Queen of Hearts (11 page)

Him and his damn shoes.

“Let me.”

He didn’t give me the opportunity to protest before he had my legs in his lap and his hands on my feet.

“You always wear heels,” he said. He ran his hand over the top of my foot, up and over my ankle, staring at my shoes.

“I haven’t been wearing them. Not until I got back to Vegas.”

“Hmm,” he hummed. “I prefer red, but these are nice.”

A small smile creased the side of his lips as he slipped the first shoe off. Gently, he laid it next to him and then went to the other foot. His motions were smooth and calculating, and I had to catch myself from laughing at his fetish. At least it was nice to know something about him was genuine, even if it was his kink.

“You can let go now.” I tried to tug my foot out of his grasp, but he squeezed down hard enough to make me flinch.

“Don’t move.”

I groaned when he applied pressure to the ball of my foot, and just gave up. If he wanted to rub my feet, I was going to let him. He wasn’t going any further than that, but he could think whatever he wanted. He liked my feet, and I liked his hands. It was a win-win situation. At least I had him right where I wanted him. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon as long as he had my feet, so I was going to use that to my advantage.

“Is your dad in hiding? Protection? What?”

"Don't worry about Doyle. He won't hurt you. You don't have to worry about him. Vince and I have things under control."

I couldn't help myself. The wine gave me confidence, and I was sick and fucking tired of that song and dance already. I sat up on one knee, pulling my feet away from him and pressed myself forward, my finger in his face.

"Stop bullshitting around. You are both giving me the same crap as before! Stop avoiding my questions! Stop trying to protect me!"

I felt the droplets of liquid against my skin as his glass hit the floor and I was pulled into his lap. My hands shook, but I couldn't push myself away.

"My dress!"

My mind was going ninety-to-nothing. To say I was muddled and confused was an understatement. The room spun, my stomach dropped, but my heart... it felt like it was home. In his arms, good or bad, I felt everything.

He grabbed the side of my dress and started to push it up my hips so I could sit flush against him, but the damn thing wouldn't budge. I wiggled a little and he groaned, yanking at the hem and ripping the seam up my side.

"What the hell?" I gasped.

He grabbed my face with both hands, pulled me forward, and then his lips were on mine, hard and determined. My body melted into his, falling forward and embracing him like I'd wanted to do all night. I was a little drunk, but alert enough to know what I was doing and that it was a huge mistake. I was too far gone, though.

From that point, we were a fumbling mess, hands everywhere, lips and tongues kissing, sucking, and licking. I wanted his hands everywhere, on every inch of me. There would be plenty of time in the morning to deal with regret and humiliation. I was horny, wet and hot for him in every way. A switch had flipped inside me, and I wanted him. No matter what.

“I can’t believe you ripped this dress,” I groaned as his mouth found my throat. “I just bought this.”

“I’ll buy you ten more,” he said as he continued to suck my skin between his lips. “I don’t like it anyway.”

I let out a laugh. “Really? I think the look on your face when you saw me said otherwise.”

My mouth was out of control. I couldn’t believe I was flirting with him. It was ridiculous, and more importantly, dangerous. Flirting, touching, kissing... I was walking a fine line of utter stupidity.

“I was looking at you.” He pulled back, his lips swollen and pink, his eyes glossy. “I always look at you, Janie. I don’t give a shit what you wear.”

“Don’t be sweet. Don’t try charming me right now. Just—go with this, or I need to leave.”

The muscles in his jaw ticked as he looked at me, and suddenly, I was being lifted and carried into the other room.

Once we were in the back of the suite, he laid me on the bed and covered my body with his. His kisses were deeper, harder. His hands were less careful, and his hips ground against mine painfully. He was angry, but I wasn’t going to be wooed by him. Never again. He said he was selfish before, and I was being selfish with him then. I wanted him, needed to be with him even, but I wasn’t giving up what I’d so carefully hidden away. I wouldn’t allow him to take my feelings and destroy them again. He could fuck me, but that’s where I drew the line.

