The Alpha Billionaire Club Trilogy (44 page)

I
gave
Emma enough time to fall into a deep sleep before I slipped into bed beside her. Griffen was gone, back to his hotel on the Strip and out of my hair. I knew he was a good guy, but if he’d kept flirting with Emma, I would've knocked him out. It didn't help that she was responding, even if it was only to piss me off.

Emma wouldn't be happy when she woke up and found me in bed with her. I should have cared about that. I should have been overwhelmed with remorse over what I'd done. I should have given her space, and let her make up her own mind. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.

I wasn’t a gentleman. Everything that had happened tonight to Emma had been my fault. I knew that. And I would make it up to her. But I wasn't going to let her pull away from me. I’d given her plenty of reasons to hate me, and while Emma was easy-going, I suspected she could hold a mean grudge. I had no intention of letting her get away from me.

I’d let her think I was giving her space so she would relax enough to fall asleep. She was exhausted, and likely in some pain if the look of her face was any indication. Just the thought that I was responsible for that bruising, the blood, and the black eye she’d have in the morning, made me sick.

I wanted to beat the hell out of William Harper for daring to touch her, but the worst of the damage was on my shoulders. Like everything else, I would make it up to her. She knew it had been an accident. I’d been sure she was out of the way before I busted open the door. I still couldn’t believe I’d made such a mistake. It was a reminder of what could happen when I let emotion make my decisions.

I was going to have to be careful. Emma stirred me up, made it hard for me to think clearly, and we had a tricky situation with Harper and Tsepov. She was in danger and I couldn’t afford to get distracted by the way she made me feel. If I was smart, I’d send her away. That wasn’t going to happen. I needed her with me.

She’d be angry to find me in her bed, but I still wasn't leaving. Moving closer, I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her back against my chest, burying my face in her hair, letting the sweet honeysuckle scent of her wash over me.

I hadn't taken very good care of her so far. I’d been too wrapped up in fear, too used to walking away to understand that this time, I didn’t want to go. I was done with that now. Emma was mine. I was going to do anything I had to: bust my ass, bleed myself dry, call in every marker, anything I could, to fix this with her. I knew in my gut that I meant something to her. She’d been falling for me before I fucked it all up.

I just had to remind her of what we'd had. I would have time, because no matter what happened, I was never letting Emma go again.

T
he sun rose
, and I stayed in bed, my arm wrapped around Emma’s sleeping body. I was usually up before the sun hit the sky, but Emma needed her sleep, and I wasn’t letting her wake alone. It probably would have been safer for me if I had. She wouldn’t be happy to open her eyes and find me beside her.

I knew Emma. If I let her build a wall to keep me out, she could hold me off forever. I didn’t want to wait. I wanted my Emma back. I knew I deserved to suffer. Every time I caught a glimpse of her swollen cheek and saw the bruising that had turned into a black eye, I felt sick. How could I have made a mistake like that?

I’d never forget the impact of the door into Emma’s body and the terrible realization that I’d hit her with it. I’d been furious, my mind overwhelmed with rage, but I never would have hurt her on purpose. I’d never hurt a woman before, unless it was in the line of duty, and then only very rarely. It didn’t help in the slightest to remind myself that I’d thought Emma was a guilty target. I should have known she was innocent. I should have trusted my gut, not my head.

Emma would forgive me. I had to believe that. Until she did, I was keeping her close. It wasn’t fair. I knew that. I could let Griffen take her back to Atlanta with him, and my brothers could take care of her. They could keep her safe and give her time away from me. I was sure she would have jumped all over that option if I’d given it to her.

I’d send her away if it was the only way. I’d do anything to keep her alive. But for now, she was safe enough at my side. And if I were with her, I could win her back. I had to. The idea of losing Emma for good was intolerable.

Before Emma, I’d never been into cuddling. I took care of the women I fucked, in bed and out, but I wasn’t affectionate. With Emma, I couldn’t resist the excuse to touch her soft body, to pull her against me as close as I could get her and keep her there. Leaving her during the night for the last three weeks had sucked. Now that the truth was out, I didn’t have to go. She was with me now, and I was keeping her.

