Begging for It Read online

  The first answer is only silence. I look up at Jonah, and despite all the darkness I’ve seen in this man—despite everything I’ve let him do to me—the fury I sense now chills me to the core.

  If the hatred contained in a single look had the power to kill a man, Carter Hale would drop dead this instant.

  Yet Jonah’s voice is controlled and cool. “I didn’t come here to collect whatever crumbs you’re willing to scatter. I’m innocent, the facts will eventually prove that, and my share in the trust will remain exactly that—mine. ” Carter’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth to say something sarcastic in reply, but Jonah doesn’t give him the chance. “So why did I come here, if you don’t pose a threat? Just to deliver one simple message: You’d better pray to whatever devil you believe in that you don’t outlive my mother. I might not have a team of lawyers following me around like underlings, but I’ve read the trust and I know what it says. If the executor dies after both Rebecca and I turn twenty-five, the trust reverts to us in full. We inherit the remainder of our father’s shares. And on that day—at that same hour—you’re going to be out on your ass. ”

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  “Rebecca’s twenty-fifth birthday is this year,” Maddox adds, as blithely as if he were about to ask everyone to chip in on a gift. “October third. And Mom’s not even sick. ”

  Jonah doesn’t acknowledge what Maddox has said, but I can sense how much he enjoys the two of them facing Carter down together. “So it comes down to this, Carter. I don’t have time for your petty power grabs. But every single time you overextend yourself like this, you make my position stronger and yours weaker. Are you going to give me more ammunition or get the hell out of my life? I’d rather you got out of my life, because I’ve already got everything on you I’ll ever need. It’s your call. ”

  With that, Jonah heads for the door, Maddox right behind him. It takes me a moment longer to follow because I have to scoot back my chair—a moment Carter takes to say, in a low voice, “Are you sure you know what your alibi’s worth?”

  Oh, my God. This guy wants to bribe me to turn on Jonah. How could he think I’d ever do that?

  Then again, he thinks Jonah’s guilty. If I were as victimized as Jonah’s mother, I might grab at some cash to make my own escape.

  But I am not a victim.

  To Carter I say, “You don’t know how to handle people you can’t control. Well, too fucking bad. Because you don’t control me, and you never will. ” And I walk out.

  Jonah’s nowhere to be seen in the hallway, but Maddox is standing there, a smile on his face. “I like you already. ”

  The feeling’s mutual. “Do I need to introduce myself?”

  “You mean, do I know who you are? You’re Vivienne Charles, the woman Jonah’s told me so much about. I’m Maddox Hale, spawn of Satan. ”

  I have to laugh, but I’m still angry with Carter, and worried for Jonah. “Is he storming out of here? We need to catch up. ”

  But Maddox shakes his head no. “He’ll be back in a second. Then we can all storm out together. ” Seeing my confusion, he adds, more quietly, “Sometimes, after dealing with my father—Jonah gets sick. ”

  My God. Jonah is vomiting up his guts just from looking that man in the face.

  Maddox sighs. “He’s not the only one. ”

  •   •   •

  We get out of the building without being accosted by Carter or any of his legal goons. Jonah’s gaze is distant, his expression grim. I only met Maddox a few minutes ago—and yet the three of us are a unit, a team. It’s as if we’d rehearsed how to do this in advance, right down to agreeing not to talk to each other until we’re on the street. At the moment we hit the door, Maddox says, “You know he’s not done. ”

  Jonah nods. “I know. ”

  The sidewalks are free of ice, but gritty beneath our boots and lined on every side by snow that’s no longer white. As cold wind whips my hair, Jonah slides one arm around my shoulders; the gesture is more protective than romantic, but in some ways that touches me more.

  “Is there anything else we can do?” I ask. Carter might not be able to wrest Jonah’s share of the trust from him, but even confronting this is putting Jonah through hell. I want this misery to end, now. “Any way to call him off?”

  “Maybe,” Maddox says.

