Havoc (Storm MC 7) - Page 87
He pushed me for more and I gave it all to him.
He could have everything.
Anything he wanted.
So long as I had him.
As he thrust inside me, he gripped my hair and stilled for a moment. “It’s every-fuckin’-thing you said. Except I know how this is gonna play out and there’s no chance it’s ever gonna end. You’re mine now, Carla.”
I am.
And I’d fight like hell to make sure I always was.
* * *
Havoc’s hand glided down my stomach to my pussy where it settled. His groan next to my ear was the kind of sound any woman loved to wake up to. And the erection he pressed against my ass resulted in me reaching my hand up to wrap around his neck. As I pulled his face down, he growled, “I want to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life.”
I parted my legs to give him access to what he craved. A moment later, I moaned when his finger entered me. “I want you to wake up next to me every morning and do that.” My words came out in a pant. I’d woken up wet for him and if he continued his finger action, I’d come fast.
“Roll onto your back, darlin’, I want those tits in my mouth.”
Obeying his direction, I stared up into his brown eyes for a beat.
I love those eyes.
Havoc’s eyes told me everything I needed to know. Turn
ed on, happy, frustrated, pissed off, avoiding me—it was all there and I had learned how to read him much better. That morning they told me how much he wanted me. And how much he loved my boobs.
After he dedicated some serious time to my breasts, he gave me back his eyes. The need I saw there shot heat straight to my core. “Fuck, you could make me come from that look alone,” I said as I writhed under his gaze.
A knock on the front door distracted him. “You need to get that?”
I took hold of his face. “No, just ignore it and finish me off.” My reply came out more as a beg than a request and he chuckled.
When the knocking on the door grew insistent, I grumbled, “Fuck, they need to go away.”
He moved off the bed and pulled his jeans on. “I’ll take care of it.”
I watched him leave, annoyed at whoever had dragged him away. When I heard his voice raise a couple of minutes later, I figured I should see who had caused his mood swing.
After throwing some clothes on, I joined him at the front door. An older man, probably in his sixties, stood talking to Havoc. His facial features reminded me of Nash and when he uttered the word daughter, the room spun.
His eyes met mine. “Carla,” he murmured.
Havoc’s arm snaked around my waist and he pulled me close. “Angel, you don’t have to do this. I can take care of it for you.” Love and protection wrapped itself around me as he spoke.
I gave him a smile to let him know I was okay. “Thank you,” I whispered, “but I need to do this.” My arm wrapped around him to let him know I wanted him to stay. Havoc’s support would get me through this; there was no way I was letting him go.
Turning back to my father, I said, “You shouldn’t have come. I don’t want to see you.” Ice coated my words as years of rejection and hurt slammed into my heart.
“I had to come,” he started before stumbling over his words. “I’m sick and I don’t know how much time I have left.”
Anger bubbled up and out of me. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve been here for over twenty years waiting for you. We had all the fucking time in the world!” I shook my head in a frantic motion. “You don’t get to come here now that you’re dying and tell me we don’t have much time.”
As my emotions engulfed me and I yelled at him, I couldn’t help but take in every inch of him.
My father.
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