, sucking him, licking him, and letting him thrust into the back of my throat until my tears fall down my face. I may be the one who’s on my knees in a busy fancy restaurant where anyone could see, yet I feel so powerful it’s intoxicating. Me, a girl who had a shitty start in life, is making this god of a man succumb to her every desire. When his grip on my hair tightens, I know he’s close to coming undone. I speed up my tempo, giving him all of me, and soon his cum drips on my tongue. I milk him dry and swallow it all, feeling absolutely victorious as I lick his cock clean.
Alaric lifts me up and sits me on his knee, and my eyes widen in alarm when he shoves his hand between my thighs. I grab hold of his wrist, stopping his assault, and rip a deep growl of frustration from his throat.
“Everyone will see,” I explain softly, releasing my hold on him.
“Let them. Let them all see that this pussy is mine and I can take it when I want, wherever I want,” he retorts, inching closer to my soaked core.
When his fingers brush my slit, my eyes roll into the back of my head, and I stop objecting. He lets out a soft curse when he finds that I’m not wearing any underwear either.
“See? You want this just as much as I do. Why fight it? Why fight us?”
“I don’t want to,” I whisper.
“Then don’t,” he says, spreading my legs wider until I’m completely open for him, leaning back into the table to give him better access.
His deft fingers begin to toy with my clit as he nibbles on my neck. His touch feels so good, like a piece of heaven on earth, but as my greedy pussy begins to beg for his touch, my breathing becomes more erratic.
“That’s my girl. Fuck my hand, baby. Show every last motherfucker in here who you belong to,” he snarls.
With his order still hanging in the air between us, I do just that, fucking myself with his fingers. We can both hear the sound of my arousal as Alaric pushes two fingers inside me and starts thrusting into my pussy, my juices dripping all over his digits. I’m sure I’m going to leave a puddle on his pants, but judging by the heady stare Alaric is giving me, he couldn’t care less. All he wants is for me to come. My orgasm is just as vital to him as his own, if not more so. When he adds another finger, I bite down on my bottom lip to keep from wailing. He always feels so good, be it his fingers, tongue, or cock. Everything this man does drives me wild with desire.
My vision starts to blur as the impending orgasm grows closer. I want to grab it, cradle it in my arms, and nurture it until it’s big enough to shatter me into a thousand small glorious pieces.
“I’m so close. So close,” I whimper, needing him to push me over the edge.
And just like the dutiful lover I’ve come to rely on, Alaric latches his mouth onto my nipple through the fancy dress he bought me, biting down so exquisitely painfully that I have no choice but to come. The only thing that muffles my loud cry is Alaric’s other hand, which quickly covers my mouth. My soul slowly returns to my boneless, sated body, and my smile is so wide my cheeks hurt.
When someone clears their throat near our table, I finally look away from Alaric’s smoldering gaze to find a man next to us. The waiter watches us hesitantly. I’m still on Alaric’s lap, dazed with the orgasm he just gave me.
“Would you like dessert? The chef made an exquisite Chocolat au Crumble de Fraises this evening.” His voice is almost scared.
Alaric nods, and the waiter quickly rushes away.
“I think he knows what we just did. In fact, I think everyone knows.” I eye a few curious glances from the restaurant’s patrons.
“Fuck them. I want my dessert now,” he growls, pulling me out of our seat.
“Where are we going?” I ask breathlessly, trying to keep up with his wide strides on these heels.
He parades me through the restaurant before urging me down a short hallway and into a dark alcove. Alaric pushes me into the tiny hideaway, the sound of dishes and chefs shouting announcing that the kitchen must be close by. But Alaric doesn’t care. Instead, he swings me around and presses my cheek against the wall.
“Like I said, I want my dessert now,” he states gruffly, lifting my dress to my waist so my ass is in full view of anyone who dares pass by. I moan when his fingers touch my sensitive slit, my legs parting instantly for him even though I just came. I’m a greedy fucking bitch, it seems, when it comes to him.
“You’re fucking drenched, wife. This pussy is always so wet for me,” he growls hungrily.
“It’s your fault,” I tease, looking over my shoulder and catching a glimpse of the ravenous man behind me. “You do this to me.”
“Ah, love, and you fucking do this to me,” he retorts, releasing my pussy to grasp his cock, rubbing it against the crack of my ass.
A little whimper leaves me as he continues to play with my clit.
“I can’t get enough of you. Sometimes I think I’ll go mad if I’m not deep inside you.”