  Jonah stares at his brother; that’s not the response he expected. I say, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that it’s time to have a family conference. ” Maddox squares his shoulders like a man bracing for a fight. “I contacted Elise and Rebecca. Elise is flying in later tonight; Rebecca can’t leave South America, but she’s going to join us via Skype. ”

  Jonah’s face remains pale from the strain of confronting Carter; the light blue scarf he wears around his neck and the snow beginning to dust his dark hair create the illusion that he’s turning to ice. “You shouldn’t have dragged them into this. ”

  “Please. We all got dragged into this as kids. ” Maddox says. “Anyway, the meeting’s tomorrow night. We’ll go to my place—I finally managed to buy the penthouse I wanted, you know. Just a few stories above the Orchid. ”

  “That’s your club, right?” I remember seeing it written about as the place to see and be seen in downtown Chicago.

  “You’ve heard of it? Fantastic. ” Maddox beams with obvious pride. He’s like a ray of sunshine on this cold city street—for Jonah as much as for me. I can tell by the way Jonah looks at him. “If my fame has spread all the way to Texas, this New Year’s party ought to be our biggest yet. Tonight, though, it’s going to be dead. So why don’t you come by? We can hang out, have time to talk. Drinks on the house. ”

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  I glance up at Jonah. “Pretty good deal. ”

  Jonah probably wants to go into total-silence mode. He broods too much when he’s as angry or upset as he is now. But he won’t say no to his brother, I realize—and Maddox has intelligently, tactfully, made sure Jonah won’t spend the next two days beating himself up. “Okay. We’ll be there. ”

  We hail a taxi, say our good-byes. Jonah continues holding me in the cab, the side of his head resting against mine, but he doesn’t say a word. I don’t try to draw him out either. Until we’re alone, I couldn’t do anything but make small talk, which at this point feels trivial. Even childish. Only after we return to our room at the Drake do I speak. “Are you okay?”

  Jonah shrugs as he yanks off his blue scarf, tosses it down on the desk. “I’m fine. ”

  I don’t argue. Instead I sit on the small sofa in our room, shaking the snowflakes from my hair and simply look at him.

  He sighs. “I’m as fine as I’m going to get, considering. ”

  “What do you need?”

  Jonah might need solitude, a few hours by himself to pull his thoughts together, in which case I’ll investigate the high tea they’re advertising in the lobby. Or maybe he’d rather be distracted for a while—watching a movie, talking about anything but what just took place. Whatever it is, I can handle it.

  And then I see the way he’s looking at me—the sudden heat behind that ice. My body responds powerfully, instinctively; it’s like the sheer force of his desire is enough to quicken my pulse. To make my skin tingle with the expectation of being touched.

  “I need to be angry,” he says, his voice low. “I need to let it out. ”

  Slowly I kick off one boot, then the other. “Then take it out on me. ”

  Jonah pulls off his sweater and lets it drop to the floor. The intensity of his stare only increases. “Tell me something that will make me mad. Something that could make me completely fucking furious. ”

  Does he want a lie or the truth? I don’t have a truth that would drive him over the edge—but there is one small secret that might get under his skin. Eventually I knew I’d tell him about it. Might as well go ahead now.

  “I talked to Geordie on Christmas. When I left the table for a few minutes. Remember?”

  Jonah w
asn’t expecting that, but it works. “You’re still talking to your ex? To the guy who screwed you before me?”

  Is Jonah actually threatened by Geordie, or is he simply creating the scenario for what we’re about to do? Doesn’t matter yet. “Yeah. He’s still fucked me more than you have too. ”

  That does it. Jonah lunges toward me, pulls me up by my arms. I stumble into him, unable to get my balance before he shakes me. His voice is a predator’s growl. “You belong to me. ”

  He throws me onto the bed. Gasping, I try to crawl across the mattress to escape him, but Jonah grabs my leg and pulls me back down toward him. I twist my body around to push him away, but he shakes me again and shoves me onto my back.

  As his hands unfasten my jeans, pulling them off, he says, “Your body is for me. Your cunt is for me. Nobody else. If you don’t know that already, you’re going to learn it today. ”

  The rage I sense from him is so fucking real. I don’t know if it’s for Carter or for me, or if Jonah could even say where it all comes from. And it’s scary as hell.

