Betrayals (Black Cipher Files series Book 2) (38 page)

I shimmied out of the white cotton panties and walked purposefully toward the shower, anxious to trace the path of the water down his body with my mouth.

At the clear shower door, I hesitated, prepping myself for rejection, hoping the reality of my beaten and scarred body wouldn’t send him screaming into the night.

I didn’t think he’d scare so easily. If the past two days had revealed one thing about Jordan, it was his innate capacity to persevere whatever the circumstances.

He popped open the glass shower door, his expression vulnerable. “You coming in?”

I stepped over the threshold and into his arms.

Home. I’d come home.

The surprisingly warm water cascaded over our intertwined bodies. His sculpted biceps cradled my smaller, thinner frame with care. The hard muscles and wiry hair of his thighs rubbed at my softer skin creating a delicious friction. His burgeoning erection pressed insistently at the juncture to my feminine core. He hugged me tightly, the flex of his muscles against my heavy breasts increased my rising tension.

I knew I should move, get to it. Sex was why I’d come in here, bared my scarred abused body to his. It was the only thing I could think to give him.

And if I was honest, I wanted this one last moment for myself.

Instead of taking us to the next level, he shifted me in his arms, holding me under the spray and apart from his body. “Close your eyes and tilt your head back.”

I complied and he cleansed my face of the greasepaint, his fingers following the same path he’d used to smear it on, gently, gently, washing away the evidence of our crawl here, his thumbs tender as he wiped at my mouth. My lips tingled with each subtle stroke.

I started to open my eyes.

“Keep them closed.” Starting at the fingertips of my right hand, he kissed each one as if giving thanks. With his tongue, he gently licked the wicked bruises along my wrist. He traced his fingers up the length of my arm, stopping at each mark, each burn, and pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss on each badge of torture.

His hands and mouth catalogued then swept away each hideous moment of that two weeks, washing me clean, absolving me with his ministrations.

I wanted to thank him. Wanted to show him my gratitude. But I was afraid to open my eyes as the pressure built behind my lids, and threatened to come pouring out if I didn’t hold myself together.

His fingers slid into my hair. With a firm circular motion, he massaged an evergreen-scented shampoo into my scalp and through the rough strands of my hair, washing out the temporary gray.

The touch of his hands was surprisingly erotic. He’d eased closer to rinse out the shampoo, and I took advantage of his nearness.

I slid my hands down the flat plane of his stomach, noting the weight he’d lost. My knuckles rubbed against the ridges of his muscles until I smoothed my palm down to his rock-hard erection.

There was a time for finesse, for long sensuous hours of exploring and tantalizing, and now wasn’t it.

Now was the time for hard, pounding, life-affirming sex.

I wanted to get lost in the pleasure of him, of us, and forget everything else. Burn away my memories, burn away my tears.

His body still slick with soap, I took the length of him in my palm and rubbed along his pulsing, engorged erection, using my thumb to firmly swipe back and forth over the sensitive tip.

Jordan threaded his fingers through my hair, pulled my head back, and plundered my mouth.

He leaned back against the tile wall and pulled me flush against his hard body, his chest flattening my breasts as he slid his hot, callused hand down my back and over the curve of my butt. His fingers closed over the globes of my ass as he lifted me up.

He stopped, with my fist on his cock, priming him, his fingers digging into my ass as he braced to take my weight. “Open your eyes.”

I waited for a second, the pulse of desire, thick and insistent in my body. The raging heat emanating from him, the water pounding against my back, the liquid pouring over my shoulders and caressing my breasts. “Can’t I do that later?” I asked with impatience.

“Now.”

I opened my eyes and stared into his intense hazel gaze. As soon as we connected, my body re-sensitized all over again. Every place we touched, my skin was on fire, every spot where our flesh and muscles parted was bereft.

“Let go.” Somehow I knew he was talking about more than just letting go of his cock. Our gazes still knit together, I freed him.

He lifted me, my pubic bone pressing against his erection, my thighs scraping the soft skin of his underbelly until he held me poised above him.

