The Arrangement (The Blankenships Book 9) (7 page)

CHAPTER TEN

One month later

“What did the doctor say?”

Zoey had to laugh. Alex was practically hovering on the seat inside the car. She’d told him she didn’t need him to come into the appointment with her, and she’d absolutely forbidden him to ask her anything in the waiting room. “As I have told you, many times, it’s fine. It’s healed beautifully. The tube they put in my thigh to help the wound drain has dissolved, just like it’s supposed to, and there’s hardly any scar.” Well, that was a lie. The bullet that had hit her upper thigh had dodged the bone, which she gathered was a huge blessing, but had nicked some major blood vessels. The entrance and exit wounds from the bullet, which had passed straight through her leg, were pretty unimpressive, considering the story she got to tell when people noticed them. About the size of a dime on the front, a quarter on the back. She nudged his leg with her knee, and he winced like he was the one who’d been shot. “As you verified just last night.”

He winced again, and she had to sigh inside. “Are you okay to be using it as much as you are? Should you be using a cane?”

“Are you my old mother hen, sha? It’s nothing to worry about. There’s no infection, and it’s healed beautifully. The plastics guy said he couldn’t have done better without skin grafts.”

“Do you want that? I can make that happen.”

“Alex.” She glanced at David up in the front seat, and he didn’t even need to look in the rear view to feel her gaze. The privacy divider slid up between the front and back of the town car. “There is something I need.”

“Yes,” he said. “Anything. Tell me. I’ll make it happen.”

She leaned towards him and kissed his lips as softly as she could. “I need you to stop treating me like I’m a fragile little flower.”

She watched the war on his features. It was as intense as Stark versus Lannister, and it hurt to watch, but this was also something he needed to go through. Since they’d been back in New York, and he’d resumed leadership of AEGIS, he’d been seeing his therapist and gone back on the meds, which were doing a great job of keeping his panic attacks at bay as he worked through the trauma of losing his family like he had. But things had changed between them, and she needed to know if it was the meds, or if it was just that he was afraid. Either way, she’d work with it, but she needed to know which it was. It was important.

“I’m afraid,” he said, after a long moment. “I am completely afraid that you’re going to realize that this was all my fault, and leave me.”

“I understand,” she said. “But that’s—” there was no way to tell him. She knew that. “Can we go out tonight?”

“If you want. Will that help?”

I’m hoping it will help you.
Not that it would be a helpful statement to voice. “Yes,” she said, focusing on keeping her eyes wide and her smile easy. “It would be so nice. Can I plan it? Make it all a surprise for you?”

She could see him fighting himself. Surprises didn’t have the same ring that they’d had, just a few months before. But he wanted to please her and make her happy. He gave in more than he fought. “Sure,” he said. “I’ll leave it to you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It took making a call to Helen to get everything in order. Yes, her leg was almost completely healed, with no sign of infection, and the scar was even starting to fade from its ugly dark purple into a more sedate angry red, which she was assured would likely become a pale yellow-y pink eventually, but walking on it still hurt. The muscle had been torn, and while Alex had made sure that the very best available doctors had been there to help her heal, it still pulled pretty sharply when she stood the wrong way or moved too fast with all her weight on that leg. But all in all, for a bullet wound, it was pretty much as good as these things got. The bullet hadn’t even tumbled, the doctors said, just went right through. Made a hell of a mess, and she was to watch for pain in that hip or shoulder, or other signs that she was favoring the leg. But otherwise, she was basically healed.

But it would have been aching far too much for what she had in mind if she’d taken off shopping for the afternoon. Besides, Helen knew all her sizes and had a better idea of what she was looking for anyway.

She stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom, smoothing her hands over her skin, admiring the way Helen’s purchases flattered the tone of her skin as well as fitting without cutting into anything. Alex enjoyed spoiling her, he said. He’d been slowly rebuilding her wardrobe, though she was utterly delighted that he was doing it in a non-creepy way. In movies, when someone got a makeover, all their comfy sweats and convenient pens for holding their hair up off their faces got thrown in the trash. Alex flat out said that he had no interest in messing with her period underwear or her pajama pants. But if she needed new things, he said, they should be the best.

She liked how the lace and satin looked on her skin. She liked the tight, almost painful outline of metal against the thin fabric of her bra. She liked the warmth in her pussy.

It wasn’t that he’d kept himself from touching her; far from it. They’d had sex a lot in the past month, as soon as she could move her leg around without making it bleed worse or ache. But he was so kind, and so gentle, and she loved it, but it wasn’t what she wanted. At least, not all the time.

She’d banned Alex from entering the bedroom until she was dressed, but when he knocked, she called out “come in” before she thought better of it. As the door swung open, she realized that she was about to give away every secret she’d had planned. Well, not every secret, but enough of them. She let out a squeaky little shriek that was supposed to be her telling him not to come in yet. Since she didn’t manage to actually say any of the words, he didn’t stop; all she could think to do was to dive into the closet and close the door almost all the way.