  He rips my underwear away with my pants. Somehow the fact that I’m still wearing my sweater makes my nakedness beneath more obscene. Jonah shoves my thighs apart and thrusts two fingers inside me. I’m so unprepared it makes me gasp. “What, you like that?” Jonah pushes in deeper, working me roughly with his hand. “How much do you think you can take? How about my whole fist, huh? You want that? You want my fist inside you?”

  Oh, fuck. I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve never tried, never wanted to try—never even thought to tell Jonah whether it was forbidden or okay. The terror rising inside me is now very real. Silver, I remind myself. He’ll stop if you say silver. And I believe that completely. But my voice still shakes as I beg, “No, please, no, don’t do that. ”

  “I just told you, your cunt is mine. ” Jonah’s face is a mask of rage. He doesn’t look like himself anymore. It scares the hell out of me and still—still—turns me on. “You don’t tell me what to do with what’s mine. ”

  “Oh, God, please don’t. ” The sob that rises from my chest surprises me. And I really don’t want him to fist me. Yet I know my limits. I want to lose control. If he does it, I won’t say the safe word unless the pain is unbearable. My fantasy is about my own powerlessness. Whatever Jonah wants to do to me, I have to take. “Please, I’ll do anything. ”

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  “That’s right. You’ll do anything I want you to do. ”

  Three fingers now, or is it four? My cunt burns with the stretching—and yet the burn is only half pain. I begin to realize what it might be like to have that much of him inside me. Even if it made me scream, the intensity could bring me over the brink.

  Jonah pushes harder. “You don’t want my fist in you? You want something else? There’s a wine bottle on the minibar. You want me to fuck you with that?”

  “No!”

  It’s so hard to keep from screaming. But if I scream, other hotel guests in the hallway might hear, and they’d call security. This would end. As scared as I am, I don’t want this to end.

  “Are you crying? Good. I like it when you cry,” Jonah rasps. He’s breathing so hard, his body tense with the effort of holding back. “What do you want inside you? My cock?”

  “Yes. ” I’m sobbing now, not even trying to hold it back. “Please, nothing else. ”

  Jonah pulls out his hand, his fingers slick, and then drags me from the bed. I fall on the floor, flat on my belly, and immediately he presses down between my shoulder blades to keep me there. His thighs are between mine. I hear his other hand fumbling with his zipper—

  —then he’s on top of me, spreading my legs further, his weight pinning me down as he shoves his cock inside.

  He has me so opened up, so wet, that it’s effortless. But I can’t stop crying. My sobs only get louder as Jonah starts thrusting.

  “Did it feel like that when Geordie fucked you? Was it this good?”

  I swallow my tears. “No. ”

  “My cock’s bigger than his, isn’t it?”

  “—Yes—”

  Jonah pounds into me harder, and I think I’m going to start sobbing again when I realize the rush building inside me comes from somewhere else within. I sink deeper into myself with every thrust, deeper into pure instinctive sensation, and I shudder beneath him. Like an animal shot through with an arrow, trembling as it dies beneath the hunter’s gaze.

  When I come, my cry of pleasure is indistinguishable from my weeping. Jonah keeps on, pumping into me in what seems to be thoughtless rage. He could keep fucking me for an hour and I’d have to lie here—I can’t escape—

  He shouts out, plunges in deep, and bites the soft flesh of my shoulder. It’s not a brutal bite—the skin wouldn’t break—but I moan from the delicious ache of it anyway. Jonah hangs on with teeth and hands until his long, powerful orgasm finally subsides. When he rolls off me, we both remain on the floor for a few moments, struggling to catch our breath. My tears finally stop, but I feel like I couldn’t get to my feet, or even turn over.

  At last Jonah says, “I’m sorry. That was too much. ”

  “No. It wasn’t. ” I wipe my cheeks as I look at him lying next to me. “Trust me to say the safe word when I need it. Okay? You can trust me to do that, always. ”

  He nods slowly, accepting that. “Did you—”

  “Come? Yeah. ” And it felt totally fucking incredible. So why am I still sniffling?

