Chapter 30
30
C ALLAN
The first morning of the new year comes with a smidgen of light to the horizon.
It’s a cold, foggy day.
One of the many this winter.
Manhattan gets a lot of sunshine throughout the year, but once in a while, a season like this comes along with storm after storm after storm.
The temperature is pleasant inside, and the room smells like the woman softly snoring at my side and sweet like the Champagne at the bottom of our glasses on the window sill.
Her hair tickles my arm, her lips are parted, and her eyes move quickly beneath her soft eyelids.
She sleeps soundly since nothing bothers her, and I hope to see her sleep like that many times from now on.
Although, it’s anyone’s guess how this will come to happen.
Smoothly, I roll to the side and check the time on my watch.It’s five AM.I should get ready.
I pick up my watch from the nightstand and fasten it around my wrist, but I still can’t make myself climb out of bed.
My dick grows as I look at the half-naked woman at my side––the sheets up to her butt barely covering her.
Beautiful woman.
Raw.
Untouched by the craziness of this world.
And so alone, which makes this so unusually weird.
Life knows how to deliver blows to people.
I would’ve never expected someone like her not to have a solid man in her life by now.
It was my luck.
That’s why I said what I said.Life gets weird sometimes.
The more I think about Mackenzie, the more I want to have her all for me.
Every breath flowing through her arched lips.
Every smile beaming on her face.
Every crying moan.
And every quiver in her body.
All that be mine.
The question is… How can I possibly have someone like her in my life without fatally injuring her?
My hand goes over my stiff cock, adjusting some of the tension. Unfortunately, it only makes me harder.
I check the time again.
Truly, I need to get up, shower, put some clothes on, and make a few phone calls.
There’s no time for another round of sex. Besides, I don’t want to wake her.
If I do, we’ll need to talk.
If we talk, she’ll get sad.
Trust me.
I know how that works and don’t want that to happen.
I want her most recent memory of me to be me on top of her.
Or me pushing against her mouth.
Or me pounding into her.
That’s all I want. But the more I think about it, the harder I get. So, instead of moving away, splashing some cold water on my shaft, and leaving, I think about sliding into her without waking her.
Slowly, I push the sheets down.
She doesn’t move.
I roll closer and press my body into her back.
She moans quietly, still asleep.
My hard meat begs for some relief.
This could be so much better with her awake, although that might happen when I enter her.
My fingers slide around her waist and up her stomach.
“Mmm…” she moans when I cup a boob and roll her nipple between my fingers.
She pushes her butt into my crotch, and I lower my erection and press against her opening.
She’s mine and only mine as she starts to grind her butt against me.
“Good girl…” I say, pressing myself against her.
I bite my lip hard, barely stopping myself from grunting.
She is warm and wet. I twitch and throb.
I have no idea how I’ll do this without jolting her out of her sleep.
“Don’t stop…” she says while I pace myself.
She must be dreaming. What else?
I nudge her to pull her right thigh a little higher, and she happily complies before I rest my hand on her hip and enter that tight, soft, wet center of hers.
She feels so damn good, still asleep or half asleep, her body welcoming me, her nipples so hard they could cut glass, her core quickly pulsing.
Time is not on my side, so I let my hunger go free and devour every moment I have with her. Every thrust and every drip of wetness making me slide in with ease.
Normally, I’d grip her neck and fuck her hard, but I don’t want to cross that line with her.
Although being restricted from doing things has never been my thing, in this case, it only makes me want her more.
She moans quietly, her eyes closed. I bet she’s sore from me.
Fleetingly, I ponder whether to pull out and blast my load on the sheet next to her. She feels so good I can’t tear away from her.
Between trying not to wake her and thrusting into her, I feel the oppression of tension before letting it all go, experiencing the best kind of relief.
My chest heaves as I fall to my back, sweat coating the back of my neck.
Surprisingly, she rolls to me, mumbling words I can’t understand.
I’m seriously late, and as much as I’d love to spend the day filling her up over and over again, I need to leave, or I’ll never step away from her again.
