Page 12 of Battle Lines

“The apartment,” I said. I didn’t want to go all the way out to Grandfather’s tonight. I had a place in the city for such occasions. One I stayed at more and more because it meant Milo could stay with me. I wasn’t quite prepared for that particular conversation with Grandfather.

“Very well, are we dropping Mr. Hardigan off on the way?” The very proper tone held just a hint of suggestion. Wood had worked for my grandfather for as long as I could remember. His father worked for our family. So did his mother. I respected his rather natural protectiveness.

However, I couldn’t afford to indulge it too far. I kept my expression as smooth as possible. “No, Mr. Hardigan will be joining me. And privacy, please, Wood.”

“Of course,” he said without another objection. The shield between the driver and the backseat rolled up with a soft, if electronic whir. Then sealed with a soft whump. Turning in the seat, I never quite finished opening my mouth before Pretty Boy kissed me.

He framed my face with his fingers. The calluses were smooth and rough in equal measure. The warmth of his skin sent heat to melt the icy chill in my bones. It was his mouth that demanded all of my attention. The firmness of his lips coupled with the pressure as he tilted my head back focused the intensity of his passion on me. When his tongue swept in for a taste, I groaned.

The embers of desire he’d been stoking all evening flamed to life. It didn’t help that Ezra’s behavior had alternately inflamed and extinguished, then inflamed again, a hunger that threatened to consume me. Particularly now, as Pretty Boy kissed all the oxygen from me. What air I had came only because he allowed it.

Trusting Wood to do his job, I freed the buckle of my seatbelt and twisted to climb onto Pretty Boy’s lap. He half-lifted me as I straddled him and then his hands were under my skirt, pushing it higher and I slid my hands down to his lap. I don’t know which of us was faster and I didn’t care.

His kiss was all tongue and teeth, biting and licking. I sucked against his lower lip as I got his belt open and his zipper down, then I had my hand wrapped around the hot, silken length of him. His cock practically throbbed against my palm. The lace of my panties tore at the crotch. A fleeting sense of disappointment was consumed in the raging fire racing throughout my system. I’d worn them for Pretty Boy and now he wouldn’t see them.

Then he was lifting me as I angled his dick between us, I mounted him and then slid down as he pushed upward. The stretch of his cock was a burn I craved. I wasn’t quite wet enough, even if I felt like I was soaking, or maybe he just felt bigger. Maybe it was the angle, and then he thrust upward and those spiraling thoughts shattered.

I wrapped my arms around him, devouring his mouth with the same fervor he’d poured into his kiss. He had one hand in my hair, fisting it. The tug lit up my scalp even as he gripped my hip and drove me downward. The force was damn near bruising as I rode him. The grind on every downward thrust teased my clit.

Tension wound hot cords of pleasure tighter. My cunt clenched around him, the spasm of my inner muscles almost beyond my control. It was like riding a horse, the rolling hip motion as I posted helped me maintain some control, but Milo only gave me so much before he had both hands on my hips.

Then he took over, the pace frenetic and brutal. He slammed upward as I drove downward. A mewling cry escaped me as he released my mouth. Then his lips were on my throat. Biting kisses that would leave marks. Sharp pinches from his teeth, then the hard pull of his mouth as he sucked a hickey into being. The pulse went all the way to my pussy and I clamped down on him as I chased that orgasm.

It was right there. I dug my nails into his nape as he kissed his way to my ear and then ground us both to a halt.

“No,” I whimpered almost as he locked his hands and there was no moving. Even flexing around him, I couldn’t lift my hips or roll them. Dragging my head upward, I stared at him in the darkness of the car.

The passing lights didn’t betray his expression to me, only that his eyes were as fixed on me as mine were on him.

“What?” I demanded.

“Who are you fucking?” The question slashed through the haze of need and want.

“You…” What the hell was he asking?

He bumped his hips upward while still keeping me immobile. It pushed the air out of my lungs. “Who am I?”

“You saw Ezra kiss me…”

The growl from his chest vibrated through and he bit my lower lip enough that it hurt. “Not what I asked, Mayhem.”

I flexed my inner muscles, fighting with their shaking to grip his cock tighter. The stretch and burn almost made it easier, because impaled on the thickness of his dick meant I couldn’t go anywhere or really feel anything that wasn’t him.

“Don’t be jealous,” I told him in between little gasps. He’d stopped right when I was on the cusp and the frustration held me captive. I wanted to move so badly, but even clenching and squeezing my ass didn’t get me much. The strength in his hands promised I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m not jealous.” That was a lie, but I let it go for now. Raw fury decorated his words in a way it hadn’t while we’d been at the event. “I thought I behaved admirably, I let that son of a bitch touch you, crowd you, and then kiss you without breaking his fucking jaw.”

I swallowed. Not at the pure, undiluted anger underscoring each word. No, that was fierce enough—but the possessiveness in his touch, in his expression, and in the liquid heat every move and syllable he made echoed within me. Milo Hardigan was so bad for me in all the right ways.

“You did wonderfully,” I promised. “Better than I could have dreamed… I know I didn’t explain much, but thank you.”

“You never have to thank me, Mayhem.” He slid a hand up from my hip even as he dragged me down, seating himself deeply. The push and pull of his cock sliding inside of me was delicious and I didn’t try to swallow my groan. The spark of him hitting deep, striking that perfect spot, was too much and not enough. “Never. But that fucker doesn’t get to manhandle you and he sure as shit doesn’t get to betray you.”

There was the sting. The betrayal. Ezra had been there for the king. For Pretty Boy’s father, a man Pretty Boy hated more than anyone else. Well, save for a dead man who couldn’t hurt Em ever again. Those ugly thoughts pinged off each other and I shook them. The car was slowing and the drive from the event to the apartment wouldn’t be much longer.

“He’s not here,” I told Milo, cupping his cheek. There was a hint of roughness to his jaw. He’d shaved earlier before we got dressed, but the hint of growth there promised a harsher bite to his kisses. “I am.”

He flexed his hand against my hip.

---