Maya Banks - Sweet Surrender

His mouth inched upward until his teeth nipped and caught at her upper lip. He pulled outward then sucked it farther into his mouth. His tongue licked and laved before he released her lip and moved to the corner of her mouth.

Forgotten were her tears, her anguish. All that existed in this moment was the man in front of her. His touch, his kiss, his very essence wound around her, filling her until everything else vanished.

She reached for him, sliding her hands over his broad shoulders. Her fingers inched toward his neck until one hand cupped the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. She nibbled back at his lips. Kiss for kiss, bite for bite, lick for lick.

A moan built deep in her chest, welled in her throat, until it escaped in a sound of sweet agony. The tension between them that had, over the last few days, built into an enormous entity, exploded in a rush of molten lava.

She moved her hands in front, down his chest until she tugged at his shirt. She wanted to feel his bare flesh. Impatiently, she yanked until it came free from his jeans. Then she slid her fingers under the hem and pressed her hands to his stomach.

He flinched, his mouth stilling over hers. Her hands worked higher, gliding over the muscles of his chest, shoving his shirt upward.

His fingers dug into her head, and his thumbs brushed over her cheeks. There was strength in his touch. A strength she craved, needed, wanted so badly she ached.

She whimpered against his lips when they didn’t resume the passionate kiss but instead remained still. His body tensed underneath her fingers, the muscles rippling across his chest.

“Gray,” she whispered.

He pulled away and closed his eyes. A harsh expletive danced in the air between them, souring the moment. His hands fell away from her, and he pushed himself upward, tension rolling off of him like sand pouring from a bucket.

His palm crept to the back of his neck, and he rubbed up and down in agitation. “God, Faith, I’m sorry. That should have never happened.”

She looked at him in confusion. “Sorry? I wanted it to happen. You wanted it to happen. I don’t see what you have to be sorry about.”

He stalked around the desk, pausing in the middle of the floor, his movements jerky and indecisive. Then he turned to look at her. His eyes blazed with a multitude of emotions. Desire still flamed brightly, so she knew it wasn’t a matter of him not wanting what had happened. But there was also regret, and—self-loathing?

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said with a shake of his head. “I took advantage of you in a weak moment. What kind of asshole does that make me?”

She rose from her seat. Her knees trembled, and she placed her palms down on the desk to steady herself. “We’ve been working up to this point for the last several days. You know it, and I know it. It was as inevitable as breathing. Don’t tell me it shouldn’t have happened when I know damn well you wanted it as much as I did.”

“Wanted it?” He gave a short, barking laugh. “Hell, Faith, I want you so bad, I ache. But it shouldn’t have happened. I never should have let it.”

With that, he turned and stalked out of her office, leaving her to ponder the sheer oddity of his statement.

She sagged back into her chair, her emotions a rioting mess. Her gaze flickered over to the telephone cord, and she heaved a sigh. Pushing herself upward, she went over to retrieve the cord she’d yanked in her fit of rage. No telling how many calls she’d missed while she was trading heavy breathing with Gray.

After fumbling with the cord for a few seconds, she replaced it in the wall socket then glanced uneasily back at the phone, hoping to hell it didn’t ring. When the silence remained unbroken, her shoulders folded in relief.

This had to end. This constant stress over her mother’s calls had to stop. Would Celia finally get the message and stop trying to contact Faith? She doubted it, but then she’d never stood up to her mother in the past. This had to be as shocking to Celia as it was to Faith.

You have a life. You owe her nothing. You’re finally crawling out of your shell and embracing your wants and needs. Don’t screw it all up now.

As pep talks went, it wasn’t the best, but there wasn’t an untruthful word in it. She did have a life. One she was content with. She was finally spreading her wings and stepping out of the shadows of her past. Finally reaching for what she wanted. Finally unafraid to confront a side of herself that she’d long denied existed.

Maybe Gray wasn’t what she needed. Maybe what she wanted was out there, just out of reach, but close. Maybe she’d find it tonight. She wouldn’t know until she took the leap.

