Sweet One (Titan Book 8) (8 page)

“God. Cash.” She thrashed on the couch, dragging one leg up as he kneeled on the floor. “Please.”

Clawing on the couch cushions, she thought there might not have been an orgasm this strong ever in her life. He curled his fingers inside her body and moved his mouth lower, kissing over her stomach until his lips found her clit. “Cash, please.”

He threw her other leg over his shoulder and buried his face between her legs. His scratchy cheeks abraded her sensitive lips. Her clitoris screamed in pleasure as he sucked deep and swirled his tongue, and his fingers fucked her as she tightened, tightened, tightened and—

“Cash.” She came, calling his name.

He thrust his fingers in time with each rippling wave of orgasm, his tongue lapping and licking, her body shaking at the response. Tears seeped out her eyes. Sniffles too. Stars were in her head, the explosion of the climax rocketing from toes to fingertips, and she shook… because she was crying and had no idea why.

Goddamn hormones. But wasn’t it just the best orgasm ever. With the best man ever.

“I love you.” She sniffled and whispered and found herself speaking against his lips as he kissed her sweetly.

Who knew where those lost seconds went, but now he was over her body. “Always, baby. What’s with the tears?”

She laughed. “I have no freaking clue.”

His forehead touched hers, and their eyes locked. “You sure?”

“Best orgasm of my life, maybe?”

“I don’t know about that.” His lazy half grin almost looked as though it had been issued a challenge. “Top five?”

“Shut up,” she teased, but he caught her with another kiss.

“Don’t fight with me again or fall asleep elsewhere.”

Nodding, she agreed, hooking her fingers in the drawstrings of his pajama pants, tugging them lower. “Deal. We’re not done making up, are we?”

“Not a chance. I made you cry. Don’t know how I feel about that.” He kissed her cheek, nuzzling into her hair.

“I didn’t cry. Just tears.
Very
good tears.”

Cash scooped her into his arms, grabbed the blanket, and threw it over the back of the couch. “You’re up, I’m down.”

Before she could think, he had her straddling him with the blanket wrapped around her. Then he lifted her a bit so he could tug down his pajama pants. There was nothing sexier than her husband, golden tan with hair mussed from sending her to orgasm, lying in front of her, his cock gorgeously thick and him staring, waiting with those beautiful, boyish looks, too cocky for words, too sweet for his own good. She stacked her hands on his hardened length and watched his eyes stutter closed as she gripped him and stroked, thumbing the top of his head in that special place that made him turn to mush, right under the crown.

That she could do that to him, the guy who was God’s gift to women—who, even when her belly poked out, still drank her up—made him more than someone to marry. He was the one to spend forever with.

His eyes were sealed and his head pressed back into the pillow. Nicola rose on her knees and guided his shaft between her legs. Cash sucked air as his blunt head made contact with her needy, wet flesh, and she hungrily inched herself onto his cock, letting the invasion stretch her, feeling the slight difference of pregnancy sex and the pressure from within her body.

“Nicola?”

She hadn’t realized her eyes were closed and her lips had parted. “Yeah?”

“You okay, baby?”

Nodding, she tested how true that was. Whoa. Yes. Very okay. Her breaths shook. “Yeah. This is good.”

His hands went to her sides, where he so often had held her as she fucked him, and his strong fingers were expertly gentle. He wasn’t too careful but wouldn’t come close to bruising her. But,
God,
he commanded her hips to sway, and they did. Her lungs couldn’t fill deep enough to keep away that moaning, gasping, needing breath that fell from her lips. “Cash, this is… so…”

His fingers gripped tighter on her hips as she relaxed and, now completely accustomed to his length, slipped back and forth on his shaft, riding him as her heavier-than-normal breasts tingled with newfound arousal. He dropped a hand to her butt cheek, squeezing it while the fingers of his free hand teased her clit.

“Sweet Jesus.” Cash’s low growl of a curse came as his hips began to flex just a little. Just enough. Meeting her stride, letting her still dictate, he sent her straight to the pearly gates of almost orgasmic overload.

Nicola ground down on him, and his mouth gaped.

“Killing me, Nic.”

