Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
ANDIE
We crash together as I’m shoved roughly against the wall of his hotel room. A framed painting rattles at the impact. He palms my face, such a gentle caress compared to the violence of desire in his stormy eyes that seem to glow in the moonlight that’s spearing into the room through the floor-to-ceiling window. My head lilts, just a fraction, as I take the piece of gentleness he gives me, knowing that soon, the turbulent maelstrom we are creating will come and sweep us away.
The hand that was seconds ago so tender, grips my throat as his lips take mine in a kiss that is both pleasure and pain. His tongue demands entrance and I obey. The way he kisses me is both possessive and ravenous. My hands grip his shirt, the fabric so soft, I sigh into his mouth. He drinks my breath in like oxygen.
As his fingers curl into the pliable skin of my neck, his other hand slides along my bare thigh, bunching the silk folds of my dress up until the thin strip of red lace is uncovered. My underwear is soaked with my arousal. He pulls back sharply, his nostrils flaring as if he can smell how much I want him. I cry out when he roughly impales me with two fingers, and my body immediately goes up in flames.
“I’m going to fuck you until your voice is hoarse from screaming my name. I’m going to take everything from you, Alexandria, until all you taste, see, and feel is me.”
I pant at his words, my hips thrusting against his hand, needing him to give me more. To give me everything.
“Liam,” I moan.
As his wicked fingers continue to furiously pump in and out, catapulting me to the brink of orgasm, his mouth latches onto the sensitive patch of skin just above my breast exposed by the deep V of the bodice of my dress. I moan loudly when he bites down, marking me.
“Say it again,” he growls, his lips moving to my other breast.
I shake my head, desperate for the release he’s been brutally driving me toward. A sharp slice of pain stings my hip as he rips my thong off me.
“Say my name!” he sharply commands, and I’m too far gone to deny him now, my muscles seizing and my back arching off the wall as everything coils tightly, ready to explode.
Before my next breath, he removes his fingers and slams into me with his cock. “Liam!” I scream as he pummels me into the wall.
I climax almost violently, my walls clamping down around him, his massive girth stretching me until I feel like I’m going to be ripped in half.
But when I open my eyes, it’s not Liam fucking me. It’s Jax.
I wake sweaty and shuddering, my body humming from the dream. Licking my lips, I can still taste Jax on them. My fingers touch my mouth, lingering sensations burning me like a brand. I hate how my body has come back to life in the presence of men I loathe. I really am messed up in the head.
Not knowing what time it is, I get out of bed and fumble for the bedside light. I absolutely despise being stuck in this room. I’d rather be back in the pit than have to wake up every morning in this bizarre re-creation of my old bedroom. Too many horrific things happened there behind closed doors.
I keep on the men’s cotton shirt I’m currently wearing and find a clean pair of sweatpants that was left on the bed and waiting for me when I came into the room last night. My tennis shoes are drying in the bathroom sink, so I opt to go barefoot. Securing my hair into a messy bun, I decide to head upstairs and grab some food, not knowing when I’ll get to eat again if Keane has another test in store for me today. How many will I have to endure before my father finds me worthy? I laugh at the thought because I have been unworthy in my father’s eyes my entire life. Worth implies value, and a daughter holds no value other than to breed and birth sons.
I look at each door as I pass by them on my way to the elevator, wondering if the guys are still asleep. Stepping out of the lift onto the main floor, I get my answer when I hear hushed male voices coming from the kitchen. My feet are silent as I pad across the wood floor, my presence luckily going unnoticed.
“If you think I’m going to stand by and let it happen, you can go fuck yourself,” Rafe argues, and my steps slow their approach into the kitchen at his barely concealed anger.
“It’s out of our hands. The deal was brokered last night. There’s nothing to stop it.”
What deal?
“ We could stop it. Goddamnit , Keane. How much more are we supposed to sacrifice? Kellan is dead?—”
My body jerks, like I’ve been delivered a physical blow just from hearing my brother’s name.
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Keane bellows, just as Jax sneaks up behind me like a freaking ninja, startling me.
“We have company,” he tells them, giving me a rough push until I’m stumbling fully into the kitchen.
All conversation halts. Keane glares at me.
Just because Jax had his mouth on mine hours ago, doesn’t give him the right to put his hands on me. I whirl around and push at his chest. Of course, trying to move him is like trying to move a boulder made of solid granite. He smirks at my futile attempt. Whatever. I could easily take him down if I wanted to, but the lure of caffeine is too strong to resist.
I walk over and snatch the mug of coffee from Rafe’s hand just as he’s about to take a sip. I don’t have enough patience this morning to wait while I make my own.
Leaning my hip against the counter island, I lift the mug to my mouth, inhaling the warm, aromatic steam. I’m still curious about what Rafe and Keane were talking about, but I know they aren’t going to tell me jack. Besides, I’m hungry.
Coffee cup in hand, I go to the fridge and scan its contents. Spying a lemon, milk, butter, and eggs, I begin grabbing those items and placing them on the counter island.
“You guys have any all-purpose flour?”
I’m craving biscuits for some reason. I also like to bake. It calms me, and I figured out a long time ago that it’s a coping mechanism I use during times of stress. It was also something Kellan and I used to do together after Father locked me in the— fuck it all to hell . I am not going to think about that now.
A soft thump on the counter tells me that yes, they do have flour. Jax takes the eggs out of my hand and shuts the refrigerator. Rafe comes out of the pantry holding wax paper, baking powder, baking soda, and a glass jar of molasses—which has my taste buds humming because there is nothing better than dipping a warm biscuit in that delicious shit. Especially if you mash some soft butter in it. It’s an acquired taste, kind of like marmite or vegemite, but much, much better because it’s pure sugary goodness. Tessa would start gagging whenever I ate biscuits and molasses in front of her, until I forced some on her one day as a dare. Now she’s addicted to the stuff. I need to find a way to get in touch with her soon.
I look up at Rafe. “You remembered,” I say as he twists the top off the jar.
“I remember everything, rosa .” His sky-blue eyes are so intense, I look away and shut that shit down immediately.
Keane delivers a baking tray from a lower cabinet and gets out a rolling pin. Whoever keeps this kitchen stocked does a great job. I’m surprised that a safehouse has all this stuff. As the guys start to work—Jax squeezes a lemon in a cup of milk to make homemade buttermilk, Keane butters the baking tray, and Rafe sets the oven to pre-heat—I stop and stare at all three of them. They’re like a mafia version of the Stepford wives.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I reply to Keane’s clipped remark.
It’s a little freaky how domestic and normal this all feels. But this entire situation is not normal. They kidnapped me from my kidnappers, then tossed my ass in a pit and left me there. They are the enemy. They are not my friends.
Irritated, I move Jax out of the way and rummage through all the drawers to find a measuring cup and measuring spoons. I’m about to ask where the mixing bowls are when Rafe hands me one. I decide not to ask about a mixer and will mix and knead the bread the old-fashioned way. Since a sifter hasn’t magically appeared in front of me, I take the whisk I find and beat the flour with it, hoping it will be good enough so there are no lumps in the biscuits when they bake. Me and the guys work in silence until everything is ready. I use a wide drinking glass to cut circles in the dough and transfer them over to the baking tray. Jax uses a spoon to brush the tops with the melted butter he just took out of the microwave.
Sliding the tray into the top double oven, I set the oven’s timer for twelve minutes and wipe some errant flour off my cheek.
Leaning back against the counter, I cross my arms over my chest. “So, boys, what’s the next test?”