Chapter Twelve – Angela #2
“I understand if that means that we can’t be together,” he said calmly, almost cool, like I was an opponent in court.
He was worried I was going to still reject him, I could see him shutting down.
I put the wine down instantly, reached out a hand, and he reached for it at once engulfing it in his own.
“That’s not it at all,” I said.
“Then what happened? You’ve been acting strange for weeks. I assumed you’d finally googled me.”
I had, once, before our first actual date, like any responsible American girl. But I’d been on my phone and stopped when Mark Carrera and a lawyer photo all came up. I put my head down in my free hand. “No. I’ve just been dealing with my own stuff. You’re not the only one with a secret identity.”
“Yeah? You go around Vegas at night, solving crime?” A tentative hope bloomed around his eyes as he teased, “Are we secretly mortal enemies?”
“Not quite.” How much to tell him and not sound crazy? “You know how I have a son?”
He nodded. “I know that you haven’t let me meet him yet.”
“His dad—well, his dad’s an asshole. He’s in prison. And he’s recently started to contact me.” Keep it surface, keep it safe. “He’s been sending me letters. I don’t want to talk to him—"
“Who is he?”
“You mean is he a friend of yours?” I said, tilting my head to the side. “Unlikely.”
His eyes narrowed. “You realize anything you don’t tell me now, I could just look up later? I have sources.”
I took my hand from both of his. “You wouldn’t, if you were the honorable and respectful man I thought walked me through that door.”
He rocked back in his chair and appraised me anew. “Touché.”
“I was never caught when I was running with him, so there’s nothing tying my name or my son’s to his. And it doesn’t matter anyhow, he’s serving consecutive life sentences.”
“For?”
“Bad things.”
“Coy girl.” He gave me that look he always did when I was too challenging—like I was a horse to be tamed or a mountain to be climbed.
That look always made my heart catch in my throat and me squeeze my legs together a little more tightly, but right now I forced myself to concentrate on the situation at hand. “So what does he want?”
“He wants to see his son, who doesn’t know about him. I told him his dad died.”
“Oh, Angela,” he shook his head quickly. “You shouldn’t have lied to him.”
“It was better than the truth. Trust me.” I picked up a fork and spun it, just as waiters reappeared bringing rustic bread and salads. “I just don’t know what to do now. I backed myself into a corner—and Rabbit shouldn’t have to meet such a disappointment.”
“All he’s doing is writing, right?”
I inhaled to try to lie, but he made a thoughtful sound. “Last night—the window.”
“Yeah. To scare me.”
“Did it work?”
“Rabbit and Dark Ink are all I have.” I didn’t realize how lonely that sounded, till the words came out, but it was true. The things that’d happened with Gray when I was younger had scarred and scared me, leaving me more comfortable with people being a boss than a friend.
“And me,” Mark said, and I looked up. His dark eyes were deadly serious. “And I have friends who have friends,” he said, his voice low.
I swallowed. If he was offering what I thought he was—I—that wasn’t my call—Gray’d only broken a window—and Mark didn’t know what Gray was besides. “No. Please no,” I said, then licked my lips. “But thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, watching me intently. “And now that both our pasts are on the table, maybe we should enjoy the view.”
I looked around at the empty restaurant, emptied just for me.
Then I looked out at the gorgeous Vegas night, winking hotel room lights, jagged bolts of neon, the light on the Luxor pyramid beaming up to God, and then miles of coldly beautiful desert all around.
When you lived here, you forgot just how special this place could be.
And lastly, I looked at Mark, who was the first person I’d almost ever told about my time with Gray—and the first person who might not run away from the real story, either.
Most of it. The non-werewolf part at least.
Maybe…maybe my mom was right, and I didn’t have to be alone anymore.
“Shall we?” Mark said, picking up his fork.
“Nah,” I said softly, and stood. I circled around the table to him as he pushed his chair back. “How good are the waitstaff here? Would you say they’re polite?” I asked, coming near to him.
“Excessively.” His eyes flickered over me, wondering—hoping—what would come next.
“Good,” I said, swinging one leg over his lap like I was mounting a horse, holding my skirt up as I sat down, and when I was settled I took his face in my hands and I kissed him. Sweetly. Like I was kissing him for the first time. The first time I was this girl who could trust in someone.
