Bishop (Political Royalty Book 3) (6 page)

“Then we both need the sleep,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to the bed.

He pulled back the white duvet and nudged her under the covers, tucking her in as if she were the most precious thing in the world to him. For a moment she panicked, afraid he was going to leave her and unsure about trying to stop him. Justin’s words were still too close to the surface for her to want to make love, but she didn’t want to be alone. Sleeping together was a luxury that by necessity she and Walker almost never indulged in, but she needed him. In the face of everything, she needed the reassurance she found in his arms.

“Stay,” she said, distilling the jumble of her thoughts into the single word that meant everything.

He tipped his head to the side and this time when he smiled, it held nothing but warmth and love. “You couldn’t make me leave you.”

The words hung between them, carrying the weight of more than just one night. As she watched, Walker peeled off his shirt and stripped down to his boxer briefs. Her gaze trailed over his broad shoulders and across his flat abs to the
V
that disappeared under his waistband. She could clearly make out the outline of his semi-erect cock and despite her exhaustion, despite everything that had happened, her body responded as clearly as if he’d called to her.

“You need to stop looking at me like that,” he said, rounding the other side of the bed. “Or neither of us is going to get the sleep we need.”

The mattress dipped under his weight and then he was there, under the covers with her, pulling her against him. Curling around her as he sheltered her with his body. She felt him everywhere, the warmth of him along her back. His cock wedged against the cleft of her ass, and his chin pressed to the top of her head as he surrounded her.

“Go to sleep, beautiful. We have time.”

She took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Haven drifted off to sleep in his arms, confident he was strong enough to hold the world away for a few short hours.

––––––––

W
ALKER COULD LIVE to be a hundred, and he would never take for granted the feeling of waking up with Haven in his arms. He drifted awake in the still dark room to feel her body curled against his, soft and warm in sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, she’d gripped his arm, tucking it around her. Her hand clasped his forearm, anchoring him in place. Not that he had any desire to escape. He’d gladly stay caught in this one perfect moment with her.

His fingertips grazed the soft swell of her breast and he felt the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing as she slept. His raging hard-on was a testament to how much he wanted her. He always wanted her; that never diminished, not even after they’d made love. He was never sated where Haven was concerned, but it was more than that. Sleeping with her, knowing she trusted him to keep them both safe while she let go for a while touched him in a way nothing else could.

These few stolen hours in the dark, hidden from the world outside, felt like so much and not enough at the same time. The closer he got to winning the nomination, the farther he got from being able to have her. Every victory moved Haven that much farther out of his reach—made the risk to both of them but especially her that much greater. Alone with her in the middle of the night without all the distractions of the campaign made it impossible to ignore the truth and made the hours they managed to steal together that much more precious. Knowing they’d have to be enough to sustain him until the next time made him want to hold on that much tighter.

He tightened his grip on her reflexively and she wriggled back against him, making any thought of sleep impossible. He pressed a kiss to her temple, needing to touch her but not wanting to interrupt her sleep. Her breath hitched, and he felt her cheek bunch as she smiled against the brush of his lips. He’d been content simply to hold her, running through delegate counts and primary maps to keep from pressing her for more, but she had her own ideas. Turning in his arms, she pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat.

“What time is it?” she asked, her voice hoarse from sleep.

“The middle of the night.” He didn’t want to quantify it. As soon as he said the number, their stolen hours together would start ticking down to fractions of an hour, then minutes and then the end. “We still have time.”

He felt her head nod against his chest and he slid his hand up to tangle his fingers in her silky hair. He stroked her back with his other hand, giving himself over to the feeling of her soft skin and gentle curves under his palm. She arched into his touch, taking what he offered and demanding more. In an instant, the sleepy caress turned into something hotter, something hungrier. His fingertips grazed the cleft of her ass, dipping lower to find her center. She opened for him, wrapping her leg around his hip and pulling him closer.

Gripping her hip with his hand, he raised her thigh over his waist, fitting himself into the sweet
V
of her body. His cock rode the slick seam of her sex and for a moment they rocked against each other, caught in the aching pleasure of in-between. He felt her breath hitch as the ridge of his cock hit her clit and he pulled her tighter to him, needing to take her higher. Cradling her in his arms, he repeated the motion, drawing out her pleasure, driving her on until he heard the needy little whimpers that tore at his heart fall from her lips.

“Shep, inside me, please,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Hearing her say his name stole his control, and he rolled them both, bracing himself over her on his elbows. Cupping her head with his hands, he shifted his hips until he was wedged against her tight opening.

“I love you, Haven. I love you.” He repeated the words that bound him to her and set him free as he thrust inside her, joining them together in one perfect moment in time.

“I love you, too,” she said, arching up to meet him.

Her body clenched around him as he drove them both on, spiraling higher and higher until he was lost in the fleeting pleasure of his body wedded to hers.

M
ATT GLANCED AT THE ADDRESS on his phone one more time before turning down the street and heading for the bar on the corner. When Steve sent him the photos he’d found online of Becca, Matt almost lost his mind. The only thing that kept him from completely losing his shit was the knowledge that the photos disappeared as soon as they’d shown up and that he now had the name of the animal who’d attacked his sister. As best as he could tell, it had just been the one guy. So that’s how Matt intended to finish it. One-on-one.

