Sheltering His Desire Page 15

  “It’s not your dog.” Bryce’s voice was low and threatening, but a slur running through the words. “He’s mine. I get to do what I want with him. If he’s a bad dog, I get to beat him. I bought him. I’ll buy you, too, bitch.” As he got closer, a wash of alcohol on his breath hit Lys, making her eyes water.

  Tate approached him from behind, hooked his arms under Bryce’s and, pressed his interlocked fingers into the back of the kid’s neck. He dug his knee into the back of Bryce’s leg, and forced him to the ground. “Don’t touch her.”

  “Let go.” Bryce struggled against the grip, but Tate held fast.

  The door swung open for the second time in as many minutes, and two officers stepped in cautiously, hands on their holstered guns.

  “We got it from here,” one said. Alyssia knew the man—he almost always took her reports, and had stopped by the shelter several times in the last few weeks to make sure things were going all right despite the protesters out front.

  They extracted Tate and Bryce from each other, and cuffed the teenager. Relief shuddered through Alyssia, and she wrapped Tate in a hug, holding on until they both stopped shaking.

  ****

  Alyssia grabbed a handful of ice from the freezer and stuffed it inside a bag. She returned to the living room to find Tate leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Sara had canceled the 8 a.m. After spending the last several hours answering police questions, filing a report, and having a doctor tell Tate nothing was broken, but his face would look pretty nasty for a while, Alyssia knew they weren’t going to be getting up early.

  She knelt on the cushion next to Tate, and pressed the bag of ice to his eye. “My hero.” She was only half teasing. Investing money he already had in her business was one thing, but taking a fist for her… Something she never thought she’d have to see, but she couldn’t help being warmed by the gesture.

  “I wasn’t really thinking about being a hero.” He covered her hand with his, the heat of his palm searing, where the ice bag chilled. “I was more concerned about you.”

  “That’s what makes it heroic.”

  He pulled the ice pack away, and focused on her. “If you say so. Personally, I’ve got better things to think about.”

  She raised her brows. “Really? Like what?”

  “Like why I’m the only one with a cold face right now.”

  “Because you’re the guy with the black eye.”

  “So?” Tate plucked an ice cube from the pack. “I’d rather focus on you than that tiny purple bump on my face.” He traced the frozen liquid over her bottom lip and then her top. His voice dropped an octave, gaze locked on her face. “Like how kissable your lips are.”

  Her mouth parted at the shock of cold and she gasped at the tease of melting water against her skin. “How long your neck is.” He popped the cube onto his tongue, and lowered his head. Ice and his lips caressed a line down to her collarbone. She arched her back and whimpered. Her nails slid up his back, and she shifted her weight to get closer.

  He lowered one hand to the back of her knee. She moved her leg, until she was half wrapped around him, urging him on.

  “This bit is always fun, too.” His icy lips brushed her ear, and she gasped.

  “That does seem like a lot to think about.” Her comment was cut short when he nipped her earlobe with his teeth. Her fingers wrapped in his thick hair and she pulled him back to her, crushing her lips against his. An insistent need grew between her legs.

  She covered his other hand and pushed it further up her thigh, her knee hooking on his hip. His hand moved up the back of her thigh, sliding over the curve of her hip. He traced along the waistband of her jeans, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. His mouth moved back to her neck, words tickling her skin. “Good point. I guess we’ll just have to cover multiple spots.”

  She fumbled for a comeback, attempts failing when his teeth grazed the soft spot between her neck and shoulders, and he sucked on the sensitive flesh.

  His fingers brushed her crotch through denim and she whimpered. Her nails dug into his back, holding him close. He pressed two fingers against the seam of her pants, and pressed into her slit. She squeaked and shifted her weight until her clit rested under his touch. He massaged harder, and she ground against his hand.