His hands came up instantly to press me to him, holding me, his mouth fierce against mine—I didn’t think I was the only one experiencing firsts tonight, surely Mark hadn’t confessed exactly who he was to many other women.
I moved from his mouth to nuzzle beneath his jaw to kiss his neck, and I could’ve sworn I felt his blood pulsing fast in his carotid as his hands rose to catch in my hair.
I was still kissing him when he pulled me back.
“You’re the only woman that makes me feel like this, Angie,” he said, staring into my eyes. “The only.”
And some scared part of me broke, a piece of my armor, shattering forever.
“Mark,” I whispered, reaching between us to haul his shirt up as he started unbuttoning it from the top.
He kissed me then and our hands fought as we reached for my dress’s belt and buttons, till it was hanging free like a robe.
I undid my bra’s clasp between my breasts and let it fall open.
I didn’t care who saw us, the Vegas night wouldn’t judge me, and the staff were paid too well to care.
I rose up high enough for him to sink his hands and free himself from his slacks, heard the zipper slide open, and then felt the heat of him beneath me as I ground against him, only my underwear in the way.
We played with it then, me grinding down as he thrust up, both of us knowing the thin fabric wouldn’t keep him out for long.
He reached his hands to one of my hips, grabbed the side of my underwear and tore it with his strong hands, before doing the same on the other side, and yanking it away—and I got the feeling that that was what he would do to anything that stood between us. Now, and forever.
I rocked over him without him inside me, just letting our mutual heat rub, the soft shaft of his cock playing against my folds till he was slick with me, as our mouths searched one another’s, his hands clenched around my ass.
Then slowly, inevitably, he pulled me up as he tilted his hips down, so that the head of his cock was right at the entrance of me, and he played it there, teasing me with his tip, as I made shamelessly eager sounds.
“You want me in you?” he growled in my ear. “All the way?”
I nodded helplessly. “Please,” I whispered. “Now—please.”
His strong arms slowly lowered me, his chest rumbling in pleasure as my pussy took him in. “That’s it,” he said when my legs were spread wide and I was stretched tight around him. “Right there,” he said, beginning to thrust.
That’s when I knew that this was going to be his ride—which was exactly what I wanted.
What was it about getting used that felt so good? I didn’t know, but with Mark I didn’t have to question. It didn’t change how he treated me any other time but now—he knew just what I wanted when we fucked.
I wanted to feel owned.
“Goddamn, Angie,” he muttered, using my waist as leverage to slam himself deep.
I threw my head back and gave in, my moans bouncing like my breasts against him.
He paused his thrusts so he could kiss them roughly, his five-o’clock shadow scraping my skin as his lips sucked my nipples into peaks.
I leaned forward panting, running my fingers through his hair, grabbing hold of his shoulders, grinding myself against him.
He made a low rumbling sound of appreciation that I felt as much as heard, and as his tongue licked up, running over the rose tattoos above my breasts, it changed into a possessive snarl.
“You’re goddamned perfect, and I’m never going to let anything happen to you. ”
My breath hitched. I mean…that was what I wanted…right? To feel safe? To feel possessed? After Gray I didn’t think I could ever truly believe in love again, but wasn’t this the next best thing?
Mark looked up at me with a burning intensity in his eyes that both scared me and turned me on. And if ever there was a human man who could stand up to Gray….
“You swear?” I asked him, not liking how my voice quavered when I asked.
He measured me then, and I wasn’t sure what future he was seeing in my eyes. I could never offer someone white picket fences, that wasn’t who I was, I had it written on my skin in ink. “From here on out, Angela,” he said, his voice like gravel. “You’re mine.”
I gasped, and then before I could say anything, he kissed me.
I fell into it and into him, holding his face as he kissed me voraciously.
His cock was still hard inside me, but there was something more desperate happening now—I kissed him like I needed him to breathe.
He sucked my lower lip in as if to claim it and then released it slowly, raking his teeth over my skin, and I could feel my pulse pounding, at my throat, my breast, and deep inside my hips where I still held him.
He grabbed my waist again, then slid his hands down and back until they were cupping my ass. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, Angela—you’d better hang on.” And before he gave me any time to do so, he started.