Fuse Read online

  Damn, how the woman can squirm when she wants to.

  Smack.

  “Ahhhh!” Her second yelp is more perfect than the first. “Damn it! What the—”

  “Hush,” I admonish.

  Smack.

  “Seriously? Reece!”

  “I said hush.”

  I emphasize with one more spank, because I did send that promising nod to Lydia about covering the whole alphabet. And B stands for beautiful butt. And on to C, because her crazy curves are perhaps only matched by her crazy mind, seeming to pour out of her skull via her throaty screams as I clear the landing and kick our bedroom door shut.

  “Are you kidding me?” she yells as I deposit her on the bed. She props herself up on her elbows to gash a fresh glare into me. Her irises are a vibrant, sexy cobalt through the tousled mess of her hair. “The grunting caveman treatment? Today? Now?”

  “Yeah.” Good thing we’re at D, because all that fight and fire in her face has absolutely spoken to the swelling dick between my thighs. “What can I say? Your timing sucks ass, Bunny.”

  “My timing?” She pushes out a bitter laugh. “Excuse the hell out of me? For what?”

  “For trying to toss aside Joany’s valid point.”

  “About what?”

  “About what you’ve done to me, woman.”

  I brace my stance, letting her drop her jaw as far as she damn well wants to. Doesn’t change a thing. She may still be considering my sister-in-law’s point as some trivial comment made during girl talk, but that’s what I’m here for. That’s exactly what I’ve brought her up here for. So she’ll see—with every fucking letter of the alphabet to help me out, if need be.

  “You think she was just being nice, Bunny? Making girl talk? Spinning up compliments to make you feel better?” I fold my arms across my chest and tighten my jaw until I feel it tick. “Let me tell you something about our little Joany. She’s a tigress in the guise of a kitten, okay? She doesn’t say anything she doesn’t mean, and what she always means is the truth.”

  “Fine.” Emma’s lips twist. She shores up her balance on her elbows, her chest undulating in mesmerizing ways against her cotton dress. Thank fuck her tone adds a brat factor to balance the heat in my libido. “But she was meaning the truth in a private conversation that—”

  “Had everything to do with me?” I cock my brows. “So who was the one really sneaking around, Emmalina Paisley?”

  Using her full name gets me two places at once. I’ve hurdled the E requirement and jumped into the next level of her comprehension. Though she’s still fuming, I can see she’s at least taking me seriously. She recognizes that I’ve hauled her up here because I mean business about addressing this. About addressing her blind spot to this goddamned important point. Making her see exactly how much light she’s really brought to me—especially on a day that’s been as dark and unbearable as this.

  But with her here, I’ve been able to do it. To bear it.

  With the promise of her light in my tomorrow, I know I’ll be able to get up and grow again. To live again.

  Even if it means she’ll be this obstinate and pouty about something else. Hell, even if she’s continuing on about this.

  Damn, I almost hope for it.

  Because fuck, she’s adorable when she’s obstinate and pouty.

  Yeah, even when she’s pushing upright and then demanding through her teeth, “So what’s your point?” And then surging off the bed, only to try a huff—ineffectual at best—at the arm I clamp around her middle. “Reece, we have guests.”

  “Not guests.” I already have the comeback prepared. “Family and friends—who also understand that when you’ve got your logic scrambled, it’s up to me to unscramble you.”

  She doesn’t fight my hold. She does twist in it, lifting a searching stare up at me. At last, starting to get that I’m serious about making her see my side of this. About exactly how I intend to do that.

  “Going to ‘spell it all out,’ are you?” While there’s still plenty—too much—defiance in her challenge, there’s a new element too. A roughened edge. And now, lusty glitter strewn through her gaze…seeking out the lightning in mine… “So what letter are we at now?”

  For a moment, without even our heartbeats marring the energy between us, I let her wait…and wonder…

  Before I finally, softly answer.

  “F.”

  No sight has ever stolen my breath more than her instant blush. No sound has ever captivated me more than her halting inhalation. No action has ever galvanized me more than the sigh that follows right after…

  Making me reach for her.