“Me too,” I admit in a whisper.
His feral expression softens as he peppers my bare shoulder with kisses.
“You consume me, Layla. I’m nothing without you.”
His loving words pull on my heartstrings, making me whimper with need.
“Make me yours. Please,” I beg, my knees threatening to buckle if he doesn’t fuck me.
With a nip at my shoulder, he stops his assault on my clit, and I feel his huge cock pressing against my hole, teasing me. As I’m about to act, he finally gives me what I want. A wail of relief escapes my lips as he thrusts his massive cock inside me, filling that emptiness with his love. He fists my hair and cranes my head back so he can devour my mouth as he pounds into me mercilessly.
Our lovemaking is just like our marriage—unexpected and all-consuming. Alaric plays my body like a fiddle, knowing exactly which buttons to push and which dirty words to use to tip me over the edge. And just as I expected, within seconds, I’m coming on his cock with his mouth on mine, swallowing the cry of ecstasy that leaves me. With three forceful thrusts, I feel his warm release fill me and begin to drip down my thighs. He grips my chin and delivers an earth-shattering kiss that leaves me breathless and at his mercy as my body becomes limp. When he breaks the kiss, I whimper in frustration, needing more of his love. No matter how much he lavishes me with it, I always want more. More. More. More. And I don’t see that feeling ever changing. For the second time tonight, the words ‘I love you’ burn my throat, needing to come out and tell this extraordinary man how much he means to me.
His blue eyes, the ones that always seem to see the very darkest corners of my soul, soften, as he pulls down my dress and fixes my hair.
“Let’s go home, baby.”
“What about dinner? Dessert?” I murmur, still relearning how to breathe.
“We’ll take it to go. I’d rather eat it off your body anyway.” He smirks cockily.
The smile that crests my face is almost as big as the love I feel for him.
“I like that idea.” I bite my bottom lip, tracing my thumb over his sharp jaw.
“I thought you would,” he replies with a laugh, and the sound warms me from the inside more than any food or decadent wine ever could.
“So much for date night though.” I pretend to pout.
“I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
You always do.
12
Alaric
Wiping the bloody pliers with a rag, I return my gaze to the body fastened to the chair with bolts, which are impaled through his knees and hands. Poor bastard. He did something that pissed off my client, and my instructions were clear—he was to suffer before he died.
I don’t usually take torture jobs, but once I did a background check, I couldn’t not.
He’s an escaped sex offender. He hurt kids. Countless numbers of them.
All I could think of when I read his profile was little Zoey. The money, the contract, none of it mattered as much as the anger inside me. I felt a burning need to kill this bastard, to make him hurt the way those kids did, to kill the monster. Even if it meant getting my hands dirty, it would be enough if it saved one child from his grasp. My own fury flowed out of me as I worked on him. I shocked him over and over, his screams the only sounds in this partially caved in warehouse I chose.
After the electricity, I pulled out every nail, broke each of his fingers and toes, and snapped his arms. I cut off his cock and balls, cauterizing the wound so he couldn’t bleed out. No, that would have been too quick for him. I wanted him to feel the fear each of his victims felt. I dragged it out, making him scream and beg until his mouth bled with each mumbled plea. Eventually the wounds became too much and his heart gave in.
It still wasn’t enough.
Grinding my teeth, I toss my tools back in the bag just as my phone rings—my personal one, not my work one, which means only one thing… Layla. I pull it out and accept the call. She never calls me at work, and a bad feeling starts to build in my stomach before her first words even reach my ears.
“Zoey’s been hurt.” She’s panting, and there’s panic in her voice.
“What? Where?” I demand, grabbing my bag and hoisting it up on my shoulder. I’ll come back later to clean the rest of this mess up. It’s risky, but Zoey and Layla are more important. I hear her running footsteps over the phone and her heavy breathing when she accidentally smacks into someone as they yell after her.
“Layla, talk to me,” I demand as I rush through the warehouse and outside to my car. I place my phone on the stand as her voice switches over to the speaker.
“Her school called. All they could tell me is that she was climbing and playing on some stairs and fell. She was rushed to the hospital, I was in class, I’m too far. Oh God, Alaric,” she rambles in complete and utter panic.