Emma slept like a rock until well past seven o’clock. The moment I realized she was waking up, I started my campaign to win her back. Not fully alert and warm from my body wrapped around hers, I knew she wouldn’t be on her guard. I started slowly, nuzzling the back of her neck and sliding my hand beneath her shirt to rest on the silky skin of her stomach, just above her panties. I loved how soft she was there, her body so giving.

Still half-asleep, Emma didn’t remember that she hated me. Her body recognized me, and it loved me.

Her hips wiggled back into mine, her round ass cradling my cock. We’d never woken together. It was one more thing I’d denied myself when she was a target. Now she was mine, and we’d be waking together every day. Sleepy Emma was delicious.

I had to move quickly before her brain kicked into gear and reminded her that she wanted nothing to do with me. Carefully, I slid my hand down over her hip to her thigh, winding my fingers around her knee. I lifted her leg, pulling it back over mine, opening her to my touch. My plan was simple. Get her so hot that by the time she woke up, she couldn't resist me.

My fingers went straight to the heat between her legs, stroking her through her panties, swirling circles around her clit with a light touch. Emma stood no chance against me. I knew her body. I knew when she wanted it hard and when she wanted it gentle. It didn't take long before she was squirming.

Time for step two. My fingertips nudged the elastic of her panties aside and slipped between her hot, slick folds. If I’d had more time, I could have teased her for hours. I would have touched her and stroked her until she was begging for more. I'd done that before and it had been amazing. Teasing was for another day. I had to go straight for the orgasm.

I slipped one finger inside her, my cock twitching with jealousy at the way her tight pussy clamped down on my finger. She was getting wetter by the second, making almost inaudible little moans in the back of her throat. I pressed the heel of my hand against her clit and a second finger joined my first, stretching her, getting her ready for me while I pushed her to the edge of orgasm.

Her eyes flickered open as she moaned again, her legs spreading wider. She thrust her pussy into my hand, her body chasing its pleasure as her mind slowly came back online. I knew she was awake when she moaned, “What are you doing in my bed, you bastard?”

“Do you want me to leave?” I asked, grinding my palm down until she shuddered, just on the edge of coming. “Or do you want me to fuck you?”

“Fuck me,” she whispered. “Fuck me and then get the hell out.”

“I’ll fuck you,” I said, pulling my hand from between her legs so I could strip off her t-shirt and underwear. “But I’m not leaving you, Emma. Not again.”

“Stop talking,” she said, panting for breath. “I hate you. Stop talking and make me come.”

“Anything you want,” I said, happy to oblige. I loved the way she glared at me with lust darkened blue eyes. She was still too tight to take in one thrust. I had to work my way in, rocking my hips in little jerks that dragged halting moans from her throat. Emma kept her eyes squeezed shut, trying to block me out, but it wouldn’t work. She couldn’t pretend I was someone else. Not when it was
me
her body wanted.

It took forever until I was in her to the hilt. I’d fucked a lot of women—probably too many—but not one had felt like this. Her silky wet heat sucked on my cock every time I withdrew, squeezing me tight as I thrust back in. It was a good thing she was on the edge of orgasm. So was I. I’d have to hold off. I wasn’t just going to make this good for her, I was going to make it spectacular.

Ready to let her come for the first time, I set a hard pace, fucking her fast and deep. Release hit, and her knees rose to grip my hips, her fingers digging into my ass as she screamed my name. Axel. My real name. She was pissed at me, but she knew who was inside her.

I fucked her through the orgasm, fighting off the need to join her. It was close to impossible. If Emma’s pussy was normally hot, it was something else entirely when she was coming. Like a fist, it squeezed my cock in fierce pulses that begged me to spill inside her. I’d never fucked her without a condom. I almost lost it, overwhelmed by the feel of her coming on my cock for the first time without anything between us. But I’d promised myself this was for her, not for me.

I moved back, sliding out of her as she came down, just enough that I could reach her breasts with my mouth. I loved how tall she was. In the right position, I could get my mouth on her breasts while we fucked. Heaven. Filling one hand with her breast, I set to work on the other, teasing her nipple with slow passes of my tongue, making sure she only came down so far from her orgasm before she started back up again.

