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“Had you not walked out on me, there would be nothing for anyone to return to,” growled Ryland Fletcher.
* * *
FLETCH
“Fl… Fletch,” she stammered and then seemed to recover.
“In the flesh,” he replied.
“Mia?” she asked, looking around him.
“Is with Carter.” He stepped into the penthouse, closed, and locked the door behind him and handed her a cup of coffee. “Mia seemed very concerned that you get this.”
“Um, thanks.”
“Drink your coffee, Claire, and then we’re going to bed where I’m going to work off some of my anger and frustration with you.”
She stared dumbly at him as if she’d lost the ability to speak. Fletch placed his hand under the coffee cup and directed it to her mouth. A mouth that he wanted so badly to cover with his own so that he could drink her in and breathe with her that he could hardly stand it. As far as he was concerned, Claire had a lot to answer for. The time had come to pay the piper, and he would call the tune.
First, he’d returned and found her gone. She’d left a self-serving note that he hoped made her feel better as all it had done for him was to piss him off royally. Part of his anger had been directed at himself. He should have known she would bolt; should have known that they hadn’t had enough time together for her faith and trust in him to be enough for her to know that he would make things right and keep her safe.
“How did you find us?”
“You’re not the only one with a genius hacker. Have you finished with your coffee? Because I really want to take you to bed and fuck you.”
His anger had many facets. He couldn’t help but think she’d used him. She’d also put herself at great risk, even though he had made it clear she was in danger, and he could and would keep her safe. And he was horny—in a way he hadn’t been since he was a teenager. In the short time they’d been together, she’d become something of an obsession. Not only couldn’t he get enough of her physically, but he wanted to unravel the enigma that she represented.
She set down her coffee and squared her shoulders. It almost looked as if Claire was going to capitulate and give over to him. He meant to fuck her hard, but he would also be magnanimous in his forgiveness.
His musings ended abruptly when her hand cracked across his cheek.
She slapped him? Where the hell did she get off being indignant and angry? She was the one who’d fucked up, not him. He needed her naked and needed to be balls deep in her so he could ensure she understood that and would think twice before pulling that bullshit again.
Fletch put his shoulder into her midsection, hoisting her up and stalking towards her bedroom. Once they’d tracked them to Naples and found their penthouse, they’d bribed the city’s building department for a set of blueprints. The place had two suites and a common area which boasted a chef’s kitchen and a powder room. One of the bedrooms had been labeled ‘primary,’ and Fletch assumed that was Claire’s.
Claire kicked her legs and cursed at his caveman tactics as he took her into her room and flopped her back on the bed. She lay on her back, propped up on her elbows, skin flushed and breathing deeply. Fletch noticed she was wearing the shirt he’d found missing from his belongings and it pleased him a lot more than it should. The buttons at the top of the shirt had been left undone, and he was treated to a tantalizing view of her breasts. God, she had the most voluptuous body. Claire gave new meaning to the term ‘dangerous curves.’
Her expression had gone soft and needy, but he needed to maintain control. He needed to ensure she understood her days of running around the world stealing incredible pieces of jewelry were over—she just didn’t know it yet. The time apart had allowed them to begin to put together the pieces of the puzzle and see the pattern that stretched back to the end of the second World War—a pattern he meant to put a stop to.
“Hands and knees, Claire,” he snarled in a voice that left no doubt as to it being a command.
Claire flipped over and assumed the position she knew he wanted. He tried to tell himself that he wanted her in a submissive position so she would be reminded who was the dominant partner every time he fucked into her, but it wasn’t the truth. He wanted her like this so he could hold her easily in place while he pounded into her. He wanted rough, angry, punishment sex, and if he saw her soft eyes or a trembling lip, he would want to soothe her and tell her everything would be all right. It was going to be, but he wanted her to understand how she’d hurt him; how not knowing she was safe had all but killed him.
He crawled up on the bed behind her, jerking open the fly to his jeans and pulling her legs apart to make a home for himself. He ran his hands down her spine, reveling in the way her skin quivered. Drawing his hands back, he ran them down her ass.
“I ought to spank this ass until it’s bright red, but I have other plans for it. It is truly spectacular, and these tits,” he said, leaning forward and letting his hands find her dangling breasts, “are magnificent.”
He took hold of her hips, grasping them as he pulled her closer, looming over her. Fletch used one hand to continue to hold her hip while he used the other to guide his hard cock between her swollen labia so he was poised at the entrance to her core. As the broad head began to breach her, Claire moaned and stretched down in complete supplication to him.
It didn’t matter that the time they’d spent together had been far shorter than the time they’d been apart. It had been far too long, and he needed her. He began to press in, watching his dick as it disappeared into her pussy to the soundtrack of her sighs. He thrust in carefully, allowing her body to accept his again and welcome him home.
“Fletch, please…”
That was all he needed. He needed her to acquiesce. There was more in those two words coming from Claire than anyone else might understand but Fletch understood. He took her hips in his hands, holding her in place so he could exert control and not hurt her.
“You want my cock, don’t you?”
“Yes, please. I’ve missed you.”
