Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

JACOB

A fter grabbing a few hours of sleep, I wake at midday and quickly scan the perimeter. The snow has settled in thick sheets around the cabin, but the air is currently still, allowing me to use any disturbances in the snow as signs. There's nothing except a set of paw prints on the east side of the cabin, moving past the garage and disappearing back into the forest. It must've been a fox.

When I return to the cabin, Mike is in the kitchen, standing at the coffee machine. "Want some?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah, thanks. Uh, Mike, last night during the drive, I told Emma what was really going on. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" he says, confused. "I wanted to tell her to begin with. Why the one-eighty?"

There's no way for me to answer this honestly. The truth is, lying to her causes me pain, borderline physical pain. I had to tell her. My woman deserves honesty.

"I just figured it didn't make much sense, holding back, especially if we need to stay here longer."

Mike just nods, standing there with his sleeved arms and an easy smile. No matter what, he's always able to keep an even keel. "You could be in the world's worst shootout and still come out with that grin on your face."

Mike shrugs. "If these men come for us, I'll do what I have to do."

"Do you ever miss it?" I ask.

Before Mike left the military to become an accountant, and before I left for Special Ops and then my own company, we served together as young men. It's the thing that bonded us the most. It's the thing that made me aware this man would always be my friend. I'd never betray him. I'd die before I did that. I should get busy dying, then.

"No," he says. "There's a reason I left. I wasn't made for killing or bastards trying to kill me." He walks over to the bar and slides my mug across to me.

"You were good at it," I say.

"That's one reason I hated it so much."

I nod, taking a sip of the steaming black brew. That's one of the major differences between me and him. There's a part of me that loves the fight, the blood, the violence, loves knowing I'm a bad man, and it's my job to keep the real monsters in check.

"How did Emma take it?" he asks.

"Good, I think. She didn't seem too fazed."

"She's tough," Mike says. "As tough as you can be as a civilian, that's her."

Anybody else might take that as an insult, but I know exactly what he means. It's a compliment coming from an ex-military man. It means the person is naturally tough and has some grit deep inside them, something they were born with.

"She's going to make a good mom," Mike says.

"You think about that?"

"Of course. I'm old," Mike smirks, seeming far younger than his age, a boyish glint in his eyes. "I want to be a grandfather one day."

Maybe I should use this as motivation to shut down any thoughts about revisiting the steaminess from the graduation party. What's the endgame? I get with her, fall for her, and we decide to be together. Then what? I'm the father of Mike's grandkids? I'm his son -in-law if we choose to get married? It's a goddamn farce.

"You good?" he asks.

"Yeah, why?"

"Sometimes, you get this look in your eyes. Like you're ready for murder."

I laugh savagely. "That's because I am. I would've happily put Rafael in the dirt."

"How bad is he for a trafficker? More business or sick, twisted pleasure?"

Sick, twisted pleasure makes me think of his daughter, kneeling on the floor of the storage room, her thighs glistening with her lust. It's a thought that belongs nowhere near this discussion. I shut it down and put it away for now.

"A power-hungry freak," I tell Mike. "He enjoys inflicting pain. That's the only reason he's in his business. That's why he threatened you. He wanted to hurt me, and his pathetic little torture didn't work."

"What did he do?" Mike asks.

"Nothing much. Whipping. Beating. Sleep deprivation. They wanted to keep my face clean for ransom photos if that's the route they decided to go down."

"Is it bad?" Mike nods to my body, meaning my injuries.

"It's bearable: some cuts on my back from the whip, some bruised ribs, nothing game-changing."

"That bastard," Mike says with a sigh. "I never enjoyed it, but if he were here, you know I'd put a bullet in his head. And that one, hell, I might get a kick out of."

Typically, a comment like this would fill me with a warm, brotherly feeling. Mike's the only person who can make me experience small sprinklings of humanity like that. However, just like everything else between us, it's tinged by the ghost of Emma lurking, watching, judging. Even if she's not physically in the room, I feel her presence, taste her lips, her warmth.

We click our coffee mugs together and then go on drinking in silence. Mike would never dream, even if given a thousand straight hours of contemplation, that I have any attraction to Emma. He'd never guess about the party or the hunger in me constantly trying to break through to the surface.

Yet it's there. I'll have to ignore it. Pretend it never happened. Never, ever acknowledge it. Bury it. Bury my feelings. Bury this small flame inside me that would become an inferno if my woman coaxed it just a little with a kiss or our naked bodies brushing together. I'd treat her how she deserves this time, kissing her tenderly, slipping slowly between her legs.

What would Mike do to me if he knew about these thoughts?

"Have you got a gun for me?" Mike asks.

"I thought you ditched firearms when you left."

"With Emma here, I can't risk having morals or qualms. I can't let anything happen to her." He gets uncharacteristically grim momentarily and then tries to smile away the real fear sarcastically. "Hell, can you imagine the fallout with Vanessa? Perfect opportunity for one of her drama shows."

As far as I can tell, Vanessa and Mike divorced because he was way too chilled out, and she was way too pent up. Now, she has a new husband, a banker, who is apparently just as dramatic and high-energy as she is.