Feeling moderately calmer after her earlier fit of rage, she squared her shoulders and made a silent vow to herself. She wasn’t going to let her mother pull her down again.

Gray parked his truck outside the office and cut the engine. It was late. Ten o’clock on a Friday night. Everyone likely had plans that didn’t involve being anywhere near the business office. Which was why he was back.

He slid out of the truck and looked warily right and left. He hadn’t bothered to park around back, because if he was seen, he didn’t want to appear as though he had anything to hide. If Pop or one of the others happened by, he could always say he’d forgotten something.

Welcome, cool air hit him square in the face as he stepped inside the dark building. He disabled the security system before he took a step forward, and then, not bothering to turn on the lights, he headed down the hallway toward his office.

Waiting had been aggravating, but he couldn’t listen to the playback of Faith’s conversation until he was damn sure no one was around, and he wouldn’t risk discovery. He walked to his desk and inserted the key into the lock he’d changed so only he’d have access.

He sat down and pulled out the small digital recording device. He skipped through several routine phone calls before he finally came to the one he wanted. As Faith’s mother’s voice aired through the recording, he leaned forward, intent on deciphering every sound, every word.

When he got to the part where Faith asked her mother, “Who was that?” he stopped and backtracked to listen again. On the third attempt he could make out the male voice in the background and the threat he’d issued. Samuels. It had to be.

He listened on and flinched at the raw emotion in Faith’s voice, her low sobs as they filtered into the quiet night air around him. He now knew without a doubt that there was no way Faith was a willing participant in any plan Celia Martin and Samuels had hatched.

It was telling how relieved he was, but it also made him uneasy that he was deceiving an innocent woman. She was being used by her mother, and she was being used by him.

Fuck.

He stuffed the recorder into his desk and locked it. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished wooden surface. He ran both hands through his hair and closed his eyes in frustration.

Was her mother on her way here? Would she exploit the fact that Pop had paid her off in the past? And would she even bother involving Faith, or would she use Pop’s desire to protect Faith against him?

Hell of a mess. So many lives involved. And justice was at the heart of the whole cluster fuck. Alex was dead. His killer had to pay.

The end justified the means. If Alex’s killer was put away, all of this would be worth it. Even Faith’s anger.

If he was truly convinced of this, why then did guilt weigh so heavy on him? Why did he picture Faith’s sweet smile, remember the feel of her skin against his, her lips on his? And why did he want more?

It was stupid and foolhardy to initiate any sort of romantic entanglement with her. He snorted. Romantic? Who said anything about romantic? Last he checked, wanting to fuck a woman’s brains out wasn’t construed as romance.

He had a lot of thinking to do. He needed to call Mick so together they could come up with the best plan of action. Gray still wasn’t convinced that he and Mick were handling this just right, but with Billings brushing them off and not devoting the resources necessary to bring Alex’s killer to justice, Gray didn’t see that they had a lot of choice in the matter.

He shoved back from his desk, stood, then headed for the door. As he passed Faith’s office, he halted and backtracked. He may as well make sure the tap was still securely in place in case the mother called again.

Moving swiftly, he walked around her desk in the darkness and turned on the small desk light so he could see. He examined her phone and made sure everything was to his satisfaction. Then he made sure everything on her desk was as he’d found it. His gaze flickered across her open day planner as he reached for the button on the light.

His hand stilled, and he pulled it away as he read the entry circled in red. The House. 11:00 P.M. Friday night. It was written on today’s date, and below was an address in north Houston.

The name was familiar to him, and he searched his memory for why. He could swear it was the name of the kink club Micah had gone on about one day over lunch. But why on earth would Faith be making plans to visit if they were one and the same?

He opened her drawer and yanked out a pen and a piece of paper from a notepad. He scribbled the address down then closed the drawer again. After turning the light off, he hurried back to his own office where he turned his computer on.

He drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for it to boot. As soon as the screen lit up with his desktop icons, he clicked on the browser and went to a search engine page.