Instead of the down, dirty, and fast I expected, Jordan carefully, gently, almost reverently joined his body with mine. My slick channel welcomed him with a rain of desire.

We moved together, slipping and sliding into a drowsy, sensuous rhythm, each glide stroking, arousing.

His sex swelled, the rigid length rocking inside me, hitting that hidden treasure spot. Pleasure swirled higher and higher with each stroke.

Jordan stiffened as he arched his body into mine and pulled my sex tight against his. The hot jet of his orgasm, and the hard pulse of his penis shattered me. Together, falling, falling into a euphoric rush. I trembled and shook with aftershocks, as his arms supported me, held me.

I brushed a soft kiss against the muscles of his shoulder.

That tenderness was just what I expected of him, the unexpected.

“Do you ever do what you’re supposed to?”

He reached behind me and turned off the water. “Only when I want to.”

My laugh was quiet. “Yeah.” I rested my head in the curve of his neck. “What do you want to do now?”

“Go to bed.”

I notice he didn’t say sleep.

As he straightened, pushing off against the tile, his cock pulsed inside me, sending a trill of sensation through me.

He nuzzled my neck, then blew into my exposed ear, as he opened the shower door. I tightened my thighs around his waist and locked my ankles over the taut curve of his butt. “You don’t have to carry me.”

His mouth curved into a wicked grin. “I don’t mind.” He grabbed a towel, drying us both randomly, and then headed into the bedroom.

Jordan held me tight against him, his hands sliding down to support my butt. At least that was what I thought until I felt the firm pressure of his fingers sliding along the crease of my buttocks, stroking my still-flush folds, and curling toward my clitoris.

I whimpered as he expertly plied his fingers in rhythm to the stride of his legs. By the time we made it to the bed, my whole body quivered on the brink of release.

He had swelled inside me, primed again.

Gently, gently he lay me down on the bed.

Oh no. We were not going this way again.

I wanted his last memory of this, of us to be wild, erotic, and unforgettable.

I arched up, using my ankles, restricting his ability to move away.

Jordan’s control broke.

Our bodies collided. He slammed into me, hips pistoning, muscles straining and here was the roughness, the intensity I’d expected.

I gripped his biceps, his skin slick with sweat as we hammered together. My nerve endings were raw, sensitized, nearly bursting from more erotic stimulation. I bowed back, and his mouth latched onto my breast.

My orgasm exploded outward like a bomb detonating, I felt as if I’d lost all substance, all form, and shattered into a thousand tiny pieces from which there would be no recovery.

Jordan arched, groaned and poured himself into me.

And I knew I was never going to be the same. He’d given me everything.

I sighed, shivering in the chill air.

Jordan pulled the duvet over our still joined bodies. The solid hardness of his body lay between my thighs, a welcome comfort.

We lay there, savoring. Neither of us spoke, not wanting to destroy the fragile calm of this moment.

But it couldn’t last. He propped on his elbows to stare down at me.

Emotion began to cloud his eyes.

Jordan twirled a damp curl around his finger. “Carson has an agenda. We need to know that we can trust him to watch our backs.”

“Carson will do what’s right.” I only hoped Jordan could forgive him, forgive me.

“How do you know?” Jordan asked.

I’d rarely talked about my family. I knew why I’d avoided the subject. Nothing like a buzz kill to explain why you had intimacy issues. Of course, for most guys, women having intimacy issues was probably a pleasant change.

I’d gone through enough psych evals to know that I tended to keep people at an emotional distance. Friendly, yet remote. No best friends.

Until Jordan.

I had to explain, had to prepare him, even if he wouldn’t understand until later. “After my grandparents' deaths, I was,” I paused, “Devastated.”

“You were close to them.”

“Not exactly.”

“How not exactly?”

I didn’t say anything.

“There are a thousand other things we should be talking about, working ‘what if’ scenarios--”

“This is important.” Jordan traced his finger lightly over the scar on the under curve of my breast. “I know all about these. What I need to understand are the ones here.”

He lay his palm over my heart.

And I was lost.

Was it any wonder I was willing to give up everything for him...for our baby?