  He pulled away abruptly, and tugged her to her feet. “We need a little more room than the couch.” He led her into the bedroom, spun her to a stop, and rested his hands on her cheeks. When he pressed his lips to hers, her chest threatened to burst. His tongue pushed into her mouth, massaging and twisting with hers. Wet need throbbed between her legs, wanting more attention, and her nipples pressed against the lace of her bra.

  She glided her fingers down his chest, undoing each button she encountered, then pushed his shirt off his shoulders. Hunger swelled inside, combined with the lingering adrenaline from earlier. Each touch sent fire over her skin, and his comforting scent filled her thoughts.

  He broke the kiss long enough to let her yank his undershirt over his head. He gripped her hair, and she gasped at the sharp jerk when he lowered his head to the hollow at the base of her throat. Her pulse threatened to run away when he cupped her breast, and squeezed a nipple through her bra.

  His strong touch coaxed every nerve ending to life. She dragged her thumb over his chest, and flicked a small brown nub, slowly at first, then faster in response to his moans. He stripped her shirt and bra off, and tossed them aside. He guided her to the bed. Her sex pulsed, wanting attention. He massaged her breast, then drew a pink button into his mouth. When he flicked his tongue back and forth at a rapid pace, she tilted her head back with a gasp. God, that felt amazing. It tugged a chord inside that ran from her nipple straight to her aching center.

  He continued the motion for several minutes, switching between breasts, until her thoughts swam with so many sensations she couldn’t process them.

  She wanted more. To feel his entire body pressed against her. She undid his belt and slacks, and slid her hand inside his boxers. His mouth vibrated against her rigid nipple when he groaned. She worked him as free as was possible, given they were both sitting, and stroked his shaft in time with his sucking. He thrust his hips against her.

  Without warning, he unsnapped her jeans, jerked the zipper down, and nudged her onto her back. He yanked her pants down her legs, then leaned over her, voice deep and gravelly. “I need to fuck you.”

  She nodded at the hunger in his voice, not sure she trusted herself to speak. He shed the rest of his clothing. She scooted back on the bed, already slick with anticipation. With a single thrust, he drove inside her. She arched at the sensation of being spread open, drawing him in farther. He leaned forward, hands on either side of her head, and worked his hips slowly, keeping the rhythm steady. She pushed against him, trying to increase the pace.

  He dipped his head in, mouth hovering over her ear. “If you do that, I can’t last long.”

  She smiled. “I don’t mind.”

  He sat straight up, pushing himself deeper with a sudden thrust. “I do.” He grabbed one of her knees, and drove it to her chest. With his free hand, he reached between them, and found her clit. He bumped his thumb over the button, pressing harder each time he thrust into her.

  She gasped, each breath growing shorter as the combination of him hitting her G-spot and fingering her pushed her to a fast climax. She wanted to draw the moment out, though. Sink into the pleasure. She pounded against him, and this time he let her set the pace. Orgasm flowed through her. Her pussy clenched around his cock, spasming, milking him. He pulled away from her swollen sex, and pushed her other knee forward. His grunts grew more labored and thrusting more frantic. She recognized the familiar sound of him coming, and seconds later, he spilled inside her.

  He continued to pound a moment longer, until the edge faded from her ecstasy. He finally slowed, then stopped and let go of her legs. Still inside her, he bent in and brushed his lips over hers. “I want this for the rest of our lives. This… everythin
g. This us.” His words were punctuated with him struggling to catch his breath.

  She nodded. “Me too.”

  He rolled off, and they shifted on the bed until she could rest her head on his chest. She could only focus on a single thought, as they intertwined their fingers and rested their hands on his chest. This was absolutely perfect.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Consciousness trickled into Tate’s thoughts, bringing the ache of a black eye with it. He groaned and tried to ignore the throb as he forced himself to sit. He was the only one in bed. Sun shone through the window, striking his face and making him wince.

  “Lys.” He called through the apartment.

  “Living room. You need to see this.”