"I'll get you a piece," I tell him, "and don't worry. We won't let anything happen to Emma."

Mike's phone buzzes. He grabs it, looks down, and then a different kind of smile spreads across his face.

"What's the grin about?" I ask.

"What? Nothing. Just a work email."

He's lying, but it's probably innocent enough. Maybe he's dating somebody. Perhaps he's gambling, or he applied for a new job and doesn't want to say anything until it's one hundred percent. Whatever it is, it can never be as bad as the secret eating away at my soul.

"What do we do now?" Mike asks, putting his phone down with a suspicious, shifty look. In a previous life—before six months ago, when I changed everything—I would've challenged and bantered with him about how suspicious he was acting. Then maybe he'd tell me what was happening, but I feel like I've lost the right to do that.

"We wait," I tell him.

"I'll get some work done," Mike says. "Got my laptop with me. There's no reason not to."

As usual, Mike is showing his workaholic tendencies. He might talk a big game about leaving the military, but he's still dedicating his life to a good cause. He hammers away at the financials, doing his part for trafficking victims, making sure there are enough funds to help them.

"What about you?" he asks.

"I'll… sit. Heal up. Hopefully, nothing comes of this."

"When will we know? How?"

"I've got contacts who can give me an inside look at these creeps, but it'll take time. We can't be too forward or suspicious about it. I hope Rafael gets swept up in another deal, another fight. Then he'll forget about you or be forced to, at least."

Mike nods. "He's a real madman, then?"

"Worse than that. He's not insane. He knows what he's doing, and his only goal is to keep doing it because he loves it so much."

"Jesus Christ."

"Yep." I take another sip of coffee. "There are monsters in this world, brother."

"Hopefully, Emma doesn't get bored," he says.

"What does she usually do?" I ask as casually as I can.

Mike smirks. "Don't worry. She's not here. No need to pretend to be interested."

"You make me sound like a douchebag."

He chuckles. "I get it. Family's not your thing. I can't blame you. Sorry…" He frowns. "I wasn't laughing at that or you."

"It's fine," I tell him. "I was born in the dirt. It's not the end of the world. It prepared me for how grim the world can be."

"It can be good, too," he says, looking at the hallway door with another big grin. I don't have to turn to know Emma has just walked in. I can hear her, but more than anything, I can see the love on Mike's face. "Morning."

"Afternoon," Emma says in a lazy, tired, somehow sexy voice.

I still don't turn; I stare stubbornly down into my mug of coffee. Then she walks around the kitchen bar, and I'm either forced to look up or make Mike suspicious. Fuck . Is she doing this on purpose? She's wearing PJ shorts that display her thick legs, making me think of how wet she was, her thighs glistening. She's wearing a PJ shirt—no, Emma, no —without a bra. Her perky nipples poke through the fabric.

Mike stands, picking up his coffee. "Mind if I hijack the study? I saw a desk in there."

"It's all yours," I say, feeling like I'm hardly even here, struggling with every part of me not to devour his daughter's creamy ass with my eyes.

Then he leaves, footsteps receding. I hear him enter his bedroom and then the study, closing the door. Hazy sunlight shafts through the window as Emma puts some bread in the toaster, her back to me. She leans over, causing her shorts to pull up, showing the bottom of her ass cheeks.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I growl.

She turns, wide-eyed and captivated, just like on graduation night. "What?" she moans.

"You know what," I snap.

She looks at me with a stubborn glint in her eyes. She's caught, but she won't admit it. "Maybe I need you to explain."

I stand up, roaring at myself to stop, but there's something about her. It's like magic or like she drugged me. My balls ache. My rod is stiff and hard already, pushing against my pants like it's trying to bust through my zipper.

She has her mouth slightly open, staring up at me like she's waiting for a kiss.

"Is this a game to you?" I demand, walking right up to her and reaching down.

God help me. I can't stop. I squeeze onto her ass and bring my mouth to hers. After half a year of thinking of her lips, dreaming about them, I'm tasting them again. She moans intensely, one big sharp exhale, as if she's been thinking of this too. She gasps when I push the globes of her ass together. Then I lose it, spank her, savoring her oh of shock.

I break off the kiss, staring down. "This is what you deserve," I snap, spanking her plump ass again, feeling her body dance for me. "You dressed like this on purpose. Tell the truth."

She can't hide the pleasure gripping her each time I spank her. She moans, pouting up at me. This is so damn dangerous. I need to stop myself and rein all this in, but instead, I spank her again and again.

"You'll make my ass red," she moans.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" I growl, grabbing her wrist and bringing it to my cock, stroking up and down, shuddering as I feel the heat of her palm. "Feel that, Emma?"

"Yes," she says breathily.

"That's just from looking at you. I feel like I'm going to explode."

"I thought you were going to pretend it never happened."

"You horny, cunning thing," I groan when she strokes my manhood without me moving her hand, wrapping her palm around my thickness.