“It’s funny because they raised me, groomed me, and guided me.” And yeah, I know they loved me but it had been a very distant love. Their love for each other was so encompassing...they’d had an epic story.

They were a Christian and a Jew married in a time when they still had segregated beaches, one for Christians, one for Jews. Now that I knew they’d come from Germany where religious tension was far worse, it only underscored the difficult reality of their relationship. They’d been completely solid.

“They were a unit, and I changed their lifestyle.”

“What does that have to do with Carson?”

“He saved me.” And he’d set the foundation for who I was today. The feeling in my gut was unshakeable. “Trust me.”

He rolled onto his back, curving his arm to prop up his head. “I do trust you.”

And I knew he was giving me a gift. “You promise? No matter what?” Reflexively, I brushed my fingers against my throat. But of course, the amulet was gone.

“Wait here.” He vaulted out of bed, and I was thankful for the reprieve. I watched the play of muscle in his butt as he retrieved something from his pants pocket.

Jordan walked back toward me, his sex swaying with each step. But that isn’t what held my attention, it was the look shining from his eyes.

He leaned over to tie the leather around my neck. The familiar weight of my mother’s amber settled on my throat. I curled my fingers around the carved scarab, my heart thudding in my chest.

“I...stole this from your dresser after you left. Carried it with me, everywhere.” Jordan admitted as he slid back in beside me. “I kept thinking that if I kept it safe, I could keep you safe.”

Moisture pooled in my eyes, and love gripped my throat.

“Hey, it worked.” I blinked.

Jordan rolled on top of me, caging my body with his, covering me, his expression fierce. “Know this. I will not let him hurt you.”

“Ditto.”

And I prayed he’d understand.

FORTY-FOUR

October 20th

2:18 AM

Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C.

The Lincoln Memorial was deserted.

They were in place at the base of Lincoln’s statue, waiting for the senator to arrive.

They'd let the senator think he was meeting only with Carson. Jordan flicked a glance at his watch, and wondered if the old goat would be on time. Would he be curious enough to arrive as soon as possible, or would he execute a power play and make the peon wait?

Carson had enticed the senator with information about Staci, indicating he didn’t want to share with the authorities until after talking to the senator. He intimated the intel was something the senator needed to hear first before the knowledge went on the record.

Carson specifically told the senator to come alone, but Jordan was sure the senator would have at least one bodyguard with him. Cynically, Jordan wondered what the esteemed senator’s wife thought about him taking a meeting at two o’clock in the morning.

She probably thought he was diddling an aide.

Jordan knew the old goat didn’t have any other illegitimate kids because right after Jordan's birth, the senator had a vasectomy.

The dick.

All his life, Jordan tried to forget about his father, and most of the time he succeeded. He had little contact with the man over the years. Contact was always initiated by the senator, except for the first disastrous time Jordan had wanted to meet his father and tracked him down in his congressional office after hours.

Since then Jordan avoided him at all costs.

His distaste for everything the man stood for was absolute. If he could eradicate his father’s DNA from his body he would be happy.

Fortunately he had his mother and aunt to counteract the poison of his father’s legacy.

“You can be anything you want,” his mother used to say fiercely. So fiercely, he’d always believed it.

Jordan was unbelievably proud of her. She’d had a hard life, come from Mexico to work in the United States, and when she'd gotten pregnant, she'd been disowned by her family, frowned upon by the church, and still managed to succeed.

If anyone had asked Jordan a week ago if he’d ever want to confront his father about anything, he’d have said absolutely not.

But as he stood in the shadow of Abraham Lincoln’s marble throne, a surety of purpose blanketed him. Justice would finally be served.

And he would be the one to deliver it.

They heard the clicking of his father’s heels. Staci tightened subtly. Carson relaxed. And Jordan knew what he had to do.

“Change of plan,” he said softly. “I’ll do the talking.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Carson whispered.

Jordan held up his palm before Staci could speak. “I have to do this.”

She threaded her fingers through his and brushed his knuckles with her lips before letting go and fading into the shadows.