101 Nights Box Set: Volume Two Page 10

  I jump, jarred out of my daydreaming. “I need your watch for the computer.”

  He lowers his hands from the bag and faces me.

  He’s upset about something more than Maya. I’m not sure what it’d take to jar him out of his calm, and I don’t want to ask. I want to be furious with him.

  Unstrapping the gloves, he tosses them and moves towards me, unfastening the watch from his wrist. I’m expecting to be disgusted by the way he smells when sweaty, but I’m not. The scent of pure male, combined with his size and the heat he’s radiating, makes my knees weak and scatters any emotion except for desire.

  “Thanks.” I take it and race away, not sticking around long enough to melt at his feet the way I feel like doing. I need to hate him to stay focused and find Natalie.

  Returning to the computer room, I release a deep breath when I sink into the seat. My blood is humming in a way that absolutely irks me, and I force my attention on my task.

  “Must find Natalie,” I remind myself aloud.

  I set up everything, plug in Maya’s phone and hold my breath, expecting to find a gold mine of information.

  Five minutes later, I’m on the verge of tears.

  The phone is new, less than a few hours old. The GPS shows me everywhere she’s been: to the store to buy it, breakfast down the street, her apartment, the penthouse above, and the warehouse where George had her taken. No pictures, no messages, no contacts.

  No leads.

  There’s nothing.

  I stare at the phone, a sense of panic rising. One thought crystalizes, and I launch out of the chair and pause in the middle of the bedroom. I can hear the shower on in the bathroom.

  Knocking, I open the door without waiting for him to answer and swat at steam. “George!”

  He pokes his head out from the shower. “What’s wrong? Assassins?”

  “No.” Wringing my hands, I steady my thoughts, not wanting to mess this up. “Is Maya still at the warehouse?”

  “Why?” He ducks back into the shower and shuts it off. Seconds later, a long, muscular arm snatches one of the plush towels off the heated towel rack.

  “Because there’s nothing on the phone. She bought it this morning.”

  Silence.

  “Did you hear me?” My voice is trembling, and I’m stuck between panicking and the urgent need to find Natalie.

  He emerges from the shower, a towel wrapped around his lean hips. I’m too worried to notice how sexy he looks. He pulls his cell out of drawer and dials someone quickly. He puts his broad back to me, speaking too quietly for me to hear.

  I pace and chew my fingernails, despair inching its way through my emotions. It feels like an eternity before George lowers the phone and places it on the counter.

  “Talk to me, George!” I yell more loudly than I intend.

  He faces me, gaze lingering on my features. “Prepare yourself for bad news.”

  “Oh, god. Did they find Natalie? Is she okay?” My chest seizes with fear.

  “Not Natalie. Maya. She’s disappeared. My guys are trying to find her now, but if she followed Hassan’s lead …” He shakes his head, grim.

  I feel like the floor has dropped out from under me. My only chance to find Natalie is gone. She’s alone out there somewhere with a baby on the way and a fourteen-year-old girl.

  “It’s my fault,” I whisper. “I led them to Layla. I lost Natalie. It’s all my fault.”

  “It was not my place to tell you about Layla. If anyone is to blame, it’s me,” George says quietly. “Alisha –”

  “No! I did this! I couldn’t protect her!” My eyes are watering, and I feel close to a meltdown once again.

  “Concentrate on breathing deeply, Alisha.”

  He says something else, but it’s garbled, stuck somewhere among my chaotic thoughts. I’m drowning, falling, choking … god! I don’t know! All I can think about: If the three of them die, it’s all on my soul. The little girl who is Elijah’s sister, my only real friend in the world, a tiny little baby who will never have a chance to grow up …

  “Alisha!” George grips my shoulders and turns me to face him. “Focus, love, focus.” He takes my face in his hands, murmuring the words over and over.

  “We have to find them, George,” I whisper in a choked voice. Tears trickle down my face. This time, I don’t care what George thinks of me crying. “We have to find them!”

  “If anyone can, it’s us.”

