SPARROW
I SPENT MY
shift at Rouge Bis dicing vegetables that Pierre tossed in the trash in front of his
sous
, saying they were too inconsistent to be used. Pierre made it a point to make sure I knew my ties with Brock and Troy didn’t intimidate him. Guess he had every reason to hate me after the stunt Troy pulled, but I still couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
I answered back and no one answered the head chef back. I was giving him trouble, and like most men in my life, he saw me as a walking, talking headache. An environmental hazard to steer clear of.
After my long day, all I wanted to do was take a hot shower and crawl in bed. I walked into the darkened guest bedroom. I’d already changed out of my kitchen whites at work, so I kicked off my shoes and threw my street clothes in a messy pile by the bathroom door. The immense shadow on the bed didn’t register at first, but then his voice boomed, filling the room with a presence that was much more than physical.
“Get your shit and move back upstairs.” It was an order.
Troy.
I stilled, clad only in a purple undershirt and matching underwear, the boyfriend-shorts style.
“I want to mess around.” I smiled into the darkness, staring at a spot above his head. I could faintly make out the shape of his body. He had one foot propped on the bed, his knee bent, his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.
“Nobody said anything about getting back to playing house,” I said.
This was a blunt provocation, a way to lick the Paddy Rowan wound that he split open so brutally when he visited him in Miami. It almost made me feel better, hearing his breaths picking up speed, both of us engulfed in the pitch black. He was getting restless. Annoyed. And more than likely, hot for me.
He rose from the mattress, striding in my direction. A warm shiver ran down each of my nerves like a bomb fuse. It exploded somewhere between my thighs, sending sparks of adrenaline to the rest of my body.
I was going to pick a fight tonight.
“You know, Red? It’s hard to hate you all the way when you stand toe to toe with me.” He chuckled, circling me, his arms clasped behind his back.
The room was dark, too dark, and I was disorientated by the long workday and the fact that he came here for something.
For something I wanted and waited for.
For something I feared and dreaded.
For him to take my innocence.
“Is that your version of sweet nothings?” I snorted, shaking my head. “Because you suck.”
“I’m rooting for you,” he continued, ignoring my jab. “I’m fucking your life up, and you’re still trying to claw your way out of the quicksand. It’s hard not to admire that.”
His body hovered over mine like a cloud of sweet mist, almost touching. I sucked my cheeks in, feeling my cool façade faltering. I didn’t want him to be nice to me. It made our war so much more dangerous.
“Get to the point,” I hissed.
“You refuse to be a victim. You always fight back, boots on the ground.”
“Troy…” My voice nearly broke. It was the first time I called him by his first name without having a hidden agenda. “I said get to the point.”
“When we were in Miami, I was doing you a solid.” His lips found my skull.
More hot shivers. More want. More lust.
More Troy
.
Idiot
, I thought.
You ruined me in Miami
. “Oh?” I asked, fighting the need to let my arms loose, to allow my hands to touch his strong, male body. I wanted him despite everything, and worryingly, maybe even
because
of what he did to me.
“Paddy…” His name was like a smack in my face leaving Troy’s mouth. “I paid him a visit in Florida. Went there and got your payback for you.”
I choked on my saliva, and felt my eyes flaring, but I didn’t say a word. His lips fluttered between my shoulder blades, and he planted a kiss between my neck and shoulder, his tongue darting out briefly to remind me of what was to come.
“He’s dying from cancer, y’know. Will be dead soon. He will die a poor man. He will die a broken man. Every dime he had to his name…” He caught a loose strand of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers like he was examining fine silk. “Is now yours.”
“Mine?” I repeated.
“Yours.” He nodded into the crook of my neck, his hot lips landing on spots I didn’t even know were sensitive.
Calm washed over me. Realization, too.
This was retaliation.
Not business…but the sweetest form of comfort.
Revenge
.
“Six hundred thousand dollars.” His voice sounded like it was coming from far away.
I like him. I like him and I hate it.
“In the form of a check,” he continued. “Yours to cash, whenever you’re ready.”