  He couldn’t tell if she sounded stressed out, or excited, or something else. He stumbled to his feet, and pulled on his clothes as he walked. For a moment he considered leaving it all behind, but with his luck Jared would be out there, or something equally as awkward.

  Lys sat on the couch, wearing one of Tate’s button-down shirts, and possibly not much else from the look of her bare legs tucked beneath her. She nodded at the TV. “Sara texted me. Said we made the morning news.”

  It wasn’t Thompson’s affiliate, it was the competition. And as Tate watched the clip, he understood why. It was a shaky, low quality video of the brawl last night, complete with subtitles of every abusive, arrogant comment Bryce Jr. had made.

  Tate sank onto the couch, blinking back his surprise. “How’d they get this? It’s not security footage.”

  “Sara. She said she was sorry, but not really.”

  “Wow.” He listened to the newsman explain Bryce Thompson Jr. had been arrested. Bryce Thompson Sr. had issued a public apology for the unknowingly false reports they’d done on the shelter, and had refused any other comment.

  “Thompson is going to be pissed,” Tate muttered. “He won’t let this drop.” Not that it mattered.

  Lys leaned her head against his shoulder. “We’ll deal with it.” Her words echoed his thoughts. “If there’s backlash, we’ll handle it together.”

  ****

  Tate held out Lys’s chair for her, then slid it in as she sat, before taking his own seat across from her. It was taking a large part of his focus to keep his pulse from galloping away. He could be patient though. Only a few other diners were in the restaurant, and all sat several tables away. He’d made sure their reservations tonight would be perfect. Already discussed the meal with the chef, made sure they’d have the alcohol-free sparkling wine on hand for Lys.

  The whole evening had to be just right. Though, given the company, he would have been okay with a crowded cafeteria off the interstate. Her black dress hugged her figure perfectly, flaring out at the waist, ending just above her knees. She was only seven weeks along, so she wasn’t showing yet.

  He’d struggled with the news of the baby. It had come as a huge shock, and he had to admit, he’d been terrified during the entire conversation with Lys. But the longer he thought about it, the more it felt right. He might not have enjoyed his childhood, and he had issues with his parents, but he’d seen other examples of amazing families all around him. Their child was going to have the same thing—a good, caring home. And he knew he didn’t want it any other way.

  She draped her napkin over her knees, and sipped her drink, looking everywhere but him. That was odd. He beat back a creeping smidgen of doubt. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” She finally met his gaze.

  His mind produced about five billion scenarios simultaneously, and he banished them all. No reason to jump to conclusions when she was sitting right there, about to finish her thought. “Sure. What’s up?”

  She tapped her fingers on the stem of her glass. “Now that Bryce Jr.’s preliminary hearing is over, the shelter can settle up some of our outstanding paperwork.”

  It hadn’t been easy for her to testify when they determined whether or not the teenager should stand trial—reiterating what was wrong with Grim when he’d been brought in—but thanks to her, and Sara’s video, the prosecution had a solid enough case to proceed.

  She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “We need to place Grim. And I think I’ve found the perfect spot for him.”

  She would have found Grim a new home before now, but because of how public the case had become, the shelter held onto him until everything was legally finalized. Something sad tugged at Tate’s chest, masking the giddy nervousness that had been there seconds earlier. He’d spent a lot of time playing with that dog during recovery. “That’s fantastic.” His tone came out flatter than he intended.

  “The thing is, I’d like to see him with you. You’ve got the yard, he already loves you, and, well…”

  Tate couldn’t help his grin at the suggestion. He’d never even considered the idea. “I’d love to keep him. Are you sure? Am I allowed to do that?”

  “Of course you are.” She laughed. “There’s a probationary period, but since you’ve spent half your free time with him, I’m not worried.”