“Zoey?” Alex called out from the door. “Are you okay?” There was a note of worry in his voice, as if she’d just barely gotten home, not had a month to heal.

“I’m fine,” she called from the closet, fully aware of how awkward the conversation was about to be.

He stepped toward the closet door, and she found herself in the shockingly graceful position of waving her head through the crack between the door and the frame. “Nope. No. Go away. I’m still getting ready.”

He paused, and then he laughed, his hand landing on the doorknob. He pulled against her, but gently, gently enough that he wouldn’t actually pull the door open, but enough to tease her. “Why should we even go out? We can do anything you want to do here.”

“It’s not what I want to do, it’s how I want to do it,” she said.

She could almost hear his eyebrow raising. “There’s something you want that we can’t accomplish in my secret room?” There was a pause, and the worry evaporated, just like she’d hoped that it would. “Kinky.” The interest she heard—it was tentative, questioning, wondering. It didn’t offer her any guarantees, any promises, not even any reassurances. But there was interest there, and even though she could almost feel him tamping it down and closing it off, it was still interest. She could work with interest.

She was sure he still wanted her, still wanted the kink and the heat of their bodies slamming together. And she understood why he was concerned. She’d tried to have conversations about it, tell him in words that she still wanted the world he’d introduced her to. He’d nodded and smiled and promised to do anything she wanted, but then, in the moment where she opened herself entirely to him, she could see the fear brush over his face. She could see him choose to enter her more slowly, to be more delicate.

She wanted her vicious, passionate lover back. And she was going to do what she needed to make that happen.

“I love you,” she said, taking her hand from its frantic waving to reach down and grip him through his jeans. He was soft, but he groaned softly at her touch. Her heart beat sped up just a little. The feel of his hand on her hip, hard and fast, was enough to make her feel dizzy and excited. “But trust me. I have a plan.”

“Can there be a lead up to your plan?” He was hardening, faster than she’d expected. Interesting. Something to remember, that he was tempted, at least sometimes, by her putting him off a little ways. “I promise, I’ll fuck you twice as hard the second time.”

“Oh,” she said, giving him one more good squeeze. His hand covered hers, pressing her palm into the growing length behind his zipper. His eyes closed for just a moment, and his teeth closed on his lower lip. “You think it’s only going to happen twice?”

Yes. There it was: that flare, that widening of his pupils, that deep inhalation that told her he was with her, he was listening, he was deeply interested in what she had to say. In what she was going to do next.

Fuck it. Time to wreck part of the plan. “Now, if you want, if you really really want, I’ll push this door open, and I’ll let you see what I’m wearing—and not wearing—and then I will pull you through the door in the back of this closet, and we will do all sorts of things. But the other alternative—oh, Alex, I have such things planned for you.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice thin and just a little bit reedy. “Yeah. Okay. But Zoey—god, princess—”

Her throat closed for just a moment. It had been such a long time since he’d called her by that little pet name that he’d used in the first few days of their relationship. It tightened her nipples painfully, the heavy weight of the clamps teasing through her entire body. She didn’t know which she wanted more—the delight of having him now, or the torture of making them both wait. “Don’t worry,” she said, giving him another squeeze and delighting in the solid groan he released this time, leaning into her palm so that he could drag his length over her, fucking her hand through the denim of his jeans. His hand was closed on the frame of the door, his knuckles light with the tension in his fingers. “I won’t make you wait long to come. The first time.”

“Fuck, princess—” She felt his weight against the door, and then he pressed his hand over hers, increasing the pressure she was giving him. “I don’t want to wait. You keep your surprise, but I want your hand in my pants right now.”

“Yes,” she said, and that was all it took for him to let go of the door frame, unzip his jeans, and guide her hand inside. He was wet with his own arousal, silk-over-steel hard and swollen, and he was already close. She could feel him swelling against her hand, and his hips were shifting against her palm, holding her in place as he moved against her.

“Oh, princess,” he murmured, and she could feel the pulse of him, the eagerness, and it was shocking and wonderful and delightful. She wanted to slip a hand into these panties and brush over her wet and aching clit, but she needed to balance herself, stay still, and so she could wait, she could let him go first. This time. But oh, God, she was going to be paid back later. She pressed her thighs together and focused on him, for now, on him as he came, spilling over her hand and her wrist, his cry the sound of a man who hadn’t come for months instead of just hours.

His forehead rested on the door frame, but his eyes were closed. Her secret was still safe. Her nipples were throbbing with arousal, and her clit was swollen and aching, but he had no idea how this was just the tip of the iceberg. 