  “But without …”

  “Hush, Alisha.” He wraps his arms around me swallows me in his embrace.

  The shock of his warm skin quiets me. I breathe in the scent of soap and man and press my cheek to his chest. He has the ability to spin me up to the point I’m ready to explode and to defuse my panic. My tension melts in his arms, and the tears stop. He can’t take away the despair, but he softens it somehow, or maybe, makes me feel a little less alone dealing with it. He’s so solid and strong, I don’t think anything can knock him off his feet and send him spinning into his emotions. I envy him for being so unlike me in that way.

  I sniffle and hug him hard, warmth of a different kind creeping through me at the prospect of being pressed against his near naked body.

  “I promise you, Alisha. We will find them,” he whispers.

  There’s resolution in his tone that gives me hope. “How are you so sure?” I ask and lift my head to look up at him.

  “Because we’re both too damn good not to.” He offers a small, if distracted, smile and wipes my cheek with one thumb. “There are no coincidences in life. You and I are both here right now, because Layla, Natalie and her baby need us to be.” His features are softened with warmth, his grey eyes pinned to mine and face inches away.

  His confident logic soothes me. I don’t know if I believe in coincidence or not, but it’s never mattered less. Right now, I believe in him. It’s a strange, new sensation. There’s never been someone I’d want to entrust with my life and that of my Natalie.

  George is different. Maybe this is what I’ve always sensed about him. Wrapped in his heat and strength, I am more grounded than I’ve ever felt. My world doesn’t seem so chaotic, because I know he has the quiet strength I don’t that can help me sort it out.

  “I’m still smarter than you,” I murmur, afraid of losing the distance I should keep between us. He’s still an asshole, one it feels too comfortable and natural to be around.

  “You are. I’d be willing to trade sex for your help,” he says, his humor back.

  My face flames with heat.

  “We can do this, Alisha, but we have to work together.”

  We’re kind of good together. I nod instead of speaking out loud, not yet recovered from his comment about sex.

  “Agreed? We’re a team?”

  “Maybe. You called me a liar earlier,” I point out.

  His smile is gentler. “I stand by my statement but will leave the door open for us to have some sort of working relationship.”

  I study him. “Okay, George Henry Stuart-York. We can be a team.” With some hesitation, I rise up on my tiptoes and brush my lips to his full, warm, luscious mouth and then drop back down on my heels. “You better have a plan, because I’m really ...” My voice breaks, and the tears spring up again.

  “We can do this,” he whispers. George dips his head and captures my lips, the way he did in the office.

  My sorrow, anger and despair dissipate like fog in the morning sun, replaced by similar warmth that races through my body. He presses me against the wall and his full body to mine. His mouth is demanding, his hot lips leaving mine to trace kisses down the side of my jaw and then the sensitive part of my neck.

  I want to break down and sob but channel my emotion into him instead, sensing he can soothe the parts of me that ache with need and pain. I want to get lost in him, to let go of the horrors of the past day, and find what little bit of peace I can. I don’t deserve it, after leading two women and a baby into getting kidnapped, but I can’t handle my fucked up
world alone. I need him in more ways than I want to admit.

  I gasp, running my fingers through his hair and clinging to him with my other arm. One of his hands cups my cheek, and his thumb slides into my mouth. I automatically suck on it, nibbling and swirling my tongue around it while he kisses my collarbone and teases a nipple through the fabric of my t-shirt.

  George presses his erection into my lower belly, where I already burn for him. My pussy is soon wet and hot and so achy, I feel the need to sit down, in case my thighs decide to give out. His other hand run down my side, across my lower belly, and teases my pussy through my sweats with light strokes.

  “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs.

  I say nothing, waging an internal war.

  George replaces the thumb with his lips. His tongue plunges into the depths of my mouth, his hunger fueled by the wild emotions we’ve both been going through the past day. He lifts one of my legs beneath the knee and holds it at his hip, rubbing his erection against the part of me that aches. He’s hard and large enough that the thick towel separating us might as well be a tissue; I can feel him and yearn to have that thick dick inside of me, to tear off his towel and my clothing and fuck him until I’m too tired to cry for Natalie anymore.

