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“Fuck. Yes. Justice. Fuck!” He rocked into her mouth as his cock exploded. She sucked him down, swallowed his come as her dark eyes dipped closed.
When the final shocks of pleasure receded, his body collapsed back against the mattress. She sat up and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
He wanted to move, grab her to him, but she’d absorbed every bit of energy and need out of him. He was too satiated to stir. She flopped on top of him, grinning like she’d won, had the trophy, the blue ribbon, and the crown. Damn. Yeah. He’d give her that.
She smelled of his musk. And like Justice. He closed his eyes. He kissed the top of her head. He found his voice. Barely. “In two hours, I’m going to wake up and return the favor. Then I’m going to roll you over and fuck you until you scream my name.”
She chuckled. “I’ll set my clock.”
Chapter 35
Two hours ended up being four, but in every other way, Sandesh was as good as his word.
Electric zings still ricocheted inside her from the orgasm that had sent her screaming his name.
Now, his strong hands gripped her sides and flipped her over. He stood, pulling her over to the side of the bed. She obliged with a happy little raise of her hips. She still wasn’t high enough. He was tall. He positioned her on all fours, slapped her once on the ass.
She looked back at him. He grinned and slipped his hard cock into her. She gasped. Was there anything better than the feel of him entering her, filling her?
He grasped her hips, tightly grinding her onto his cock as he drove slowly into her.
She moaned. Oh. Yes. That. Much better.
She began making yes-more-now-please noises. His body picked up the pace. His cock was so hard. The friction so good. Her body began to hum as he slapped hard into her.
The heat and pressure built. A coil of energy pulled at her core. The heat rose, lowered, tightened. He reached around and pressed his thumb against her clit.
She cried out. She rocked frantically back into him, slamming against every demanding thrust. Sandesh began to lose his tempo, cursed hotly, gained control, and kept his pace for her. His thumb insistent against her. Her orgasm broke over her, racking her inside and out.
He let out a groan that was part relief, part single-minded intent. He grasped her hips, his fingers digging into her hip bones. He pushed wild and hard, sending the tingles of her orgasm rippling through her. His pace shattered.
“Justice.” Her name on his lips sounded like a declaration. And he came inside her with a thick heat that felt a lot like confirmation.
He pulled out of her, and she crawled up onto the bed, leaving a space for him. He joined her. She pressed herself to his front, and he snaked his arms around her.
He stared at her for a long moment as the space between them heated with their heavy breaths. His eyes turned serious, caring. “In all the things I’ve seen, places I’ve been, women I’ve known, you are so solely unique that I feel driven to pay homage to you.” He traced her lips, nose, cheek with his finger. “If I were a writer, I’d use words. A sculptor, clay. An artist, paint.” He ran his hand along her body and cupped her ass. “But I’m a soldier, and all I have is my allegiance. So that’s what I’ll use to worship you.”
He kissed her on the ear and wrapped his arms around her again, squeezing her body hard to his chest. “You’re not leaving this country without me.”
She’d been drifting asleep, but that woke her. Whoa. Was she that easy to read? “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you might’ve started this war, but I’m in it now. The IPT’s mission in Jordan is compromised. Salma’s Gems are in hiding. Walid is still out there.” He ran a hand along her cheek. “Someone has betrayed you. You’re in danger. And if you think you can ditch me, get back to the States before me, do whatever it is you do, and not have me by your side, think again. You go. I go.”
They stared at each other.
His eyes softened. He looked at her as if seeing something wondrous. He looked at her as if she had killed him. And saved him. He looked at her as if he understood and accepted her.
And she felt him everywhere. In the heat between her thighs. The moisture in her mouth. The beat of her heart. The pull of her thoughts. The scent of him on her body. Everywhere was Sandesh.
Chapter 36
Sandesh knew he was alone the moment he woke to the sun streaming in through the hotel room window. She’d gone. She’d fucked him into a coma and then she’d gone. He flung his arm over his eyes.