  Making me claim her mouth beneath mine.

  Making me lunge my tongue inside, rolling through her perfect wetness, tasting her incredible essence. I savor the wine she’s been sipping, the cheese she’s been nibbling, and yes, the spice of the sass she’s still doling. I’m even a greedy bastard about sucking down the smoke of her anger, battling deliciously with the sugar of her arousal.

  But most of all, I drink in every precious, pulsing drop of her heady, perfect arousal.

  And in that feasting, am completely connected to her again.

  Together, we banish the world once more. We exist only for each other. Only through each other…

  At once, I’m fire and fury and pressure and pain, balancing on a ledge between intellect and insanity, though I hardly know which extreme belongs where. Maybe the world beyond this room, beyond the sweet soft arms around my neck, is the illusion. This has to be the reality instead. The only place where my life, including all my power, really makes the most sense.

  “So what does the F stand for?”

  Especially when this creature whispers questions like that.

  With my lips half a breath above hers, I reply, “You’ll find out once you’ve gotten naked for me. And after I’ve watched you get that way.”

  My blood throbs as she moves back from me. She doesn’t go far but affords enough distance to work her elegant fingers at the buttoned bodice of her cotton dress. My stare descends as her hands do. She opens the navy fabric to reveal the matching lace cups of her bra. My breath might as well be fire as she slips free of the dress, letting it puddle at her feet before shimmying her matching lace boy shorts to the middle of her creamy thighs.

  “Fuck.” I help her with things by scooping a finger into the center of that delectable underwear and pushing them farther south. On my way back up, I keep that digit curled—and slide the tip between the slick lips beneath her trimmed curls.

  She gasps.

  I growl. “Gorgeous.”

  And there go F and G, though I’m not worried. With the way I want to take her now, humping is going to be a damn fine stand-in for fucking. And yeah, there’s also hard. And hot. And horny as a goddamned horse ready to rut.

  “Oh, hell yeah.” Another H, tumbling from me in a ruthless whisper as she unclasps her bra, freeing her breathtaking breasts for my ravenous view. Yeah, to the point that I lick my damn lips because of it. To the point that I yank her over with one hand while grazing one of her nipples with the flat of my thumb, hissing when that succulent tip gets even tighter for me.

  “Damn,” I utter. “Goddamn.” And then smash her mouth beneath mine again, matching her harsh whimper with my primal moan, making her tongue take my stabbing, passionate force as I slide my hand to her other breast—and twist that sweet berry between my hot, seeking fingers. Her mewl hikes with arousal just as she twines her hands into my hair and yanks with hard, lusty strength. I accept the scalding punishment and celebrate the burn across my scalp as we kiss deeper and harder, warring with groans that blaze each other’s bloodstream with raw, raging, aching need. My lungs burn to get in a full breath, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to give in. If this is what it takes to show the stubborn woman what she means to me—what she alone will always mean to me—then I’ll readily pass out a thousand times from the potency of my own lust.

  And Jesus God, what
lust.

  I’m floored from the might of it. The crashing, awestriking glory of it. The way I can’t ever get enough of her pure need, her bold strength, her honest courage, and her unabashed love. Every time we’re together, this is what she brings me. Every time I kiss her, she’s this responsive and open and hot for me. Every time I touch her, she shivers as if I’ve just cut her open with a diamond and poured all the shine right into her wound.

  Because of her, the wounds of my soul are healed too.

  Through loving her, that soul now longs to do good things.

  In fucking her, my body’s going to give that mission a damn good start.

  “Get on the bed, Velvet,” I instruct, savoring every erotic syllable. “And make yourself very comfortable. This is going to be a hell of a ride.”

  I watch as her breathing noticeably snags and her nipples pucker even harder. All the exquisite ways she honors me—as she turns and obeys me without hesitation—lend new inspiration for the letters of the new law I’m determined to detail for her right now.