My heart stops before squeezing, and terror like I’ve never felt surges through me, but I breathe through it. I need to be there for her, for Zoey. They are both depending on me right now. Turning on the engine, I choose my words carefully. “I’m about ten minutes out, I’ll go there now. If she’s at the hospital, she’s in the best place. Breathe deeply and take a moment before you get in an uber and meet me there. Baby girl, she’ll be okay, she’s strong, remember that.”
“She’s so little,” she cries, “and still so weak.”
“Layla, listen to me,” I order, my voice sharp. “This doesn’t help her. She needs you now, okay? We can fall apart later together. I’ll hold you while you cry, but right now, I need you to get to the hospital. I could swing by and pick you up, but then she would be alone.”
“No, no, I’m okay. I’ll meet you there,” she replies hurriedly, but she seems calmer as I gun the engine, racing around the abandoned streets and back into the city toward the hospital. I stay on the phone the entire time with Layla, talking to her and trying to ease her panic, even as mine eats me alive.
Zoey.
Fuck, she better be okay.
She’s Layla’s entire world… mine too.
They both are.
I can’t lose either of them.
There is no future, no me, without them now. Without Zoey’s laugh, without her tiny hand in mine as she looks up at me so trustingly. Nights spent laughing and talking animatedly over dinner, or even just when we watch movies together with both of my girls tucked under blankets, eating popcorn. I never knew what love truly was until them, or what being alive actually meant.
It means being vulnerable. It means loving someone or more than one someone so deeply that you make yourself weak in the sense that anything could happen—they could leave, they could die—and you still fall, because the highs are worth the lows.
I fell in love with Layla Johnson Holmes a long time ago, and somewhere along the way, Zoey became like my own child.
If she’s not okay, not only will it break two hearts, but I know we wouldn’t survive it.
“Alaric?” Layla whispers, fear still lacing her usual soft, laughing voice.
“It’s going to be okay, baby girl, I’m almost there,” I promise, slamming my foot on the pedal and running a red light. I don’t give a fuck as I skid into a parking spot near the hospital. Leaping out, I take my keys and sprint toward the emergency room doors. “I’m here,” I tell her as I run over to the reception desk.
“My wife’s sister was rushed in from St. Augustine’s. We don’t know how badly she was hurt. Her name is Zoey Holmes. I legally adopted her when I married my wife,” I rush out, realizing that I’m babbling, which is so unlike me.
The receptionist just nods and tells me to wait one second.
“She came in twenty minutes ago. She’s been seen by a doctor and is currently in radiology, that’s all I can tell you.”
“Please,” I snap before closing my eyes and breathing. It’s not her fault, after all. Opening them again, I lean in closer, pleading with her. “Please, I just need to know if she’s okay, she’s our entire world. She’s the only family we have.”
The woman purses her lips but nods before typing quickly and looking around like she shouldn’t be telling me this. “Her notes say they suspected a fractured arm, but they want to check her head because of her history. I’m sorry, that’s all I can tell you. I’ll let Zoey’s doctor know you’re here, and they’ll call you back,” she tells me reassuringly.
“Thank you.” I sigh and step away, placing the phone to my lips. “You hear that, baby girl? It’s just a fractured arm, we can deal with that.”
“Her head,” she whispers worriedly, cars beeping in the background.
“She’s hardheaded and stubborn like you, baby. I promise she’ll be okay, look after yourself. I’ll be waiting for you when you get here, my love.” When she says goodbye, I hang up. As I pocket my phone, my hands shaking, I finally let myself truly feel the utter terror, hope, worry, and anger.
There are so many emotions, unlike before when I was used to living without any. Not only did my two girls lighten my world and breathe life back into it, but they also breathed it back into me, and I’m struggling to contain all these new thoughts and worries. The protectiveness surging in me for my family overwhelms me.
I pace the waiting room, back and forth, focusing on the rhythmic motions to try and keep the fear at bay. About fifteen minutes later, Layla flies in like a storm, her eyes wild and hair everywhere. I catch her and pull her into my arms as she cries.
“Where is she? Is she okay?” she demands.
“They haven’t—”
“Mr. and Mrs. Holmes?” comes a feminine voice. We break apart to see a middle-aged, friendly-looking female doctor waiting there. “I’m Zoey’s doctor today, Dr. Cameron. Please follow me.”
“Is she okay?” Layla questions, rushing after her and tugging me along with her.
“She’ll be fine, I promise. Let me tell you and Zoey what’s happening at the same time. Please, through here.” She gestures, and we follow her into the emergency department and to the cubicle where Zoey is sitting up in the bed.