I heard before I felt the dress I wore being ripped from my body. There wasn’t much to it in the first place, but it still pissed me off. He’d essentially trapped me in his suite with no way of escape, unless I wanted to leave in the flesh. Once again, he was a step ahead. Between the wine and his hands, I was screwed.

I pushed my hands up the back of his T-shirt, feeling the strength in his back and the smooth hardness of his muscles. I remembered his tattoo, and how much it intrigued me. I also noticed he’d gotten more work done. There were some designs sneaking out from underneath the sleeve of his shirt.

“Take it off,” he said.

I complied, pushing it over his back and then his shoulders. He bowed his head so I could pull it over his head. Once it was gone and his arms were free, his hand went straight between my legs, pushing my panties to the side.

His fingers were quick, the low moan that escaped his lips desperate. I could barely catch my breath feeling him there. I was so worked up, so sensitive. Nothing felt the way he did. No one could make me feel the things he did.

“Did that little boy touch you like this?” He hissed the words in my ear. Hateful and ugly. Oh yeah, he was definitely pissed.

“Shut up,” I spat.

He curled his finger, hitting me deeper, and rubbed my clit with his thumb. I was floating, right on the brink of falling apart. He just wouldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Was he
sweet
, Jayne? Did he love you? Love you like this?”

His lips trailed along my neck and down my chest. He pulled one nipple into his mouth and tugged at the other with his free hand. Again, I was surrounded—he was everywhere. There was no room to think. It was one of the reasons things with him were always so intense. He consumed me completely.

“Don’t talk,
please
.”

He was stirring things up inside of me. Sloshing my feelings around, jarring my fucking heart. It was obvious to both of us that there was still something there, something raw and overwhelming. I wasn’t ready to talk about Jackson. It wasn’t right, and it made me feel like a monster. I was still confused, hovering around bad decisions and where my mind wanted to go. My heart was where it belonged—it knew it and so did he. But my mind? It was sensible. It wanted me to stop.

He stopped touching me between my legs and reached up to grab my hair in his fist, forcing me to look at him. “Answer me. Tell me why you left me. Why would you give him what you deny me? Why did he make you happy, and you won’t allow me the chance?”

I raised my knee to get him off me. Things were spiraling downward fast. The quick, dirty roll in the hay that I was looking forward to was not looking good. The talk I wanted was long forgotten, and in its place, we were onto topics I would rather have left untouched.

I was fucked.

Figuratively.

“Are you going to fuck me, or give me a guilt trip?”

He pressed me back against the mattress with his body and leaned down so his nose was against mine. He smiled, dark and menacing as he spoke.

“Oh, I’m going to fuck you. And then I’m going to make love to you. Over and over again until you pull that stick out of your ass.”

“Don’t pull that love bullshit. If you loved me, you’d tell me where your father is. You’d tell me what the hell is going on and what you and Vince are up to. You wouldn’t treat me like I didn’t matter!”

He pulled my bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, hard, as he grinded his hips between my legs.

“I’ll tell you what you need to know. Now, take off my pants.”

“You fucking do it!”

My lip was sore, so I pulled it into my mouth and sucked down as I glared at him. It was hot, I had to admit. The whole angry sex with him thing was hot. If I thought the tender Flynn had been amazing, the angry, bitter Flynn was ten times more delicious.

He slid to the side of me and lay on his back so he could slip his jeans off. He was mumbling under his breath and glaring at me as he did so, and the look on his face was nothing short of spectacular.

I knew it was going to be ballistic. My insides clenched at the thought of him taking me with everything he had. I wanted it. I wanted tooth and nail, power and pain. Immediately, he was over me once his clothes were gone, and without another word, he plunged inside of me.

Every cell of my body knew this was right, that being with him was nothing short of heaven. Why did things have to be that way? Why couldn’t he have been the knight in shining armor, or at the very least, not a goddamn liar? I clung to his back and wrapped my legs around his thighs as he thrust his hips, let a silent prayer roll around in my head, begging for him to be what I needed.

I was that far gone, apparently.

He was relentless and fierce, each pump of his hips leading to his pelvis brushing against my clit. He braced himself above me, peering down at me like I was his prey. There was an ominous look in his eye that held so many secrets and so much pain. Pain I’d caused, and pain he’d caused himself.