I let it sink in, processing the meaning of it. He’d forced Rowan into signing over everything he had to me. More than half a million dollar. The kind of money I’d never even dreamed about. And it was for me to take.
“It’s dirty money,” I said on auto-pilot.
“This whole world is filthy,” Troy shot back. “You deserve it after what he’s done. Hell, the only reason I let him live is because it’s so much more fun to know every day is a Russian roulette of live or die for him.”
Deep down, I already knew I wasn’t going to turn the money down. Not out of greed, but because the check had my name on it. Literally
and
figuratively. I didn’t want Rowan’s money to find its way back to something or someone he cared about. He sure as hell hadn’t cared about nine-year-old me.
Six hundred thousand dollars.
Fuck
. Was I supposed to thank my husband?
Before I had a chance to decide, Troy’s palm found the small of my back and he pulled me into his body. Hard. “Nobody fucks with what’s mine. Even my late dad’s friend. Upstairs,” he demanded sharply. “Now.”
I couldn’t believe he flew us all the way to Miami to avenge my pain.
My legs found their way out of the guest room. I stared at my feet as I climbed up the stairs, him ascending behind me in perfect rhythm.
I felt his eyes on my ass. “When I was a kid,” he said, “my mother had lovebirds. She used to clip their wings so when she let them out of their cage, they wouldn’t fly away. The lovebirds always tried, but they never got far with their short, fucked-up wings.”
I inched the bedroom door open and stepped into the pool of warm light spilling from the street outside.
He moved behind me, tucking my hair behind my right ear aside, pressing his face to it. “Until one day, one managed to escape. My mother forgot to clip her wings. A moment of distraction cost her her favorite lovebird.”
I knew why he was telling me this, and the happiness in my gut swirled with a shot of sudden pain.
“Failure is inevitable,” he continued in a flat tone that didn’t hold much emotion or hope, “and heartache is unstoppable. One day, I’ll forget to clip your wings. When that day arrives, when you run away, I guess I’d be happy to know you’ll still have some money and the means to make it in this wild, tough world.”
Was it wrong that I adored the way the word
lovebird
rolled off his tongue? I knew he hadn’t told me that he loved me, but I still enjoyed the warm buzz in my chest when he said it. The truth about Miami had changed a lot. His visiting Paddy was not only forgivable but redeeming.
“It was more than a solid,” I whispered, averting my gaze from the window to the bed. Still not daring to turn back and look at his face. “What you did for me.”
“Sparrow,” he warned. “Don’t get any ideas into that pretty head of yours. I told you how things will play out. This…” He took a step back and walked deeper into the room, spinning around so that we faced each other. “This doesn’t have a happy ending.”
“Maybe I won’t run away.” I swallowed hard. “If you came clean about everything, about why you married me, maybe I’d stay. Break the lock to my cage, Troy.” I took a deep breath. “What are you hiding? Who are ‘they’? What did they do to ‘us’?”
“Can’t. It’s illegal. I won’t chance you running to the police with it, and I certainly won’t chance the police finding about it through other sources and questioning you about it. You’d be considered my partner in crime for not notifying them. And risking your ass...” He shook his head. “Not gonna happen. Sit.”
He patted the expensive mattress I kind of missed. Or maybe it wasn’t the mattress. Maybe it was the smell that clung to it. Of the person it belonged to. My shoulders fell and I lowered my head, but I sat.
Still standing, he kissed the nape of my neck. “Obedient. That’s new.”
“Not really.” My tone was flat. “But I’m in my underwear. In your bed. We had a deal. I intend to keep it.”
He tilted up my chin up. I stared up at his blue eyes, getting lost in his gaze. My breath quickened. He wanted to play. I wanted to play, too, even though we both knew he was going to break the toy.
Me
.
He was behind me. I loved the thrill of never knowing what was going to happen next. He favored this position, when my back was to him. We both knew I didn’t trust him. Which only made it more arousing.
“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” he whispered into my shoulder. It felt like warm feathers traveling down my body. Addictive, awakening my senses again.
My eyes fluttered shut as I breathed him in.
“Your virginity, Red.”
“Take it.” I leaned into his touch, pressing my head against his hard abs. “’Cause that’s all I’m going to give to you.”
