Objective (Bloodlines #2)(55)

“Unnnnnnnnnhhhh,” I groan, unable to stifle myself.

“Do you like that, Cane? Is my * wet enough, is it tight enough for you?” she murmurs low in my ear. I’ve never heard her speak like this. I never expected it, but it turns me on so much that I don’t bother to take my time. I’m going to take what I want, and I want her. I pump furiously into her. Her eyes glaze over and I know I’ve got the right spot.

“Harder,” she demands in pleasure. The room is silent but for the sound of my balls slapping against her and heavy breathing. I’m close. God, I’m close. She shoves my chest hard, breaking my concentration. I look into her eyes – they're playful.

“My turn,” she pants. Pushing me so I roll onto my back, she straddles me taking my cock into her hands and then plunging herself down on it. My body jerks at the sensation involuntarily. Her hands come to her breasts, massaging them, as she arches back, lifting herself up and down. I reach up and around her and pull the elastic from her hair, letting her black locks spill down her back. At this angle her hair barely brushes my thighs when she slams down on me. “Fuck,” I groan through gritted teeth. She is so beautiful, everything in motion, olive skin glistening with sweat. She lurches forward, at hand at either side of my head and stays closer, grinding her hips in circles and back and forth. I can’t tear my eyes from hers as her hair tumbles around our heads. She leans down and bites my lower lip as she pushes harder and faster. My fingers curl into the flesh at her hips and move her even harder against me. She feels so good. This is angry, harsh, passionate sex, a far cry from the lovemaking of our past.

“Come,” I grind out and bite her neck. She speeds up for a moment before her entire body convulses and she falls slack against my chest, panting. It only takes me one more thrust before I find my own explosive release. She’s still shaking slightly and I can’t seem to catch my breath. “That was...”

“Something...” she finishes, her fingers lightly trailing over my biceps. I stroke her back gently as we lay there in silence.

“Did you know Misty went to your funeral?” she asks. “I hate Misty. I hate that she showed up and tried to claim to be the most affected by your death,” she grunts. Okay. Random. I sigh and roll her off me so I can see her face. Her eyes are soft and warm again. I can’t help but wonder where she hides her rage.

“I didn’t know that, actually.”

“You weren’t watching from a secret room or something?” She laughs but it’s a hard laugh, not easy and light like I’m used to from her.

“I wasn’t even awake at that point.” I sigh. “Misty, huh?” I muse.

“I wasn’t there. Aster told me,” she says weakly. I’m not surprised. What murderess attends the funeral of the person she killed? “Tell me what happened,” she whispers as I brush a stray hair from her face.

“I died,” I tell her. I don’t want to think about that night, or about waking up over a week later in some back room at a veterinarian's office. I don’t want to relive any of that shit right now.

“Please. I need to understand.” Her voice wobbles a fraction and I realize I’m going to give in anyways, so what the hell?

“Ezra moved me. Or rather, some of the guys moved me while he tried to find you. I woke up eight days after you...after I was shot.” She cringes at my words and I want to stop telling her this, but the hopeless look on her face makes me continue. “I woke up in a veterinarian’s office, in some back room. I had no idea what happened. Ezra, he told me...” She nods for me to carry on. “He told me he stopped by the apartment and overheard you on the phone saying you were leaving as soon as you had the money. He said you shot me, took the bag and ran.” She lets out a puff of air and blinks rapidly. Her swollen lips move just barely, almost as if she’s counting or reciting something. I pull her closer to me. “I didn’t really remember what happened. He wanted to send someone to hunt you down and kill you but something just, I don't know, Mags, something felt off. I hated you. Really. I believed him for so long, but I still volunteered to be the one to take care of you. He said that I couldn’t come home because everyone thought I was dead and it served us all if it stayed that way. If I was dead the whole thing was just pinned on the shooter. I could be used elsewhere where no one knew me. The longer it took to find you the more time I had to think. I still can’t figure out why Ezra was even at the apartment that night. Your phone records showed your last call was to me and mine was to you. And I wasn’t allowed to go home. I became the new liaison for Lynchburg, Virginia for Ezra. He kept me out of the loop. I had no idea what was happening at home in Baltimore. I had doubts but his story seemed to make sense, for a while anyways. I still can’t sort out why you did it, Mags...” I look at her, my head shaking back and forth, willing her to give me the answer, but she stays silent. Her eyes fill with tears that she won't let fall.

I don’t know if I want to shake the answers from her or hold her close until she's ready to tell me herself. Her being here in bed with me, it messes with me so friggin’ badly. I’m the hard ass. The *. I’m the one who does horrible things to other people. I don’t find joy in it. I don't like it, but it’s my job, and I do what I’m supposed to. But with Mags, shit, with Mags it was always different. I was always different. She made me a better person, inside and out. The last year I’ve felt nothing but lost and like I’m just numbly floating through my own life. Then the moment I found her something came back. A spark. Feeling. She’s a need, like an addiction. I need her to survive and to get out and to be a worthwhile human being.