“Yes,” she panted.

He reached for her face, threading his hands into her hair, pulling her into a kiss, and took over, thrusting into her body, and she cried as the orgasm hit hard. Shaking and bucking, Cash kissed her harder, holding her to his chest, owning her kiss, and he came too, hot and deep inside. Each thrust felt better than the last as he slowed.

They were tangled—arms and legs, locked lips and heavy breaths—pulsing, sated, and still attached at the hips. She went limp as bliss rolled from deep inside her belly to the far reaches of her fingertips and toes.

Cash twisted their bodies and lay over her without crushing, his mouth unmoving and not kissing but not leaving hers, and their hearts slammed back and forth, talking in unspoken words.

“I…” He inched back, brushing the hair off her cheeks, then kissed her forehead, letting his love-swollen lips linger. “Need you as much as I love you.”

Thank God for her husband. “You just made my soul smile.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Three days had ticked by, and Nicola and he had left the lack of bad vibes unsaid. Whoever had been watching them was gone. Today something was different in the air. There was a reason both had been called to their careers. They possessed a sixth sense where doom and gloom were concerned.

“You check the imaging?” Nicola casually sipped her tea—which the local coffee shop had assured her a dozen times was decaf—but her cool and laid-back act wasn’t fooling him.

“Yup.”

“The baby’s Spidey senses are tingling.”

His eyes dropped to her stomach. “Guess it runs in the genes, huh?”

“HQ have any idea?”

“On who’s snooping around?” He shook his head. “But if all three of our Spidey senses are humming, we’ll know soon enough. The White House has less security protocol per square inch than we’re running in this place, so—”

Both their phones lit with an alert.

Her eyebrows went up, and she met his I-knew-it gaze. Cash swiped the screen of his phone, knowing that they’d see more than a roaming seagull or a wind-tossed piece of trash. Sure enough, in the distance, thermal imaging picked up two men burrowing into a sandy position on the bank of a dune. “Get comfy, assholes. Make it a nice place to die.”

“Do you want to call the cops?” She sipped her tea.

Cash scoffed. “Do you?”

She put her lips to the mug. “Nope. Just checking on that injured brain of yours.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “Glad my interest in avoiding law enforcement means I’m doing better.”

“Avoid reinjury. Okay?”

“I don’t have to convince you to stay put?”

“Not a chance in the world unless you need backup, in which case, I’m calling Jared rather than the cops.”

“Good girl.” He kissed her again. “Time to go find out who these fuckers are and what they want.”

Nicola smacked his butt as he walked by, and it was equally unnerving and calming that they were back to who they were. She might be pregnant, and he might be on the upside of TBI, but they were still trained operatives, lethal and dangerous and more able to protect house and hearth than most standard operators.

Cash cracked his knuckles and suited up with what he’d already scoured the house for: two handguns, extra ammo, a throwing knife, serrated blade, and a fist full of flexi-cuffs. They could never be too careful or overprepared.

He slunk out of the house and relocked it then re-engaged the security system. With the binoculars spotting the men, Cash backed around, letting the wind mask the sound of his footsteps, and he melted into the brush and weeds. Sniper training often served him well, and this was no exception. His target never saw him coming.

Cash centered, visualized his targets, saw them as dead. One was a light-haired man who had a military haircut with a week or two of overgrowth. The other was a dark-haired man in a poor prone field position. His build was athletic, but he clearly had no tactical training. They both might be killers, and neither one was what Cash would call comfortable in the sand dune—they made rookie mistakes all over the place—but Light Hair looked more experienced than Dark Hair.

Assessment done, he lunged.

Landed.

Attacked.

With a choke hold on the dark-haired man, who was definitely athletic, Cash had the upper hand. His mark had been trained at one time, but in the sand and the brush, the man couldn’t get his footing. The other man stuttered in his decision to help before going for Cash’s back. A single punch over his shoulder knocked the light-haired man to the dune.

Dark Hair and Cash rolled down a hill; the other man, capable but untrained, couldn’t handle the elements, inhaling the sand and letting it scrape into his eyes. Cash gained the momentum, ducking a blind punch. He straddled the attacker and drilled two fists, one and two. Lights out.