When he’d recovered, he kissed her palm, and then left the room at her chiding. She slipped into a black side zip skirt that was loose enough to pull up to her hips if that was the way the night went and a bright blue blouse that flowed over her breasts. She could see the faint outline of the clamps through the thin fabric, but she was pretty sure that anyone else would just think it was lace patterning on her bra.

When she finally stepped out of the closet, Alex took her breath away. It wasn’t anything in particular about what he was wearing—nice, charcoal gray trousers and a deep green shirt—but there was something in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen in some time. It was more than want, more than need, more than excitement. It was a sense of possession, the desire to claim her and make her his.

Everything in her fluttered into lazy awareness. Oh, this was going to be fun.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Alex went still for just a moment as David pulled the car to a halt. When Zoey had said she wanted to go out, this was not what he’d had in mind. Still, his dick was stirring into slow and lazy life in his pants as he studied the subtle sign outside Chez Vous.

Zoey’s gaze was heavy upon him as she waited for his reaction. He turned back to her and found her eyes wide and aware. “Too much?” She asked.

How long had it been since he’d asked her that question? He put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her in close, sealing his mouth over hers and tracing the fullness of her lower lip with just the tip of her tongue. She whispered a sign, and he drank down her excitement. “Just enough,” he said. “I assume you got us a private room?”

“Marie said it was your favorite.”

“Do you want a dance and a drink first?”

Her eyes were positively languid. “Only if you want to tease me.”

“If I wanted to tease you,” he said, and his fingers skated up the inside of her thigh. Her knees fell apart as he reached what should have been the silk or cotton of her panties, which he hoped would be damp with her need and excitement. But there was nothing between his questing fingers and her wet pussy. She wasn’t naked beneath her skirt, though; he could feel the silk around the sweet opening of her body.

She was watching him with an eager and almost triumphant expression. “Oh my oh my,” he murmured, dragging his knuckles over her clit and watching her eyes slip shut in intense satisfaction. “What other surprises do you have for me?”

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

Interest surged in him, that devious desire to plunder all of her secrets and claim her as entirely as he could, but he could see the bullet wound on her thigh, the angry red declaration that he had failed at protecting her.

The flare of pleasure that had been building in his dick flagged and dropped.

He knew it was unprogressive, misogynist, and, most likely, a big pile of emotional crap. He knew that Zoey wasn’t inherently weaker than him—hell, the woman had proven herself stronger than him in a variety of ways—but it had been drummed into him since he was a child. You protected all women, but especially the ones that you loved. He had failed. He had completely and totally failed her.

“Hey,” she said, her fingers catching under his chin and lifting it just a little, shaking him loose from his guilt and letting him shift his gaze to meet hers. That heat was still in her eyes, but it was more than that. There was concern there, and maybe an ugly hint of fear. “I’m right here. I want you. I want you to fuck me; hell, I want you to hurt me.”

“How can you trust me?” He asked, the words spilling out before he thought too deeply about them. “How can you trust me to keep you safe?”

“Because you didn’t hurt me,” she said, her eyes wide and unblinking, holding his gaze even when he wanted to look away. “Aaron Schwartz did that. Over and over again, he’s the one who hurt us. And Luke has his confession, and we’ll never see him again. And now I want you to fuck me again.” She bit her lip, not in nervousness but in interest, and shifted her hips up just a bit. The knuckle that had teased at her clit slipped lower, pressing into her just a tiny bit, and she made a low and delighted sound.

It overcame his worries, and he unbent his finger, entering her more fully. She groaned, encouraging him, and he added another finger, and a third, stretching her. She hissed with eager need, and her hands fluttered up behind her head, gripping at the back of the seats. “Yes,” she whispered, thrusting her hips up.

She was so beautiful like this: her eyes half closed with lust, her cheeks and neck flushed, and her lips begging to be kissed. He curled his fingers just a bit, seeking that pebbled spot inside of her body that made her back arch and her breath catch; when he found it, she choked back a cry, then bit at the back of her hand to keep herself quiet. He felt the orgasm rumbling through her as it crested, her body slamming down onto his fingers faster than he could thrust into her. He was hard as iron in his trousers, harder than he’d fantasized about being.

“Like that,” she murmured as she came, tossing her head and arching off the seat. “Like that, like that, just like that.” It was a mantra, he realized, a magic spell that the two of them could cast together.

He caught her mouth again, this time thrusting her mouth open with his tongue, nipping at her lips, pushing his fingers into her harder, more aggressively, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a burr as she fucked his hand, slamming his fingers deep inside of her.

She didn’t come again, not from that; it was the wrong angle, and he couldn’t tap her clit from here, but she squeezed him all the same, urging him on, making small and wordless sounds of begging delight deep in her throat. “You want more?” He asked, whispering into the pretty pink of her ear.

“God, yes.”

“You have more pretty treats for me to find?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go have a drink.”

If looks could have killed. She followed him though, and they walked past Marie and into the dark, clean, pleasant interior of the club.