Page 5 of Kept By the Loan Shark

Chapter Two

“Cass, I’ll get those.”

“It’s fine,” I said and shooed him away from the dishwasher. The simple dinner I had pulled together hadn’t left many dirty dishes to handle.

“You cooked. The least I can do is put the dishes in the dishwasher,” he insisted and manhandled me right out of the way, lifting me up and setting me on the counter. “Sit. Hold this.”

Taking the still cold bottle of beer from his hand, I watched as he rinsed and loaded the dishes. Thinking of our earlier dinner conversation about his out of town meetings, I asked, “So—what did you decide? Do you want to invest in one of the firms you visited?”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, swiping the bottle from me and taking a sip. When he handed it back, he said, “I know that I have enough money—legitimate money—to invest with one of the major players, but it’s hard to think about putting everything I worked for in someone else’s hands.”

I ran my thumb along the cold condensation on the neck of the bottle and considered his problem. “So, it’s about trust? About putting your savings with a firm you can trust? With people you can trust?”

“Yes.” He grabbed a dishwasher pod from under the sink, tossed it in and closed the door. “I thought visiting the offices in San Francisco and New York would put my mind at ease. I know that I was lucky to even get meetings with them.”

“They were lucky to have your interest.” He didn’t walk around flaunting his wealth. I had been shocked when he had shown me the true amount he had amassed. He seemed to have known from the beginning that his illicit loan sharking would only take him so far. He had been investing his clean money in businesses, real estate and the markets until he had acquired enough that he needed professional expertise.

He grinned and leaned into me, gripping the counter on either side of me. He teased his mouth over mine. “You’re good for my ego.”

I snorted indelicately and kissed him back. “Your ego doesn’t need my help.”

“No, but I do.” His playful smile deepened into a serious line. “You’re good for me, Cassie. You make me want to be better.” He touched his forehead to mine. “I hope someday I can make you feel the same way. That I can be good for you.”

“You are good for me.” I cupped his handsome face and nuzzled our mouths together. “You’re good to me.”

“I like being good to you.” His eyes turned dark as he growled, “But I like doing bad things with you.” He nipped at my lower lip. “Dirty things that make you blush.” He kissed my neck, and I shuddered. “Filthy things that make you so wet I feel like I might drown when I bury my face between your thighs.”

“Hagen,” I whispered, scandalized.

“Let’s take a shower.” His deep voice tumbled through me. “Then we’ll see what else I can do to make you blush that pretty again.”

I smiled as he drained the last of his beer and stepped over to the sink to rinse it before dropping it in the recycling container I had convinced him to use. He didn’t share my enthusiasm for eco-friendly living, but he had agreed to small changes here and there. I appreciated his willingness to try.

I hopped off the counter and held out my hand, silently beckoning him to follow me. He grasped my hand and followed closely as we made our way upstairs, turning off lights and tugging me toward the front door to check the security system. By the time we reached his bedroom, we were both grinning and breathing hard from stolen kisses as we raced upstairs.

I toed off my sneakers in the bedroom and removed my earrings and watch before I joined Hagen in his lavish bathroom. His entire house was beautifully modern with a calming palette of white and grey and black. The bathroom was no different with dove grey flooring, dark grey concrete countertops and blond wood accents. The oversized shower was tiled in grey and black with mosaic flooring.

Hagen emerged from the walk-in closet barefoot and without his watch or cuff links. He reached into the shower to turn on the water and I crossed the floor to join him. I plucked through the buttons on his shirt, pausing just long enough to let him drag the black hair tie from my wrist. I was too short to push the shirt from his shoulders so he shrugged out of it and peeled away his undershirt, throwing it aside.

When I started to unbuckle his belt, he combed his fingers through my hair, gathering it high into the loose bun he had learned I liked to wear in the shower. His big hands were always so gentle when he touched me. Sometimes, I would think back to our first encounter in that back room of his bar. I had been terrified of him. He was this hulking, arrogant loan shark who had my brother’s life in his hands. I had been afraid he would hurt me to get my brother to settle his debts, but he had offered me a trade—my body for the debt.

At first, I had been furious that he would offer something so degrading, but later, when I understood him better, I had realized he was afraid of me, afraid of what I thought of him, afraid that I would run and never look back. For all his infamy in the Houston underworld, he was reserved and quiet and preferred to blend into the background. He wasn’t flashy. He wasn’t loud. He was steadfast, deliberate. He never did anything without calculating the risks and outcomes.

I loved him for it. After losing my parents in a horrible car accident and almost losing my brother to his gambling addiction, I craved stability. I needed a partner I could trust to follow through on his promises. I needed a partner who understood the importance of my studies and what I wanted to do with my life. I had found that partner in the most unlikely way.

“Get this off,” he urged, his voice husky and low as he tugged on my shirt. Without waiting for me to do it, he grabbed the bottom of it and dragged it up and over my head. My bra hardly slowed him, and he quickly flicked through the hooks. I pushed down his slacks and boxer-briefs together, not at all surprised to see his stiff erection waiting for me. With a sheepish grin, he said, “Sorry.”

He swooped down and kissed me before I could answer. His hands were more insistent, rougher, as they tugged on my jeans and panties. He lifted me up, and I kicked them the rest of the way off before wrapping my legs around his waist. He moved effortlessly, carrying me into the spacious shower and right under the multiple sprays of soothing hot water. We kissed lazily, neither of us ready to let go just yet. I didn’t think I would ever get tired of being held by him, of having his powerful arms around me or his tender mouth on mine.

When he finally let me slide down to my feet, he stepped back under the nearest shower head. He scrubbed his fingers through his dark hair and reached for the bottle of shampoo on the high shelf. I enjoyed the sight of his muscled body moving, his strong hands and chiseled arms flexing as he worked his hair into a lather. The heat of the shower amplified the tea tree and lemon scents, and I breathed it in, happy to be so close to him again.

After he rinsed his hair, he grabbed his bar of soap and stalked toward me. His playful grin sent a frisson if excitement through me. The rich lather he worked between his hands felt like liquid silk against my skin as he swept his palms over my body. He seemed to always enjoy drawing out foreplay, to leave me aching and desperate for his touch. Tonight was no different.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed as his soapy fingers swept along my inner thigh. “I fucked my hand every night thinking of you.”

“Like this?” I grasped the hard length of him and stroked slowly.

He let loose a sound that was half laugh, half growl. “Just like that.”

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