On My Knees (Stark International Trilogy 2)

I start to tell him not to, but before I can say a word, he’s spun me around and pushed my skirt up. We’re by a bookshelf, and I grab hold for balance as he tugs his briefs down, then pushes my panties aside. He strokes me, then slides his fingers inside me as I moan with pleasure. “Now,” I demand. “Please, Jackson, now.”

I need it hard and fast. I need to feel him.

And, thankfully, he doesn’t disappoint. He takes me from behind, his fingers finding my clit as his other hand clasps my breast and he pounds relentlessly in me, as if he knows that for both of us this fuck is a way to work it out. To pound the past out of our systems. To move forward together, and find each other once again.

I close my eyes, letting the sensations take me. Letting his touch tease me higher and higher, as pleasure builds and his body claims mine, making me his. Making me whole.

And then, right when I’m at the edge, his voice washes over me, low and hard and commanding. “Come for me,” he says. “Dammit, Sylvia, you come for me now.”

I do—exploding into a thousand sparks that scatter and hum and sizzle before coming back to earth and restoring me to life.

“Wow,” I say as he uses a tissue to clean us both up and then adjusts my clothes. “Wow.”

His expression looks pretty wow, too, and I snuggle close as he carries me to the couch. I curl up next to him, exhausted, and yet energized all at the same time.

“I love you,” he says, and I sigh with contentment.

“That’s convenient,” I say. “Because I love you, too.”

I lean against him, simply breathing, until I get my head back. I know we should get out of here, but I really don’t want to move. This room is safety and fantasy and reconciliation.

Out there is the real world, where bad things can happen. And though we’ve gotten past our hurdle, the bigger problem still looms. “What are we going to do?” I ask. “The photos. Either I’m screwed or you are.”

“I’m going to let them make the movie.” His voice is flat. The words completely unexpected.

“What?” I shift on the couch, sitting up so that I’m facing him directly. “You can’t. Ronnie’s completely innocent, and no matter how we look at it, I bear some of the responsibility for those horrible photos. We can get the police involved. Extortion.”

“You’ll be dragged through the muck,” he says.

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

“Fine. I care, too. But it’s the best thing. That little girl. Your little girl.”

For a moment, he just sits there. Then he scrubs his face with his hands and stands. “I want to do right by her,” he says. “I don’t want to be the father I had, and I don’t want her lost in scandal. But the truth is I don’t think I can stop that movie no matter what I do. I wish I could, and god knows I’ve tried, but I can’t even file a defamation action. The things they want to say are true.”

“It will be horrible.”

He nods, looking miserable. “But if you have people around you who love you, it’s bearable.”

“Is it?”

“Look at Nikki and Damien.”

I frown, but have to concede the point. They’ve survived all sorts of shit. I rise, then go to him. “So what do you want to do now?” I lean in close, my body thrumming with the beat of his heart.

“I’m going to see Ronnie. I want my attorney to set a court date. I want my daughter, Sylvia. And I want to bring her home.”

He bends his head and kisses the top of my head. “I’m hiring Evelyn and however many PR people she thinks I need. If the movie gets made, we’ll deal with it. But as soon as there’s even the slightest hint that it’s been green-lit, I want to get in front of it. Minimal focus on Ronnie. And whatever we have to do to keep the sensationalism down. This is her life, not a circus. And I’ll pay whatever it takes to keep it from spinning out of control.”

I nod my head, my eyes closed. I know that he wants all those things, and I understand now how deeply he feels about Ronnie—about being a dad—and I’m just a little bit in awe about how much he’s put her first. About how he’s preparing for the worst, essentially building a little citadel of paternal protection around the child.

“When are you going?”

“Tomorrow,” he says. “I talked to Damien. He’s letting me have the use of one of the jets.”

“Oh.” I feel guilty for feeling sad, but we’ve only just gotten back together, and already he’s leaving. “Well, I think that’s great,” I say brightly. “How long will you be gone?”