Emma loved it when I played with her nipples. They were sensitive, but she liked it a little rough. I’d tried clamps on them the week before and she’d gone wild. We’d have to do that again. For now, I had my teeth. I went gently, wary of being too aggressive with her after the night before. I blocked out the knowledge that William Harper had touched these breasts. It didn’t matter that he’d touched her through her clothes; it was still an assault. If Emma had flinched from my touch because of him, because I’d brought her there, it would have killed me.

Listening to her breathing quicken, I bit down on her nipple, worrying it between my teeth, tugging as it tightened in my grip. She cried out in pleasure and wrapped her leg around my back. That was all I needed to know. Emma was turned on enough to want a little pain. I nibbled and nipped, teasing her, not going as hard as I could. I’d push her boundaries another time. This was about bringing her pleasure and reminding her why she wanted to keep me around.

I played with her breasts until she was writhing beneath me. By then, I was so close to the end I thought I was going to come on her leg like a teenager. Just to be safe, I slid down her body to take her pussy with my mouth, partly to make sure she came before I did, but mostly because I wanted the taste of her on my tongue. I wanted to have her everywhere, to mark myself with her. I needed to claim Emma with every part of me—my hands, my cock, and my mouth.

Emma always tasted so fucking good. I slowed down a little once I got between her legs, happy to linger over her swollen, slick pussy. Salty, warm, and sweet. That was my Emma. I traced her pussy with my tongue, holding her hips down when she squirmed, trying to get more pressure on her clit. She needed to come, and so did I.

Closing my lips over her clit, I drew it into my mouth with hard, rhythmic sucks that sent her flying. Her orgasm hit her like a sledgehammer, preceded by a high-pitched, wailing cry. Desperate for her, I rose over her body and slammed into her, fighting the tight grip of her pussy as it pulsed around me. I was spilling inside her a second later, helpless against the pull of Emma’s body.

I’d set out to use sex to bind her to me, but it had worked out the other way around. Every time she shared her body with me, I wanted her more. I’d said Emma was mine, and she was. But with the lies swept away from our relationship, I was learning all the ways that I was Emma’s, whether she wanted me or not. I belonged to her, and she to me. I just had to keep her safe long enough to prove it.

I
was still reeling
from two intense orgasms in a row when Axel kissed me on the temple and slipped from the bed, saying, "I'll go get breakfast started. You can put that T-shirt back on, and there's a pair of sweatpants in the dresser if you don't want to put on your jeans from last night."

Before I could respond, he was gone. Sneaky jerk. I was still buzzing from the way he’d made me come so hard. Twice. The night before, I would have sworn a blood oath I would never, ever let him touch me again. Not in a million years.

I'd love to say I didn't know who he was this morning, that I'd been half-asleep and it hadn't really been consensual. But that would be a big, fat lie. I knew his touch. Adam, Axel, whatever name he was using—I knew him. I knew the feel of his hands on my skin. I knew his scent, woodsy, masculine, and only him. I knew exactly whose hands were touching me when I woke up, and they’d felt so good I couldn’t bring myself to argue.

I wasn't sorry. I'd be nuts to be sorry about what had happened in that bed. If Axel had proven anything, it was that he knew my body as well as I knew his. Good sex was the best antidote to stress, and I’d needed the release. Two in a row had been even better. Instead of strung tight, anxious, and angry, I was relaxed with a dopey, happy smile on my lips.

Should I give him points for that? For making me come so hard my brain felt like it had exploded and every muscle in my body was jelly? It wasn't enough for me to forgive him. Not nearly enough. But maybe I was willing to give him just a little bit of credit for taking care of me. Even if I hadn’t asked him to.

I dragged myself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. The mirror told me I looked like a creature from a horror movie, with rat’s nest hair, bruises on my face, and nose still swollen. Not my best look. Resigned, I turned on the shower.

I didn’t have a change of clothes or any makeup—not that my stash of makeup included anything that would cover my bruises. A little concealer and powder wouldn’t come close. My chest was tight at the idea of facing the world with messy hair and a bruised face in yesterday’s bloody clothes.

Usually, I’m not too vain. I like to look good, but I don’t spend hours on my hair and make-up. Like any woman, I had lines I wouldn’t cross. I didn’t always fix my hair. Sometimes I left it loose, and it got a little out of hand. At times, I was happy to hang out in old leggings and a t-shirt, though I usually tried to coordinate my clothes so they showed some style. But I never, ever left the house without makeup.