  As much as I want him and to forget everything outside our bodies, his intensity is a little overwhelming. I can’t shake the memories of Tony hitting me, of the betrayal and emotional impotence I always experienced around him … the fear of not knowing whether or not George will hurt me, if not physically, then emotionally, when he flips the switch and goes back to feeding the divide between us. I’ll shatter, if I lose Natalie, and George breaks me.

  “George,” I whisper breathlessly, pulling away from the consuming kiss.

  He lifts his head and stills his movement, as if already knowing what I’m thinking.

  Because we’re an amazing team.

  “Not yet ready for no-strings-attached sex?” His bedroom voice is thick and husky. He rests his temple against mine, and I’m pleased to hear his breathing is as uneven as mine.

  “Not yet,” I admit. “I need … this but I can’t …” I’m a fucking coward.

  “I understand, Alisha,” he says gently. “You’re not ready. Will you let me finger fuck you at least? Or eat you out, so I can taste that sweet pussy of yours?”

  My heart flips over in my chest, and I start to think I want both of those things and more. Now. With him.

  “There’s no one who can brighten your day like a prostitute,” he adds.

  It’s not funny, but I give a choked laugh that ends up hurting my throat.

  “Mouth?” he prods. “I’ll only do what you want me to.”

  He’s right; I’m really not ready for sex. I feel it. Even though I want sex, I don’t know if I can do meaningless sex and live with myself in the morning. Or if I’ll get scared once we start and George will turn into Tony and not stop. Anything without penetration is more like … making out. That I’ve done a lot. That I can write off as being not-sex, and it’ll still fix the near-pain of wanting him but not wanting to be vulnerable.

  “I saw something in a porno once,” I say before I can stop myself.

  “Whatever it is, I’m ready.”

  “Well, the woman was um, riding his face.”

  “I personally love that.”

  And I won’t be trapped under him. That thought makes me blush as much as the eager note in his voice. I know it’s because that’s how I feel with Tony: trapped. Unable to stop him from hurting me and unable to run. I don’t want to be on my back with someone as big as George when my emotions are so brittle. Don’t want to be stuck. Riding his face … assuming the porno wasn’t lying about it, I get pleasure and a shot at the door.

  It’s now that I realize something else that’s been brewing in my thoughts after all I’ve been through with Tony: I want to be in charge for once. I don’t want to be at the mercy of any man ever again, even in bed. George has said it twice: he’ll only do what I want him to.

  Trusting myself to know what to do in bed is not something I’m used to, and I almost can’t comprehend the idea of having a choice.

  “Come on. I’ll take your mind off everything.” George eases away from me and stoops, picking me up.

  I give a startled laugh as he takes me into the bedroom and sets me down beside the bed.

  As I watch, he lies down, his head at the top of the headboard. His erection creates a tent out of his towel, and my eyes sweep down that perfect, muscular body hungrily.

  I wish I wasn’t a coward. But I am. Sex with George scares me, because he scares me. I don’t trust myself to know whether or not he’s like Tony. I don’t trust him to remain the man he is now. I’m too easy to break, and I’m not sure how I’d handle it with my other challenges.

  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” I say, realizing something else. It’s kind of an awkward position I’ve chosen. “What if I suffocate you?”

  “No man alive will find a better way to die.” He waves me up.

  Embarrassed, I hesitate. “Will you close your eyes?”

  “Anything you ask I’ll do,” he offers, amused once more.

  If not for the ache between my thighs … Fuck it. I need the distraction. Fortunately, my impulsiveness wins out, and I shimmy out of my sweats and the boxers I borrowed.

  George’s eyes are closed. I almost giggle, embarrassed by the strange position I picked, and then very carefully straddle his head and sit back on his chest.

  “Okay … I’m not sure what to do now,” I admit, face red.

  “Balance yourself with the headboard.” He takes my hips without opening his eyes, his large hands making me feel small and feminine when I’m not really either.