I was a liar. I was reckless. I was an idiot. But I was
his
.
He yanked me up and spun me to face him. Pulling my hair and extending my neck, he ran the tip of his tongue between my breasts. I stilled, holding my breath when his free hand fisted the hem of my shirt.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while now,” he said.
He likes me
, my heart chanted.
He likes me and he is going to show me just how much
.
Yanking the neck of my undershirt down, he ripped it apart slowly, painfully over my skin. He studied the ball of fabric with cold eyes and tossed it behind him.
“You won’t be needing that,” he said, ducking down to meet my hungry lips.
Goose bumps rose on my skin, a shiver breaking along my scalp. I didn’t moan, didn’t give him the satisfaction, but when his hand cupped one of my bare breasts and kneaded it, his thumb circling the ridge of my nipple, I clenched inside without even meaning to.
The way Troy touched me was worth every horrible, self-loathing feeling that I would have tomorrow.
His lower lip caressed my ear. “Guess your magical period is over, huh?”
His fingers moved from my breast down my stomach, making their way between my quivering legs. He spread my thighs, using his fingers alone, and nudged my panties to the left. His strength made me dizzy with want, and I knew once he’d touch me there, I would collapse and lose control again.
“Are you here to talk, or to show me what you’ve got?” My voice cut through the air.
He paused his leisured strokes along my sensitive skin. In one swift movement, he cupped my pussy hard, like it was a baseball he was about to throw, jerked me into his body, my stomach pressing into his cock, and shoved one finger into me while his thumb rubbed my clit.
It hurt. It freaking hurt a lot.
“Watch it!” I shrieked, flustered, my muscles tensing. I pressed against him nonetheless. “It’s painful.”
“Pain
is
pleasure,” he elucidated. His finger still inside me, he pumped in and out as he threw me onto the bed and spun me around again. He climbed on top, his muscular legs straddling my body.
I was face down on the pillow, panting like a cat in heat and loving every second of it. He was rough, not romantic or considerate in any way. And hell, that’s exactly how I wanted him.
I felt his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of my ass—more a tease than an actual bite. He ground his erection against me, and I almost begged for him to yank my panties down and enter me. But he didn’t. He just shoved his finger deeper, faster. Even though I winced, I became needier. Rubbing my opening and crooking his finger into me, he found a sensitive spot and pumped it again and again.
I buried my face in the pillow to muffle my moans. “This is…” I could barely speak. “This is…”
“This is your G-spot.” He bit my earlobe from behind. “Nice to meet ya.”
I wanted to scream with both pain and pleasure, and I clenched against his fingers. He picked up the pace even more, screwing me with his fingers while grinding his cock against my ass. I loved it. Loved every filthy moment of it. The pain of his weight and fingers inside me was so much…
I gasped each time he slammed into me. I felt his lips traveling along my upper back, my neck, my hair, leaving bites and kisses.
“Tell me what I’m doing to you, or I’ll stop.”
“You’re driving me mad,” I groaned. This much was true. His hand was between my legs while he jerked off on my body, and I admitted it was hot. So hot I was beginning to feel dizzy. Lightheaded. Drunk. The Catholic guilt I had felt after he performed oral sex on me the other day evaporated. It was technically not a sin. We were married.
“What. Am. I. Doing. To you? Simple English, Red.”
“You’re fingering me,” I said, blushing hard. Damn, why was it so hard to say it out loud?
“That’s
not
fingering.”
“Okay, okay,” I panted when he momentarily stopped, his fingers still inside me. “You’re fucking me with your fingers.”
He resumed thrusting, increasing the numbing ache and the crazy desire thrumming in my crotch. My body felt electrified, the bed beneath us pooled with my want for him, and after a few minutes of buildup, of so much pain and pleasure and everything in-between, I came apart for the first time in my life. There was no mistaking the feeling. It was hard. It crashed through me in waves of heat.
The tingling calmed, and my body went limp. His fingers stopped, and after I droopily crashed on the mattress, he pulled his hand from under me, sucked on his two fingers, and flipped me to my back.