A smile clings to her lips, and I kiss her cheek before moving away.
Her hand comes to my forearm, stopping me.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, and I’m convinced she’s dreaming.
Still, my chest hurts.
“Sleep tight,” I say before pressing my lips to her hair and finally getting away from her.
I walk away, not looking back, a lump of tension stuck in my throat.
Holding a sheet in front of me, I enter the bathroom, where I remove my watch and stride into the shower.
Cold water runs down my chest while I try not to think about anything, absolutely convinced that if I start mulling over this story, I might just kidnap her, take her to some remote location, and have my bodyguards stay with her until I’m done with the shit brewing in my life.
But… No matter how strong my feelings are and how hot-headed I can be at times, this is not the moment to lose it.
That’s not how life works.
I know that better than anyone else.
But I have to talk myself into believing that nothing bad will happen to her while I’m cleaning up this mess.
Moments later, I’m done shaving.
I splash some aftershave on before securing my watch around my wrist again. Wearing only a towel around my waist, I walk into the closet.
My phone dings with an alert the moment I’m done putting on my clothes.
I reach inside my jacket, retrieve my phone, and check the missed calls and unread messages.
Most are irrelevant. The last one, though… Not so much.
Beverly: I’ve got news.
I call her, and she answers right away.
Already late, I pick up my coat and push away from the walk-in closet, the bedroom, the woman in my bed, and possibly a better ending to our story.
“I’m listening,” I say, entering the private elevator.
“The police will pick up the crazy crew.”
I freeze, holding the door open.
The crazy crew, meaning Carmen, Thomas, and Alvarez.
“Good,” I say curtly, thinking of how to protect Mackenzie.
“When?”
“Before noon.”
“Okay.”
I still have my foot between the elevator door and the doorframe.
Still thinking.
She breaks the silence first.
“If you ask me––and this is my professional advice––you should stay away from that building and keep her out of the loop.”
“I know that,” I say, unable to hide my irritation with how quickly things unfold.
On the one hand, this is good news.
On the other hand, considering what happened last night, things are not that good.
I finally let the door close, trying to ignore the sharp pain in my chest.
The elevator moves, and I can’t not think that I might not see Mackenzie again, and for a host of reasons.
“She’s not exactly out of the loop,” I say. “They almost got her last night. And I still don’t know who’s behind all this.”
A pause ensues.
“Speaking about that…” she says. “I’m waiting on some important information that might solve this riddle. My source has to confirm it first. It’s about the piece you lost.”
The necklace.
“Tell me more,” I say, walking out of the elevator and across the foyer.
The doorman opens the door for me, and arctic air dripping with icicles sweeps my face.
A car is waiting for me, the driver holding the door.
Manhattan looks abandoned after last night’s celebration. The streets are deserted, and the city is quiet.
A few lights shine along the road.
“Good morning, sir,” the driver says before signaling to the car behind us.
Soon, the man sits behind the wheel while I claim my seat in the back.
My ride glides away as we’re heading to the airport.
“I have some information about a house in Brooklyn, where some Irish people established residence a few months back,” Beverly says. “They had a bunch of guests, and some of those people had strong connections to Alvarez and Thomas.”
“Where are those people?”
“They’re all dead.”
“What finished them?” I ask, seeing where this is going.
“They all died of natural causes,” she says seriously, and I almost crack a smile.
“You’ve got a name?”
“Not yet. But, what I’m saying here is they have their hands full with other things, and I doubt they have time to chase your girl around.”
A few moments pass.
“I appreciate your concern, but do you think that makes me feel any better?”
“I hope so. Frankly, there’s not much you can do besides staying away from her until things clear up. Lose contact with her for a few days. It’s better to have her all riled up and mad than caught in the crossfire of a madman.”
“How soon can you get me a name?” I ask, impatient.
“I’ll probably have it later today.”
We end the call, and I sag in my seat, running a tense hand through my hair before closing my eyes and trying not to think about anything other than how Mackenzie felt when I was inside her.