  Jonah rolls over and gently puts his arms around me. That titanic anger had nothing to do with me, nothing at all, because he has completely let it go. “Here. Let me help you. ”

  We get to our feet, remove our remaining clothing, and curl up in bed together. Through the gauze curtains I can see snow still blanketing down; Jonah’s body spooned behind mine feels like the only warmth in the world.

  He murmurs into my hair, “Did you really talk to Geordie on Christmas?” Jonah doesn’t sound jealous—only curious, and maybe confused.

  “I did. But it wasn’t anything remotely romantic. ” How can I put this? “He’s going through an extremely difficult time. He needs all the support he can get. I’m not the only person he leans on, but I was the only one he could reach out to at that moment. ”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it’s his problem, and it’s private, and I’m trying to respect that. ”

  “Okay,” Jonah says. He believes me; he accepts Geordie’s need for privacy. All this even though I know some small measure of his jealousy is real. My heart expands at being so deeply trusted.

  I add, “Also—nobody’s cock is as big as yours. ”

  He laughs once, his breath soft against my neck. “I don’t need that much reassuring. ”

  Of course he doesn’t.

  The rough handling of my body has faded into pleasant afterglow. Even the tender spot on my shoulder isn’t painful. Jonah’s arm is wrapped around me, he’s worked out that tension, and everything should be perfect. Yet I can sense the cloud still hanging over Jonah, the darkness we can’t quite escape.

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  Fourteen

  The snowfall stops for an hour or so in the early evening, allowing Jonah and me to walk to the Orchid. Cold as the weather is, my coat is warm, the wind has died, and the city has been newly frosted white—erasing the metropolitan grime so that Chicago almost gleams. Besides, I’m a Southern girl. I can’t help feeling a little excited by snow.

  When I tell Jonah this, he smiles down at me. “I doubt you’d like it as much if you had to deal with it for four months straight. ”

  “Probably true. But I don’t have to, do I? I can just enjoy today. ”

  He squeezes my hand. The affection I sense is real. He’s happy to be here with me in this moment, maybe enjoying the familiar sights of this city. But his sadness and strain linger.

  I wish I could lift his burdens from him, but I can’t. All I can do for now is stand by his side.

  O
nce again I think of the etching I want to create, the one that will symbolize what Jonah is to me. But what single image could encompass a man so complex? I envision a stone tower—no. Too Freudian. But a stone wall, maybe, or a castle. Strong even though it’s endured so much, but with cracks in the mortar to show the punishment it’s taken. Maybe even moss or ivy growing on the edges to show a sense of life, vitality, harmony?

  Still not right. No matter how mighty something like that stood after all its centuries, the image would still suggest inevitable collapse. My etching would portray something at the end of its strength. Jonah’s strength is far from giving out—I have to believe that.

  The Orchid is located in another of Chicago’s skyscrapers on the river, on one of the highest floors. For the occasion, I changed into wide-legged pants and a silky top, both in inky black; Jonah replaced his jeans with charcoal-colored trousers. Despite this, the minute we walk into the club, I feel drastically underdressed.

  Before us lies the city, brilliantly lit in the nighttime. Headlights along the streets below look like strings of fairy lights. The enormous space of the club is largely broken up into smaller enclosures—some for ten or twelve people, others cozy little nooks for two. Although the dividers slope in modernistic waves from a couple feet high to taller than Jonah’s head, they’re made of lustrous burled wood as richly striped as a tiger’s pelt, so the overall effect is warm and organic. Couches and chairs are low, plush, in muted earth tones. Yet beyond all the private niches, I can see a wide expanse that must be the dance floor on wilder nights than this one. Tonight the only music is soft R&B. The dark walls are almost unornamented, save for a few crescent-shaped sconces carved of mica and one enormous photograph of a glorious yellow orchid. The color of the petals is so vivid that looking at the picture is like staring straight into flame.

  As Maddox predicted, the club’s not crowded tonight; a couple dozen patrons murmur and laugh in their enclaves, no more. Which no doubt is why the host is able to greet us right away.

  “Jonah, Vivienne. ” Maddox strides toward us from the broad semicircular bar. “You made it. ”

  “I flew to Antarctica a couple months ago, you know,” Jonah says as he submits to his brother’s enthusiastic hug. “I can handle a trip along three city blocks. ”