  I peel off my shirt, flip the bedspread up, and root beneath the mattress for a couple of seconds. There. Right where I’ve stowed them, ensuring they’re ready for the most perfect of special occasions.

  Or maybe I just knew, even back then, that the woman was going to need exactly this lesson taught to her. In exactly this way. At exactly this time.

  Or maybe I realized that I’d need this.

  Yeah, right here. Especially right now.

  To have this respite of something good. Something right. Something to latch me back to her again. To remind us both of the connection that keeps us bound in the face of insanity and solid in the center of loss. Of course, I had no idea that Angelique would show up in the middle of the memorial and inadvertently add another strange twist to the day.

  Which makes this, right now, even more important.

  The most important.

  Screw everything we had to do this morning. Screw our full house of guests. Screw the lunatics who are still lurking somewhere out there and everything they did to fuck up my head before this—and likely after this.

  Screw it all.

  Just for this bubble of perfect passion—her perfect passion—screw it all.

  “Both hands up to the headboard,” I instruct before opening my hand to expose the special contents that fit so well against my palm. “Grab the rail and don’t let go.”

  Not that I intend to let her have a choice.

  “What the—” Her croak of astonishment slices into the air as I secure the first clasp of the handcuffs around her left wrist and the rail. “Reece?” But she’s quickly spitting and snarling as I do the same thing to her right. “Wh-What the hell is this?”

  I’m not ashamed about the arrogance in my smile or the kiss it turns into just before I respond, “Isn’t it obvious? This is H.”

  “Oh, dear God.” She jerks at the bonds, a reaction to be expected, though as she realigns her gaze with mine, it’s with an openly perplexed frown. “These are made of…steel.” And with the clarification fires the full question in her eyes as well. Why did I pick steel and not simply a rope of electrons or a lasso of light? I have to admit, I haven’t been sure of the answer myself—until this very moment. Yes, in this place. Yes, in this time. Perhaps because of everything that’s already gone down today. Gazing at my woman, naked and bound to our bed by them, the answer’s as smooth and bright as her bared beauty.

  I need this. I need this.

  Sometimes, I’m a fucking genius and don’t even know it.

  And sometimes, especially in moments when this goddess is waiting and panting like this beneath me, I completely know it.

  “Because they’re real.” I enforce the point by sliding my thighs between hers and then spreading her out with my knees, relentlessly sliding and rolling my hips while roaming my hands over her fingers, her wrists, her knuckles, her palms.

  At once, she bucks and lunges beneath me. Fuck, yes. A desperate growl rips from my throat in response. The contrasts strike my senses with visceral clarity. Flesh and steel. Leather and skin. Hard and soft. Tangible textures and raw sensations, not invisible pulses and lightning flashes. “They’re real, Emma,” I repeat, rocking harder against her. “Like us.” I need her to hear that. Hell, I need to hear it. To be sure of it. “They can’t be zapped away or erased with a keystroke.”

  Without ceasing my undulations, I kiss her again. This time, it’s not a demand or a thrust. I draw out the contact, lingering and tasting and treasuring. Needing to cherish her with every part of me that’s still me. A man who has good days and bad days, dreams and desires, hopes and visions and aspirations. A man, not a machine.

  “You’re not just the electricity in my blood,” I rasp, punctuating it with another gentle caress of a kiss. “You’re the light in my psyche, Emma.” I lift enough that she sees all the truth in my eyes and every shred of meaning in my spirit. “You’re the match to my soul. You, damn it. Only you.”

  Her lips fall apart. They’re the color of strawberries from our kisses, but damn it, that only makes me crave her more. “And only you. Always and only for me.” She rolls her head and jerks up her chin, all but begging for more contact of our mouths. But I hold back, purposely denying her so I can linger here and remember her…

  exactly…

  like…

  this.

  Finally, I dip back down—but only for a second. “You’re inside me now,” I confess. “So deep inside. You’ll never leave me even if you want to.”