  He let his joy mingle with his growing anticipation. He hadn’t been sure when he wanted to do this. The meal was planned, the details were supposed to be spontaneous. Now seemed like as good a time for a segue as any. So why had his heart just paused? An unfamiliar nervousness fluttered through him “Speaking of having a lot of room…” He fumbled with a velvet box in his pocket, fingers suddenly feeling flimsy. “I want you to know, I’m so happy about the baby. And your pregnancy doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

  She furrowed her brow, and tilted her head. “I know.”

  He finally grasped the box, and knelt next to her. “We’ve only been dating for a few months, but you’ve been my world for a long time. My best friend, my confidant, my everything. Alyssia Tippins, will you marry me?” He opened the box, to expose a ring with a recessed band of diamonds.

  She gasped, and nodded. “Yes, and a million times over, yes.”

  He shouldn’t have been nervous, of course she’d agree, but the reassurance didn’t stop relief and joy from filling him. He slipped the ring onto her finger, stood, and brushed his lips over hers. She hooked her fingers at the back of his neck, and held him close for several more seconds, deepening the kiss.

  He couldn’t think of a better future. Things would only get better from here on out.

  THE END

  ~*~ Vivian and Damon are heating up the pages in Securing Her Surrender (Love Hack 3), available October 2015. Keep reading for a free sneak peek of Chapter One. ~*~

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  Securing Her Surrender

  Chapter One

  Vivian hooked the heels of her shoes on the rung of the tall stool, leaned against the high table, and let her gaze wander around the bar area of the restaurant. She’d thought about going home to change after work, before heading here, but if she walked into her condo, she wouldn’t want to leave again. Tonight, she was determined to enjoy a night out, to prove to herself she still knew how to have fun, even if her two closest friends were getting married and had their own lives now.

  Which, when she thought about it, was sad. Not that they were engaged—she wished Jared and Tate nothing but the best of luck and adored their fiancées. What struck her as a little pathetic was that the only people she called true friends were her two executive counterparts from work. People she didn’t even know until five or six years ago.

  She tucked the journey into poor-me-ville aside, and took another sip of her cranberry and vodka. Her career was as important to her as not surrendering her individuality to someone else. Of course her colleagues were her best friends. Which meant she missed their company, as much as she tried to deny it.

  If Jared were here… He’d probably have Mikki with him, who would be showing him how to play some game with saltshakers o
r something. Vivian couldn’t even begin to predict what that woman was thinking half the time. There was Tate, who wouldn’t be here without Jared—or rather, these days, without Alyssia, who was about eight months pregnant and looking every bit like a glowing mother to be. Vivian never thought she’d see the day when Tate fell into fatherhood, but she could tell he was going to be awesome at it.

  Maybe heading out tonight was a bad idea. She downed the rest of her drink in a single gulp, eyes watering as the liquor burned down her throat. She’d get something to go, find a movie to watch at home, and not let herself sink into self-pity.

  “Vivian?”

  The familiar voice dug something from deep inside her and twisted her insides in on themselves. Not because she’d know that voice anywhere, and not because hearing him still sent chills through her, after all these years—which it didn’t at all—but because he was supposed to be halfway across the country, in his hometown. If Damon was here, it could only mean trouble.

  She summoned a smile and turned toward him. “Councilor, we didn’t expect you in town for this.” Through the pleasant formality, her mind worked overtime to figure out how much disruption his presence was going to cause tomorrow, in the office.

  He raised an eyebrow. How was it fair he pulled off gorgeous after all this time? Mid-thirties, and he still looked like he did when they were in college together. Brown hair trimmed close. Captivating eyes. The biggest difference from back then was a button-down shirt hugged his broad shoulders now instead of a T-shirt, and slacks covered a sexy ass, as opposed to the jeans he’d preferred back then.

  “Councilor? Really?” Amusement lined his tone. “That’s the best I get?”

  She wasn’t going to fall into flirting with him, as much as part of her itched to. Even though she knew better, every time they’d run into each other in the last couple of years, there had been flirting. It wasn’t professional, and not starting was the best way to keep it from happening. “You’d prefer…?”