Chapter 29 #2
“Sea,” he finally replies.
I slow, processing his answer. Like burial at sea?
An image crystallizes in my head of him being dumped—sinking in the deep, lonely water, and I grit my teeth.
Why the fuck would he want that? It’s not like being cremated. You’re still there. At least for a while. Just no one can visit you. You’re just alone in the cold.
I look at his skin and his hair and the tail of his dark eyebrow, and it hits me that tomorrow comes before we know it.
I drop my forehead, smelling my soap on his skin.
And I go slow. Moving in and out of him, I let my hand roam, memorizing his skin and how my lips feel pressed against his ribs.
Reaching behind, he grasps the back of my neck, rolling his hips up to meet my thrusts. We moan, his growing faster, and I fight to keep my orgasm at bay until he comes.
Then he goes still for a moment—maybe two—and his chest caves as he digs his forehead into the bed. Heavy breaths leave his body as he squeezes me inside of him.
I kiss his hair.
Then, rising up, I pump fast and hard, my release coming after five or six thrusts. “Oh, fuck,” I groan.
I spill, my knuckles turning white as I grip him and the bed. Every muscle is tight, and I’m buried to the hilt, throbbing like there’s a pulse the size of my fucking arm in my dick.
I crash to the bed next to him, sweating and spent. Peeling off the condom, I toss it in the trash and pull out some Kleenex to clean up.
Dallas sits up, and I try not to pay attention. He’s not staying the night anyway.
I sit back, leaning against the headboard, and pull the blanket over myself.
He comes back from the bathroom, pulling on his jeans and grabbing his shirt from the floor.
I watch him take a seat and slide on his shoes, tying the laces before standing and slipping on his shirt.
Next time, he stays the night.
“No one else touches you,” I warn him.
He’s mine, and there are plenty of people to hurt if he fights me.
“And I won’t lay a hand on anyone else,” I say, “while you’re in my bed.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
I close my mouth, swallowing my fucking aggravation. This is what I wanted. He used me five years ago, and I need closure.
I don’t want his love. I’ll never get that.
I get the closure I’m after, or he’s going to find out how far my imagination extends to his family.
Tipping his eyes up, he cocks his head. “Mr. Ames.”
He almost bows his head like he fucking works for me.
“Mr. Jaeger.”
He walks out, and I rise, throwing on my pants. Heading into the hallway and gesturing to the guards over the railing, I watch them open the door for him. He walks out into the rain, not looking back and already hating me.
My father wouldn’t care. His friends wouldn’t care.
I ball my fists, pushing away the regret. I’m either in control, or I’m not, and he doesn’t deserve to be let go. Not yet.
As the door closes, I spot my father’s Bentley in the driveway, my stomach sinking. Lewis, one of the guards, nudges his chin toward the hallway below. Fuck.
I head down the stairs, glancing up as I swing around the banister, making sure Sophia’s bedroom door is still closed.
I might wonder what the hell he’s doing home in the height of the heat and the impending tropical storm, but I knew I couldn’t keep the discovery in the tomb a secret. Too many people were involved, and he stays abreast of everything.
Drawing close to the cracked door, I hear him shuffle papers inside, the small light on his desk still shining from when I was in there with Dallas an hour ago.
I push open the door and step in, seeing him stand behind his desk.
“I really thought you’d be the one taking it,” he says, not looking up from his contract, expense report, or whatever he’s looking at. “It’s not so bad, I guess.”
Tipping his eyes up at me, he flashes me a small grin. I’m not embarrassed my father came up the stairs and saw me riding a man in my bed. I just wish he’d caught me when I was taking it.
“What are you doing home?” I ask.
If he’s going to be here, I need to figure things out a little faster. I don’t want Sophia to see him.
“Heard I missed a hell of a party,” he tells me.
I think he waits for me to offer information, but I stay silent. What does he think is going to happen?
“You’ve done well.” He says it as if I needed to hear it. “Where is the loot?”
“Police station.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me.”
Now it’s my turn to smile. There’s a little in lockup at the police station. To put on a good show.
But the majority of the treasure is still in the bread truck I borrowed from Clayton’s, and only I know where the truck is hidden.
Not even the town’s cameras go out that far.
“You should be nicer,” I inform him.
“I can be meaner.”
Fortunately, I never had to find out personally, but I am aware of what he’s capable of.
Coming around the desk, he shuts off the light and grabs his keys. “A lesser man might have you tortured,” he points out. “But I wouldn’t do that to my son.”
I have my doubts. He’d do it to anyone else.
“But I can take Sophia from you,” he tells me.
I go still, my amusement fading completely.
“I can take Marymount from you,” he goes on.
My work, my plans, my stepsister…
He almost whispers. “I can take Dallas from you.”
I remain rooted to the floor, frozen, quiet, and unresponsive even though my heart beats like a thirty-car train racing over the tracks.
He softens his eyes, relaxing again. “Callum, I’m proud of you. You’ve amazed me,” he assures me. “And everything I have is yours when I die. There’s no reason at all to be enemies.”
There’s one reason.
“I know I’m a lousy father,” he continues. “But I’m a great business partner.” Starting to move past me, he calls out over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in the morning. I expect to hear you have the treasure for me.”
And I wait to hear the front door close and the smooth purr of his engine as he speeds off to one of his women before I exhale.
—
An hour later, I’m still in his office, sitting at his desk with my chair turned away from the window. The rain has quieted, just a dart hitting the glass once in a while as I swallow another gulp of the Glenfiddich he keeps on the table in here.