I didn’t wear a ton—a little concealer if I needed it, blush, some eyebrow grooming, eyeliner, and shadow. If I were going out, maybe I’d do more with my eyes. There were times I used a little powder if my skin was having a bad day. At the idea of going out with a naked face, especially with these bruises, I wanted to climb back into bed and hide. Sadly, that wasn’t an option.

I would just have to brazen it out and try to forget that I'd be facing the day without my usual armor. No hair tools, no makeup, and dirty clothes. I wasn't sure I had it in me to deal with what was coming when I was such a mess, but I guessed I'd find out. At least the shower was nice, with plenty of hot water, dual shower heads and a shelf stocked with shampoo, conditioner and bath gel. I could tell from the lack of clutter on the counters and in the cabinet that this was a guest bath, not one regularly used, but it was set up to make guests comfortable. By the time I was done, I felt much steadier. Being clean worked wonders. It wasn’t clothes and makeup, but it was a start.

I pulled on the T-shirt and sweatpants after salvaging my somewhat clean underwear off the floor. A fresh pair would've been ideal, but I wasn't going commando in front of Axel. Not anytime soon. I wasn't sure who it was I didn't trust—him or me. Maybe neither of us. The scent of fresh coffee and cinnamon hit my nose as I entered the hallway to the rest of the house.

We’d never been together for breakfast, but I knew Axel could cook. My stomach growled, not caring that he was a betraying asshole, more interested in what he might be up to in the kitchen. I wanted some of that coffee. I decided to play nice, at least until he fed me.

My stomach flipped over at the sight of him in the kitchen wearing gray dress pants, a black belt, and a dark eggplant button-down that brought out the warmth in his brown eyes.

No
, I told my traitorous body.
We don't trust him. I’m not sure that we even like him. Just because he’s super-hot while holding a spatula and making us French toast, it doesn't mean that we’re going to go soft.

My brain cheered at my resolve, but my stomach and other base impulses disagreed. All they saw was super-hot guy cooking breakfast. My libido and my stomach were easy. I clamped my mouth shut in case I said anything nice when I wasn't sure how I wanted to handle him yet, and I headed straight for the coffee.

Correctly sensing my mood, Axel didn't try to force me into a conversation. His eyes stroked me from head to toe, slowly, as if he liked what he saw. I told myself he could have half a point for that, but it still wasn't enough for me to forgive him. Besides, I knew better than anyone that Axel was an excellent liar. Just because he was being nice and acting like he didn't mind that I was wearing baggy sweatpants and had no makeup, it didn’t mean I could trust him. The memory of him leaving me to William Harper was too fresh. Just the thought of him walking away brought back the hollow, desolate feeling at the realization I’d been betrayed. French toast was nice, and so were the orgasms, but they didn’t erase what he’d done.

“You can sit at the bar,” he said. “This will be ready in a minute."

Coffee in hand, I took a look around and saw the bar. The kitchen was a large rectangle, with the stove on one side, an island in the middle, and on the other side, open to the living room, was a raised bar with three stools. I sat on one and spun it around to check out the rest of the house.

It was an open plan, the kitchen flowing into the living room, then to a dining area on the other side of the house. A long, floor to ceiling plate-glass window connected all three rooms. The night before it had been too dark to see anything, but in the light of morning, the windows gave a breathtaking panoramic view of Lake Mead. The lot had to be huge. I saw other homes in the distance, but Axel didn’t appear to have any close neighbors.

The Adam I had known was successful, with a luxury car and expensive clothes, not to mention the restaurants he took me to. But this house was another level entirely. A successful, well-off man did not own a house like this. I could tell that the furnishings in the home were all custom and high-end. The stove was professional grade, and the rustic style woodwork in the main area of the house was handcrafted. Not to mention what the lot itself must have cost. I wasn’t into real estate, but I knew the view of the lake didn’t come cheap.

If this was his place, he wasn’t just doing well—he was very wealthy. I wanted to ask if he owned the house, but that would have violated my policy of not talking to him. I kept my mouth shut and continued to study my surroundings. The design was interesting, with lots of wood and black iron and a feel that was both rustic and modern. It was masculine, but not so much so that a woman would feel uncomfortable. I liked that. It was elegant and still comfortable. It suited him.