He’d been stalking the bastard’s social media accounts, getting to know his schedule, looking for routines. It hadn’t taken long to pick up on the frat-to-bar back and forth, with a rare class thrown in so the ass wipe could still call himself a student. Matt hadn’t had any trouble figuring out when and where to catch the guy alone. The hard part had been waiting for the campaign to make its way back to Arizona and swing close enough to ASU for him to sneak away from Becca for the night.

He’d finally managed it. His sister was safe back at the hotel, enjoying one of her last nights before she was supposed to head back to school, and he was here to kick the living shit out of the animal who’d hurt her. If things worked according to his plan, he’d be back before she woke up in the morning and the guy who hurt her would be off campus.
At least while the jack-off recovered
, Matt thought, feeling the adrenaline flood his veins.

Stepping into the alley beside the bar, Matt waited for the animal to make his appearance. The bright neon beer signs lit up the bar’s windows and cast a glow at the edge of the dark alley. He watched the colors flash across the sidewalk and waited. It was getting closer to last call and a stream of drunk college students exited in a wave. Matt scanned them, looking for the face he couldn’t forget, worried that he’d lose his target in the crowd.

He needn’t be concerned. A minute or two later, his prey came stumbling out of the bar. He was alone, exactly as Matt had known he would be. The asshole had been bragging about going out and looking for pussy, but his regular buddies were still out of town on spring break. Looked like he’d struck out, and just like that, the last possible glitch in Matt’s plan dropped away. He fell in step behind the weaving man. Fuck, he needed the guy to stay conscious long enough to know who was hurting him and why, but looking at the dude, it would be a miracle if he could feel anything.

It made the argument Matt had with himself on the car ride over about bringing a baton kind of silly. Not a fighter by nature, he’d wanted to make sure he could take the guy, but if everything went tits up, he didn’t want to go to prison for five years on aggravated assault charges. Bringing the weapon would pretty much assure that and as it turned out, he wouldn’t need it. He had the element of surprise on his side and the guy was so toasted he could barely stay upright.

They headed past the last of the closed mom-and-pop stores and into the darker section of downtown. Matt glanced around to make sure they were alone and then timed his steps, waiting until the animal stepped in front of an open alleyway before clocking him in the back of the head. Dude never saw it coming. The force of the blow sent the other man reeling down the alleyway, bouncing off the brick walls like a pinball. Matt shook his hand, knowing he’d feel it tomorrow and not caring, and set off down the alley after his prey.

“Turn around, asshole.”

At the sound of his voice, the frat boy spun around, confusion etched on his face as he struggled to stay vertical. He finally settled for slumping against the wall and tried to focus on Matt’s face.

“What happen? D’you hit me?”

The slur in the asshole’s voice just pissed him off. Matt needed him to understand what was going to happen to him and why. Becca was dealing with what happened in the best way she could and Matt was so fucking proud of his baby sister. But he wasn’t her. He’d never been as good as her at anything. He couldn’t move on—not without getting vengeance first. That required inflicting pain—a fraction of the pain Becca dealt with—on the man barely standing in front of him.

“I know what you did to my sister, you stinking piece of filth.”

Matt stepped into the center of the alley and squared his shoulders, making himself appear as big as he could. Apprehension slowly cut through the haze of alcohol and the guy pushed away from the wall, taking a second to steady himself.

“Naw, man, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He held his hands up in front of him, doing the drunk’s version of innocent: wide eyes, slack jaw, a
shucks, not me
expression.

“Remember that frat party a couple of weeks ago? I’m here to make you pay for the girl you raped, you fucking piece of shit.” He closed the distance between them, reading the other man’s body language, looking for tells.

“I don’t know what she told you, but I didn’t rape anybody. It was a party. We were both a little bit drunk and had some fun.”

Matt’s jaw clenched so tight he thought his teeth might shatter, but he kept his gaze fixed on the animal in front of him, waiting for him to telegraph his next move. The guy seemed noticeably soberer, which suited Matt’s purpose. When he came to the next morning, he’d remember what happened to him and why. He pegged the asshole as a runner and waited for him to try. He couldn’t risk chasing him down the street. He needed to finish this in the alley, away from witnesses.

“She wanted it. Practically begged me for it.” Something nasty flickered behind the other man’s eyes, and Matt braced for the move he knew was coming.

A red haze fogged Matt’s vision and he had an almost out-of-body moment as he realized what people meant when they said rage clouded their vision.
It was a literal thing.
The thought passed as quickly as it came. Nothing mattered but making the animal in front of him pay.

The other man misread his focus as shock and tried to make a break for the open. Matt was ready. At the last possible moment, he raised his elbow and hit the guy in the throat as he tried to run past. He made a sound like he’d swallowed a golf ball, and Matt felt the red close in tighter, crowding out everything but making the other guy hurt.

Using his momentum against him, Matt slung the bastard back against the wall and had the pleasure of hearing his head thunk against the brick. The guy’s eyelids fluttered and Matt smacked him as hard as he could, the sting radiating up his palm. He needed the asshole awake, eyes open, while he made him pay for what he’d done to Becca. The guy blinked, eyes watering but open, and Matt pulled his fist back and rammed it into the other man’s stomach, feeling his knuckles sink into soft tissue.

The breath left him in a whoosh and he started to double over, curling in on himself. Before he could slump to the ground, Matt cocked back his fist again and drove it into the guy’s face. He felt the satisfying crunch of the other man’s nose shattering under his hand and heard the ripe melon sound of his head hitting the wall. Matt pulled back again, needing to hit the guy one last time before he walked away.