I kiss her again, the alarm getting quieter in my head, just like it did that night . The alarm that tells me this is the worst thing I could do to my best friend—the man who saved my life and whose life I saved. But she feels so perfect as she grabs my dick harder through my pants, rubbing with more confidence, coaxing my seed out.

I grab her shoulders and push her away, the hardest thing I've ever done. It hurts to even take my hands off her. My cock is already soaked with precome. I can feel it burning through me, tempting me to explode completely.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why am I doing it?" She brushes my hands away.

"You just said?—"

"Yeah," she snaps in a passionate whisper. "I needed to see if you still felt the same. You're obviously not going to tell me."

"So you used these curves to trick me?" I step forward and can't help myself. Reaching down, I grab her thigh this time, a big handful of her gorgeous curviness. She bites her lip, making her look even sexier. "Who else are you tricking?"

"What?" she says, just as fiercely. "No one, and anyway, why would you even care?"

I smooth my hand up her leg toward her heat, feeling as powerless as I did that night. Since then, I've been on the warpath, thrown myself into deathly situations more than once, maybe wanting it on some level. Perhaps it would be easier than dealing with this never-ending guilt. Yet here I am, doing it again when I promised myself I wouldn't.

"Your wet slit was made for me," I growl. "Your horny fucking body?—"

Instinct makes me leap away. I don't realize why I've done it until I hear Mike's footsteps coming down the hall. My survival instinct made me do it and snapped me back to reality. What the fuck was I doing? I can feel wetness on my fingertips from where I brushed against her shorts. Is she even wearing underwear?

"Need some work fuel," Mike says good-naturedly, chuckling as he opens a cupboard and takes a snack bar from a box. He has no idea of what just happened here. He grins and walks back down the hallway.

Emma glares at me as if it's my fault. She stares at me like she hates me and regrets her entire plan.

"We shouldn't have done that," she says quietly, folding her arms.

The problem is, when she folds her arms like that, she pushes her full tits together. Without a bra, I'm free to look at her and her perky, excited nipples. Despite what just happened, I stalk across the room.

"Then stop being so damn tempting," I growl, leaning down and smoothing my hand up between her legs. At the same time, I bring my mouth to her nipple, sucking it over the thin fabric of her shirt.

She gasps so receptively, the sound making me somehow even harder. I feel her thick pussy lips through her shorts, the slit I've dreamed about every night since first touching her, almost sliding into her tight hole.

"You better fucking come quickly," I growl, then keep sucking her nipple, rubbing her clit even faster. She moans, her breath hitching as if struggling to produce the noise. It's like every shred of attention in my woman's body is aimed at the pleasure.

Then she collapses against me, pressing her face into my chest to trap her moan. I rub her so fast her whole body moves as I indulge in my pleasure, making her shiver, making her cream in the hottest way. She gasps and grinds up against me, then digs her fingernails into my side, pushing herself away. My dick is so hot, so fucking hard, that the pain from my injuries seems a million miles away.

"Oh, Jacob," she murmurs.

"We can't," I groan, pushing her away again. "We just fucking… can't . I tried to get myself killed every goddamn day since your party, and I still can't resist you."

I grab my rifle from the gun rack and march for the door. I set my gun on my lap and look into the forest. I'll sit here all day and night if that's what it takes. It's like some demon possesses me whenever I'm close to her. It's like there's nothing I can do, but how hard did I fight just now?

My groin aches with the tightness of my need, the bulge at my base demanding her tight, wet slit. She felt so ready when I made her flood her underwear with her release, so ready for my thick dick. She was aching for it, but last time, she was too nervous, her slit kissing my tip tightly.

Do I think that would be any different with her dad just a few rooms away? After a few minutes, she walks onto the porch. She's wearing a hoodie and baggy pants, so that's something, at least. She folds her arms and looks into the forest. She seems even more beautiful covered up, somehow, her cold pink hands peeking from the big sleeves of the hoodie.

"You're right," she says softly. "We shouldn't do this. I shouldn't have pulled that stunt, but I was starting to wonder if I was going crazy. If it even happened."

"Nothing happened," I snap. "Because if it did, it means we're both the lowest of the low. Your dad pulled me out of a burning wreckage once, Emma, and I dragged him halfway across a desert. We saved each other. Now look at me."

"Dad never talks about when he was in the military," she says softly.

"He has different feelings about it than me," I grunt. "But we shouldn't be talking…"

"What, at all?" she says.

I stare at the forest, not at her. I can still feel her wetness on my fingers. There's so much noise in me roaring to grab her, kiss her again, go further this time.

"It would be for the best," I say stiffly. "But…"

"I'm not going to beg to speak to you," she says, "but I can sort of tell you don't mean it. Just like you don't mean it when you say we can't do anything else."

"Yeah, because you're irresistible to me," I snap, "but that doesn't make it right. That doesn't mean anything good can come out of this."

"I know. It's not right. I know that."

"Then why the goddamn outfit?" I snap.

"Because I've dreamed of you looking at me every day since I was twelve years old, okay?" she erupts.

I turn, my mouth falling open, my world spinning around and around even more fiercely.