“You don’t want to talk about your boyfriend,” he sneered. “Come on, Jayne. He fuck you like this?”

“Don’t talk about it,” I cried out as the onslaught of my climax waned. I was on the edge, and each stupid remark caused it to fade. I just wanted to take what he was giving. I didn’t want to expose myself to his questions—not when I was so vulnerable with him inside me.

“Make sure you pull out,” I said suddenly. My eyes caught his, and the grin on his face made me buck against him to get loose. “Flynn! You didn’t wear a condom!”

I never—ever—went without a condom. It just reinforced that being with him was a bad idea. I lost my damn mind every time I was near him.

“I mean it. Pull. Out.”

He reached underneath us, lifting me closer, and sat back on his heels so that I was on his lap. Holding me against his chest, he let his tongue run over the shell of my ear and then whispered.

“Don’t worry, Jayne. When I get you pregnant, you’ll be wearing my fucking ring.”

Like a hot trigger, I fell apart. As my body shook, he held me. I don’t know what it was about his words that set me off. It was the vehemence in his voice, the confidence in what he believed. I didn’t want to get pregnant—not then, maybe ever—but I’d thought about family a lot while I was away, and hearing him voice his wishes elicited a desire in me.

Like I said—I lost my damn mind around him.

His hips slowed as he allowed me to come down, and with each upward thrust, he kissed me a little softer and a little sweeter. It felt so damn good the way his tongue teased my lips. His hands soothed my back as I grinded against him in time with his motions. It was never ending, and I wanted it to last forever. I had no idea what was going to happen once I left that room, and I
was
leaving that room once we were done. I couldn’t pretend we were all good. We hadn’t accomplished anything other than shedding our clothes.

When my breathing was more even, he flipped us so that I was back against the mattress with him on top of me. I think we both understood that there was nothing more to say. There were no words to describe what was going on between us. In that regard, nothing had changed. Our whole dynamic was the same—if anything, it was better. More intense. I didn’t know what it meant.

I could feel him getting closer. Sweat dripped from his forehead, down his nose, and fell onto my chest. He looked stronger, bigger. I watched the muscles in his arms work as he held himself up, the thick coils stretching underneath his skin and tensing with every move he made. He was an asshole, but God, was he beautiful.

My hands moved over his shoulders so I could feel them. I rubbed the muscles of his chest and felt the raised tissue just below his collarbone.

The gunshot.

Tears sprung to my eyes, and there was no making them go away. I couldn’t hide them from him as I ran my fingers over the marred skin. I was back in that moment with all the confusion and fear and defeat. I was watching him lay there, dying, and I was listening to Vince whisper last words. My heart was breaking all over again, and it brought everything back to light.

The reason I left. The reason I never wanted to come back.

I felt him tense, and then he was there, coming inside me despite my protests, holding me down with his body and his eyes, and there was nothing I could do but feel.

His breath was warm and heavy in my ear as he collapsed on top of me, the weight of his body trapping me. I let my legs fall to the side but kept my hold on him with my arms around his back. I wasn’t ready to let go of him or what we had when we were like that. I was angry with myself for falling into bed with him so easily, and angry that he still didn’t respect me enough to fill me in on what ultimately affected my entire life.

We were at a stalemate. Nothing had changed.

He wanted a whore, and I was dumb enough to open my legs.

Flynn rolled away, and I felt the wetness run down my leg as he slid out of me. My body shook with silent tears as I turned onto my side and pressed my head into the pillow. I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of seeing anything else from me.

He slid in behind me, pulling me back against him with one arm around my middle, and pulled the blanket over both of us. I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t sleep in his arms and act like what had just happened was nothing more than make-up sex. It was a mistake. Plain and simple.

“I need to go home, Flynn. I need to call Vince to bring me something to wear so I can go.”

His arm squeezed me, and his other hand reached up to grab a handful of my hair. His lips pressed against my ear. “You’re a cold-hearted bitch. You’re not going anywhere until we talk.”