Pike (The Pawn Duet #1) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,76

it again.

He hisses, raising his eyes to the ceiling then pressing them shut.

I do it again.

His eyes open and meet mine. I give him a daring look that says do your worst. He smiles in reply, thrusting even harder, touching me even deeper.

And the battle resumes.

I meet him thrust for thrust as we hold each other's gaze.

He stills then pulls out and pushes forward with such force my head hits the headboard, but I don’t care. The sensation of having him inside of me, stretching me, filling me, is so great that I’m about to burst apart.

He holds me still in his arms, pulling me onto him while thrusting in fast hard strokes so that I feel all of him, everything he has to give. It’s overwhelming, and yet it’s perfect in the same way it’s imperfect.

Like Pike.

“I fucking hate you,” I groan against his lips, as he kisses me once more, but I don’t mean it.

“I fucking hate you, too,” he sneers, and I know he doesn’t mean it either.

We should, but we don’t. We can’t.

How can I hate someone who is a part of me?

We’re not enemies. We’re victims of circumstance, caught up in what we think we should be doing while consumed by what we want to be doing to each other.

I raise my hips again, and his thrusting becomes wild and erratic until the tightness in my stomach explodes into a burst of feeling, shattering me to pieces like a sledgehammer to a window.

“Pike!” I cry out as the sensations overwhelm me in wave after wave of pleasure that has me seeing nothing but white.

Pike’s cock hardens even more inside me. “Mic,” he growls, and with a moan that has me coming even harder as I feel him come in long hot spurts, filling my body…while breaking my fucking heart. “Oh, fuck, Mic. What have we done?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, another tear spilling from my eye.

He licks the falling tear from my check. “This changes everything.”

His words a vast contrast to what he said after our kiss on the curb.

I place my hand on his face. He turns his head and kissed my palm.

Pike and I aren’t at war. We never were.

We are what’s left over after the battle’s already been lost on both sides.

We’re not soldiers.

We’re carnage.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Pike

I know what I want, and what I want is Mickey. She’s not going to fight this battle alone. I’m going to fight it with her. I’ve spent all morning preparing plans to keep her safe while taking out the entire fucking Fourth Reich starting with Darius himself.

I’m standing at the register. The bell above the door chimes after a customer leaves. There’s a sound in the back room. Laughter coming from Mickey and Thorne as they arrange antique candlesticks to take pictures for the website.

I never understood the importance of sound until today.

Sound is an incredible thing. The sound of Mickey’s laughter. The sound of Thorne’s nails tapping on keys. The camera clicking away. Even the ringing of the bell above the door of the shop. The sound of Mic moaning my name as I make her come. That one is a personal favorite.

It’s the sound of normal. Maybe, not normal for others, but normal for us.

And I’m going to protect that new normal, at whatever fucking cost.

Another sound that has nothing to do with our new normal comes from the parking lot outside, screeching tires on the asphalt.

Racing outside, I realize Mickey is close on my heels. “Stay back,” I tell her as a flatbed truck skids to a halt in front of the shop.

I watch as familiar skeleton-clad men get out of the truck. They’re carrying someone with a burlap hood covering his head. I recognize the burlap sack and the man underneath it immediately.

I go for my gun.

“Touch the gun, and he dies,” one of them warns as they shove Gutter to his knees.

One of the armed men rips the hood from Gutter’s head. He blinks away the blur. Then, his eyes land on me. He smiles. “It’s not your fault, Pike. I had this comin’ a long time, so don’t go blaming yourself. It ain’t your fault. I don’t blame you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened in my life. I consider you to be a son to me. Don’t go getting yourself killed for a nobody like me either. You hear me?”

One man saunters over to him with a crowbar in hand. “No!” I shout, again reaching for my gun.