It had been absolutely worth it.
He knew where she lived. And he’d been expecting this.
He reached over and grabbed his cell. He checked his email for the confirmation on his flight. He had a couple of hours.
He rolled out of bed and saw his jeans scattered on the floor. He wasn’t a neat freak, but this room was compact enough that if he’d left them on the floor, he and Justice might have tripped on them.
Shit.
He ran over, picked them up, checked the pockets. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
He was going to kill Justice. She’d taken his ID, passport, and multi-entrance visa.
Did she think she could throw him off the trail of what her family was? Did she think a couple of days stranded here would keep him from asking the questions he needed answered? From stepping up to help her against Walid? He spiked the jeans into the floor and dropped back onto the bed.
He was part of this battle now, in whatever war Mukta and Justice had conjured up. More importantly, Mukta Parish owed him the truth. Not just what Justice had shared, but what he had his deeper suspicions about.
The Parish clan was notorious worldwide. They were all so driven. You couldn’t open a paper without seeing one of them somewhere—a foreign country doing aid work, lobbying for reforms, or visiting world leaders.
Could this be part of deeper, hidden activities? If he did research, would he find Parish family travels mirrored darker events in certain areas? Events aimed at taking out men or those who’d harmed women or women’s rights? Hmmm. He was going to better acquaint himself with Parish Industries and Mukta Parish.
He rolled onto his side and took a deep breath. Justice. The sheets and pillows buzzed with her unique, spicy scent—distinctly female.
God. He wanted her. Even now.
He was in it deep. Had no idea when it had happened. When he tried to find the exact moment, a dozen vivid images of Justice tortured him.
Justice pushing boldly into her mother’s office.
Justice’s hand opening to his on the plane.
Justice’s eager responses as he thrust into her body. And his overpowering need to get deeper, closer. And an orgasm that had felt like surrender. And finding home. And purpose. And more.
Which made no sense, because at this very moment, he couldn’t recall ever being this pissed off at anyone. He had a group of women in hiding in Jordan, women saved from a man who still had money and power enough to make their lives a misery. The IPT’s mission was in jeopardy there. Hell, globally. And until he handled Walid, he couldn’t press on like nothing had happened.
He’d told her that. And she’d s
till taken his shit and left. Odd that the pillow smelled so sweet when the woman herself was frustrating as hell.
He shoved off the pillow, grabbed his phone, and pressed the preset for Victor. If Justice thought she could sneak out and he would just stay put, wait for her to solve his problems, to take out the threat while he was trapped in Israel, she had another think coming.
Chapter 37
Having slept very little on the plane—guilt did that to you—Justice drove her Jeep up the winding hill to the Mantua Home. The L-shaped mansion sat atop the highest hill on campus. It overlooked the entire Mantua Academy.
Justice swung around the stone fountain and parked.
She got out of her car. Stretched. Her side still hurt. But not as badly. The Mantua Home. Just home. Special not because it had thirty thousand square feet, or mullion- and tracery-arched windows, or any of the historical stone etchings, but because of the people. And the memories.
A pit of doubt rooted in her throat. Something had changed. In some way, it hurt worse than any prior betrayal. It had taken her a long time to find trust again after what her father had done.
Gracie. Dada. Tony. Bridget.
One of them had given Walid the ability to track her. One of them had almost gotten her killed.
Above the house, the last blush of departing sun winked away. The lights along her home’s exterior popped to life, as did the lights along the cobbled driveway. The air smelled of spring, freshly turned earth and the bright perfume of the early-flowering hawthorn that dotted the extensive and expert landscaping.
That smell brought sharply to mind spring jackets and childhood memories. Testing boundaries and getting in trouble. How many times had Momma warned her, “Justice, there are some lines you cannot cross”?
She’d crossed those lines. Repeatedly. And paid the price. She’d never had a problem facing the consequences for her actions. But now it involved more than her.