Axel laid a plate in front of me filled with generous triangles of French toast, sprinkled liberally with powdered sugar, each with its own pat of butter and a drizzle of maple syrup, plus three strips of bacon. I didn't care how mad I was at Axel—it looked amazing. Continuing to ignore him, I picked up the knife and fork he’d placed on the bar and dug in.

Considering Axel’s talents, I wouldn't go so far as to say the French toast was better than sex, but it was pretty freaking good: crispy on the edges, tender but not raw in the middle, with just the right amount of cinnamon and sugar. Yum. If he was trying to soften me up with good food, it might work.

He took his own plate and walked around to my side of the bar, sitting on the stool next to me. He didn't attempt to talk, just focused on his food. Good. If he’d interrupted me while I was eating that breakfast, he would've lost all the points he’d gained by making it. Well, not all of them, but a good chunk.

When I was finished, he looked over and asked, “More?"

I shook my head. I was stuffed and feeling much better than I had been earlier. I still could've used a visit to my own closet, or maybe a do-over of the last few months of my life, but some sleep, a shower, and a delicious breakfast were a good start.

"How do you want to do this?" Axel asked, his dark eyes gentle on my face.

"Do what?"

"We have two issues here. First, we need to deal with the fact that I've spent most, almost all, of our relationship lying to you about who I am, and you’re justifiably angry about that. You also have good cause to be angry about what happened last night. I should've listened to you, and I know we have to talk about that."

"I'm not sure what there is to talk about," I said, aggravated that while he recognized we needed to talk, he also assumed that the talk was going to fix everything he'd mentioned. My fear, the bruises on my face, and what had almost happened to me last night with Harper were all too fresh to consider that a simple conversation about what he'd done wrong and another apology were going to erase it all.

I wasn't ready to go there yet. I also wasn't ready to start the conversation, and I sensed any protest about it would just get it rolling. Instead, I said, “What's the other thing we have to talk about?"

“Your cover is blown at Harper Shipping,” he said, letting me switch gears without a protest. “You can't go back. And not only does Harper want you, it's likely that Tsepov does as well. You aren't safe on your own. I can protect you, but you're going to have to trust me, which I understand isn't going to be easy."

“I’ll just go with Agent Tierney, then," I said. Axel shook his head.

"Not a viable option. Agent Tierney wants you in protective custody. FBI protective custody is good for the average person. The average person doesn’t have access to Sinclair Security. I can guarantee that I have no leaks. No one in my office is working for Tsepov or Harper. Tierney can't promise you that. There are too many ways Tsepov could find out where the FBI has you stashed. We know he’s got moles inside already; we just don’t know who they are. Are you willing to take that risk with your life? Because I'm not."

“How do I know you can keep me safe?" I asked. I wasn't going to argue with him about the FBI's security. I didn't know what I was talking about, and it sounded like he did. It would be stupid for me to insist that the FBI was safe when he seemed so sure they wouldn't be. Even if he was wrong, my protests weren’t going to change his mind.

"I can keep you safe," Axel promised. “Finish breakfast, and I'll take you downtown to my office. You can see where I work, and I'll tell you more about what I do. Then you can make up your mind. Does that sound fair?"

I nodded. Part of me was still so angry. I wanted nothing more than to run away and hole up in my bedroom with weepy chick-flicks and a tub of ice cream. I couldn’t forget how easily he’d pinned and cuffed me the night before. If I trusted him and he turned on me, I’d be helpless. On the other hand, if Axel was planning to turn on me, he’d never let me leave, so I might as well play along for now and let him have his say. If he really was going to betray me again, I couldn’t think of a reason he’d put all this effort into winning me back. Why not just handcuff me again and get it over with?

Comparing Axel to Agent Tierney, there was no question who could keep me alive. Agent Tierney’s goal was the case. Axel claimed his goal was to keep me safe. I had to face reality. Axel had been an asshole. He’d been the King of Assholes. He’d also apologized. I could choose not to trust him and take off on my own, or I could take my chances with the FBI.

Axel wasn’t perfect, but he claimed to want to help me. I was in trouble, and it was the kind of trouble I couldn't fix on my own. No matter how angry I was with Axel, if he could keep me alive and away from Harper and Tsepov, I wasn't going to fight him, even if I wanted to.