God. Damn.
Cash blinked.

The morning sun shone overhead, and there was no question of what Cash looked down on. He reached into his back pocket, grabbing the flexi-ties and keeping an eye on the other unconscious man on top of the hill, then patted down the asshole in front of him, removing weapons before he pulled out his cell phone.

Cash wanted to puke. Parker answered on the first ring. “What the fuck is going on? We’re watching—”

Cash ran his hand over his face, forgetting that Titan had likely seen everything, and if he took any punches, they were going to know about it. That didn’t matter at the moment. He yanked the guy by his shirt, shaking him for the satellite field. “This guy?” He shook him harder, angrier than he’d been in years. In
decades
. “He’s a fucking Gianori mobster.”

He knew them all. Knew their faces. Knew their children, their houses, their names, their wives and cousins and lawyers and moles and snitches. He’d been studying them for a decade. Cash knew everything about the Gianori mob because they would forever want to kill his wife.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Nesting shouldn’t occur in the second trimester of pregnancy in someone else’s house—right? But nerves were driving Nicola to the point of polishing Jared and Sugar’s beach bungalow. Nic had dusted though the place was speck free and apparently had a force of security-clearance-level housekeepers who would pop in while she and Cash were out and tidy the hell out of the house.

Only Jared Westin would have a security-clearance brigade of maids.

But for the moment, puttering around the house with a perfectly clean rag alleviated Nicola’s nerves. It wasn’t that Cash went off to take care of business. Her concern was that he had been gone a very long time
after
fists had been thrown.

Nicola had watched the entire show on her phone. Thermal imaging hadn’t shown her the greatest picture, but she liked his approach. She smiled when he dodged swings, cringed when the other guy rolled on top of him, and triumphed when he took down the two men.

But then he sat there. Why wasn’t he hauling their bound intruders in? He wouldn’t answer her calls. He was obviously on the phone with Titan, so what was the deal?

Easy answer: those two men had wanted
her
, and her husband was keeping them at bay.

Or she was deluded by hormones, and the world didn’t revolve around her; Cash was simply waiting for cops in the land of beach and sun. They likely didn’t have a lot of violent crime in the area, and bike patrol couldn’t pick up two… two what? Stalkers?

Or maybe they were mobsters. That was her subconscious go-to fear and had been for almost a third of her life.

She scrubbed the hell out of a nonexistent spot on the kitchen counter. Her calls to Titan were left unanswered as well. Everyone was keeping her out of the loop, and that did nothing to ease her concerns.

Best-case scenario was that they were a couple of goofs from town who had hit on her a few weeks ago when she was wearing a billowing dress that hid her starting-to-show belly and carrying a bag of groceries that covered her wedding band. But Cash wouldn’t stay out there for hours with a couple of townie bozos. He also would not knock them out and tie them up.

Worst-case scenario… Nicola folded and refolded the cloth. Her subconscious was in overdrive, screaming, “Oh, crap!” The Gianori family would be the worst-case scenario. They’d dictated her life for years, and why weren’t they her first thought, her
every
thought?
Shit.

She picked up the phone and called Cash. No answer.

She dialed Titan. No answer.

Fuck it.
She texted her husband.

It’s them, isn’t it? Gianori?

Nicola put the phone down and stared, willing it to ring, and the screen lit up less than a minute later. If it were the mob, why wouldn’t they just kill her? Why spend days scouting her? So maybe it was just random kids who were a little too nosy. Nothing made sense.

“Hey.” His strained voice was all the answer she needed.

“Shit.” That tone of voice said there was nothing local or accidental about the men Cash had in his custody. He had called only when she had figured it out. Gianori.

“We’re handling it, sweet girl. Take it easy.”

“I don’t want you to handle it for me. I want you to tell me what’s going on so that
we
handle it together.
I’ve
handled them for years on my own!”

“Nicola, baby.” Cash’s voice was low and calm but not enough to soothe her. “Parker has eyes on the house. If anything was to change, if a crab was to scuttle its ass too close to the house, he’d be on the phone with you in a hot second, and you’d know about it. But for now, give me a minute.”