  I rest my palms on the headboard as he guides me forward and pulls me down, closer to his mouth. I’m worried about crushing him, until the first stroke of his tongue enters the folds of my pussy. He licks circles around the opening of my core before dipping his tongue into me and teasing the sensitive area with a couple of light nips.

  “Holy hell,” I whisper.

  “Tell me what feels good and what you want more of.”

  He pulls me down farther. I don’t know how I’m not cutting off his air supply, and suddenly, I don’t care. I’ve never felt empowered in bed with Tony. I don’t know if I have any real control here or if George is humoring me, but the idea I get to decide what he does hits home.

  George isn’t Tony. Some part of me understands that, beneath my fear. Any other thought flees as he sucks and nibbles gently on the outer lips of my pussy before his hot tongue runs slowly the length of the inner lips.

  He reaches my clit, tickles the underside and circles it. His mouth closes around the sensitive ball, and he sucks hard.

  My body jerks.

  “Oh, my god!” I moan, head lolling back. “That, George! I want that!”

  He obeys, the exquisite, powerful pleasure tearing me out of my horrible reality. One of his hands leaves my hip. Seconds later, two fingers slide into my pussy, and he begins moving them in and out, rubbing the g-spot hard with each slow movement.

  Sucking and swirling, he teases my clit until the sensations are almost too much to stand. I spread my knees and press down on his mouth harder, groaning, and flatten my hands against the headboard. My inner thighs begin to tremble. I want to collapse and let him finish me, but the position riding his face makes me concentrate as much on remaining upright as relishing my pleasure.

  It’s torture. Pure, maddening, ecstatic torture.

  I’m growing fevered quickly, the fire in my body turning from a burn into a blaze, while his tongue and lips pleasure me in a way I never imagined. He presses his teeth to my clit, and I gasp, catching myself against the wall as my quivering legs threaten to give out.

  “George!” I cry, close to my climax.

  Around and around my clit, up and down. Light, rapid flutters on the underside, heavier strokes across the top, all done with his hot, ve
lvety tongue and the soft pressure of his lips.

  Tension fills me. My toes tingle and start to curl of their own accord, and nothing but the sound of my breathing fills my ears. I dig my nails into the headboard, needing to come so bad, I can no longer move. My nipples are so tight they hurt.

  The orgasm snaps, and intense waves of pleasure break over me, driving me beyond my emotions, my body, everything. My body shakes and bucks beneath physical sensations that render me speechless and completely out of control. I rest my chest against the wall, letting the ecstasy of the moment consume me completely. The muscles of my clit and pussy contract with force that makes every part of my pelvis tighten and release better than any abdominal workout I’ve ever done.

  I’m panting and sweating, unable to recall when anything has left me so satisfied and amazed.

  George sucks my clit more gently, his hands steadying my hips. I shudder with each tease of his tongue and lips, uncertain how he can continue with the undulations of my pussy making my whole lower body move. I’m raw, the inner lips and clit sensitive to the softest touch, the waves of the climax gradually growing farther a part, less intense.

  His attention goes to my pussy, and he licks and drinks from me as I come down from the intense high. I stay leaning against the headboard until I feel like I can sit without falling over.

  Finally, I shift back onto his shoulders once more. My pussy pulses still, and I feel the need to lie down and let my too-relaxed muscles to recover.

  “Feel better?” he asks, smiling. His lips are reddened from their work, his grey eyes on me.

  I nod, not yet able to speak again. Should I feel embarrassed by the intimacy of something I didn’t expect to be so incredible? I’m not sure. I’m far too … sated to feel anything other than the happy afterglow of pleasure.

  “Lie down.” George pats the bed beside him. “You should sleep well for a few hours now.”

  “No,” I rouse myself. “We can’t sleep.”

  “Just a nap.”

  As horrible as it sounds, I can’t remember a time when a nap seemed like a better idea. I slept for all of an hour in his office on the floor. I feel like overcooked macaroni; no part of me can imagine standing, let alone going somewhere.