  And now, certain I’ve chucked my sensibility over the cliff of emotional extremes, I yank back a little further. And get ready to see her silent safe word climb all over her features. And then prepare a couple of my fingers to zap into the locks on the cuffs, setting her free to deal with my extreme ramblings—which I’ll refuse to take back even if she really does decide all of this, and all of me, are too much to handle.

  But I won’t—I can’t—take back a fucking syllable. Because it’s all the truth.

  Which is why I’m blown away when a dazzling smile inches over the elegant hills of her lips instead. And then just goddamned jubilant when listening to the sweet, sensual words she forms with them too.

  “Inside. That’s a damn good one for I, isn’t it?”

  I start my answer with a slow, sultry smile. Add my touch in the form of adoring strokes to the edges of her forehead before curling my fingers in to smooth the hair back from her face. Nothing can get in the way of getting a long, lingering view of her incredible turquoise eyes. “Well, now my bunny’s hopping with the program.”

  As she giggles at my tease, I kiss my way down the center of the face that truly is embedded everywhere inside me. The gentle sweep of her nose, with its perfect flare at the end. The high, proud cheeks that always flush when I say something too filthy. The tiny valleys of her dimples, which turn into entrancing indentations when I make her laugh aloud. All of her, so soft and silken and smelling so damn good, to the point that my head is spinning all over again by the time I’m suckling my way down the graceful slope of her neck.

  The muscles beneath my questing lips go tight for a second, constricting with a deep swallow before vibrating with the words she rasps to me. “S-So…wh-what’s J?”

  I lift my lips just before getting to the hollow of her neck and freeing a shuddering breath against her skin. If the gang at Schoolhouse Rock ever heard the letter J get her husky treatment, K would’ve never gotten his day in the sun.

  But right now, it’s my turn in the sun—translation, in the embrace of this woman’s legs—as she wraps her softness and warmth and life and passion around me. Making me understand all the reasons the ancients bowed in worship of the sky’s most fiery star. She’s my bright, blazing obsession, her heat drenching and slicking me as I stroke a couple of fingers through her throbbing pussy—and then torturing my cock with a harder, hotter rush of my blood.

  The arousal turns my reply into words of thr
oaty reverence. “J and K have their turns together.”

  “Oh?” Her new laugh is softer, but her new body rolls are urgent and damn near demanding, causing the cuffs to clink against the headboard. Holy God, that has to be the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard in my life—followed by the hottest sight, as I watch the perception broadside Emma at the same time. The artery in her neck thumps harder. Her nipples turn the texture of hard red candies. Her chest pumps as she struggles for steady breaths, let alone the words she tries to form with undulations of her kiss-stung lips.

  Finally, she gets it out in a serrated murmur, “J and K…why’re they so special?”

  I slide my head back up, tracing the gorgeous curves of her creamy features, until our noses are less than an inch apart. “Isn’t that obvious?” But before she can insert the full force of her puzzled scowl, I crash in, accepting nothing less than a sucking, savoring, saliva-drenched kiss that has her helplessly moaning, writhing—and yes, clinking—for me. I finally drag myself away long enough to justify, “Juicy kisses,” before plunging back for another of these hot, deep, perfect mind-benders—which, for all the emphasis on mush and wetness and tongue, impacts my cock like a sword sent into the forge. I’m hard as steel but trapped in heat, my leathers doing a damn good job of keeping the lightning in my erection contained. Trouble is, the arousal has nowhere to go except back where it came. I’m swollen to the point of agony, tempered to the edge of samurai readiness—which I prove with another crush of a kiss, sucking her tongue hard against mine, ensuring her senses are sliced open with the surety of what I plan on doing to her next.

  “Oh, God.” Her high sigh bursts up from her throat the second we break apart. Our breaths are thick and labored and nearly synched, an outward sign of how linked our minds and hearts and libidos are too. “I love you so much, Reece.”

  I take her lips again but purposely keep my tongue where it belongs this time. “And I’m damn glad, my little Bunny.” Then sweep my lips across the silken plane of her forehead. “Because I love you too—so much that it fucking scares me. All the damn time.”

  Little furrows form beneath my mouth. “Really?”