REDEEMING THE ROSE: GILDED KNIGHTS SERIES BOOK 1 Read online

  “Fuck!” She drops back on her bed with a thwump.

  The covers poof high from her movement, but they go ignored when her thighs squeeze me close and her pussy sheens with her sweet pleasure. She coats my lips, and satiates the hunger coursing through my blood, but she’s anything but satiated.

  Demanding, unbending, Nadia controls my head with her legs, and when that’s not enough, she threads her hand into my hair and tries to command more.

  “Mitchell!” Her hips shoot into the air. She tries to follow me, so that each time I try to breathe, she merely follows and insists on more.

  Suits me. I’m not here for sweet lovemaking; I’m here for a nasty fuck and feral hands.

  Digging my tongue deep inside her pussy, I spread her wide with my hands, and tease her asshole with the tip of my finger.

  “Oh god!” she cries out. “Mitchell.”

  “You don’t need me to be gentle, right?”

  “Nope.” She thrashes on the bed, squeezes my head, tugs my hair until it stings. “I don’t need gentle.”

  “Good.”

  Pulling away, I ignore her snarl, flip her so she lands on her knees with her ass in the air, then I push my jeans down and hurriedly work with the condom I tear from my wallet. I toss the leather down, rip the foil packet open, breathe through the way Nadia pushes herself back to reconnect us, then when I grab my cock to sheathe it, I groan at how good that simple touch feels. It’s like electricity in my blood. Like cocaine, but on fire.

  Sliding the condom on before I explode from anticipation, I pull it all the way to the base of my cock, then I grab Nadia’s succulent hips and pull her back until I impale her.

  No warning. No warming up. No consideration to how it might feel.

  I slam deep until my hips smack her ass, and when Nadia cries out in both pleasure and pain, I fist one hand in her long hair and pull her back so her spine arches, and the angle at which she swallows me up changes.

  “Fuckkkkkk,” I moan and slowly slide out, only to change direction and push in again.

  I glide over her every ridge and bump. She’s tight like a vise, but not so tight that I can’t bring us both pleasure with consistent, unforgiving strokes. She’s hot, so fucking hot like fire. But it’s all cloaked in the sounds she makes, the pleasurable rumbles and frantic breathing.

  She whimpers as I strengthen my hold on her hair. “Jesus, Mitch.”

  “So tight,” I pant and pull her closer. “You feel so fucking good, Nadia.” Releasing her hair, I grin at her disappointed grunt, only to smack her ass and groan when she cinches around me like a vise.

  “Argh!” She rears up and cries out. Instinctually, she rushes forward, away from me and my smacking hand. But then her brain overrides that nonsense and brings her backward to swallow me up and demand more. “Mitchell. Fuck.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this.” I ride her; I’m nothing more than a mutt dog fucking another in heat, but it feels so good that I don’t give a damn for how shallow this is. “I’ve thought about fucking you all week.”

  “Me too.” Panting, she pushes back to negate any space between us. “I touched myself last night because you didn’t come to me yet.”

  “Working,” I growl and try, I try so fucking hard to hold back my pending explosion. “You made yourself come last night?”

  “Yeah.” Crying, she buries her face in the covers and pushes back into me. “I thought of you. It made it easy.”

  “How do you touch yourself?” I reach forward and grab her hand. Tucking it up beneath her body, I force her to touch until her fingertips brush my cock. “Fuck, Nadia. You feel so perfect.”

  “I’m gonna come,” she whimpers. “Oh god, I’m right there.”

  “Me too.”

  I release her hand, let her work us both on her own, then bringing mine back, I time my arc for when I slam deep inside her. When I do, when we make contact, I slap her ass so hard that for a moment, I feel guilty. The slap was loud, the creamy skin beneath my hand turns hot and red. But that guilt only lasts for a second, because then Nadia seizes up, her thighs tense, and her pussy clamps down until I can hardly move at all.

  “Ah, fuck!” I shout as hot streams of cum fill my condom.

  My heart races the way a hummingbird’s wings flutter mid-flight. My head turns woozy, and my vision turns dark, but my orgasm goes on and on. It prepares to slow and come to an end the way it should, but Nadia’s pussy squeezes and spasms, dragging me over the ledge and drawing every last ounce of strength I possess until I’m wrung out and dying of… something. Thirst, perhaps. Or lack of oxygen.

  “Jesus.” Inching back slowly, and pausing just before pulling out, I look to the back of Nadia’s head… and grin when, without being asked, she nods and mumbles something into the covers.

  With the go-ahead, I pull out, grunting when the cold air hits my cock, then while I’m still upright, I stumble off the bed and toward the bathroom in the hall.

  It’s dark, the only light is that coming up the stairs from the forgotten television, but I figure it out and find the bathroom easily, step onto cold tile, and remove my condom as I move. Stopping in front of the mirror, I study my gaunt face, wild hair, and sleep-darkened eyes as I tie a knot in the condom and drop the whole thing in the trash can at my feet.

  Flipping the taps on and pumping soap onto my palm, I lather up and pretend that I’m not seconds away from falling on my face. Work is killing me, the pressure of the job is a step shy of heart attack material, and though I normally handle it all really well, this week, I’m struggling.

  This week, there’s too much noise about failure, and not enough about what I do being enough. I don’t need the ass pats, usually, but right now, with Cady fresh in my mind, Best being a prick, and an almost fuck-up on the job today, means I came to Nadia and took it all out on her.

  I used her.

  But only five percent of me pretends it’s superficial and that she’s just a prop. That five percent tries to convince the rest of me that any woman will do. Any woman’s body in my bed will suffice. But it’s a lie, and I’m finding it hard to keep telling myself such bullshit.

  I don’t want just any woman in my bed. I want Nadia. I want her sparkling eyes, and her long hair. I want her sass, and her bravery. I want her smartass streak, even if it’ll send me insane, and I want her brains, because beneath the sass and bullshit, I know a sharp brain exists.

  And she wants secrets and sneaking. Joke’s on me, since I was the one who set the tone for us.

  Rinsing my hands and flipping the taps off, I grab a towel and dry them off, then I fix my jeans and button myself up.

  “Nice,” I grumble at my reflection in the mirror. My shirt is still on. My jeans. Even my shoes.

  My heart and brain scream that I kinda have feelings for the woman down the hall; whether those feelings are good or bad is yet to be seen. But how do I show them? By fucking her before saying hello or taking my shoes off.

  Classy, Mitchell. I bet she feels good about inviting you in.

  Shaking my head, I sigh and walk back into the hall, only to stop at the feral snarl coming from the cat. He’s pissed—at me or at life in general, I’m not sure—but I only step around him and continue down the hall.

  “Asshole.”

  “You say something?” Nadia grins when I step back into the room and stop just past the doorway.

  She’s still half naked, but now she lays on her back, her top on, her shorts long ago tossed aside. She lays nestled in half a dozen pillows, and with one leg bent, the other straight, she provides the next year of porn material for me to whack off to.

  She’s delicious, untouchable, and far too good for the likes of me. And yet, here she is, waiting for me to come to her bed.

  “You still look like a porn star to me.” Smiling, I stop at the side of the bed, toe my shoes off, and drop down beside her so my head hits a cushion softer than a damn cloud, and my chest releases days—hell, weeks—of tension.


  Comfortable, sated, and happy, I close my eyes and enjoy the respite. But then it gets better, because Nadia turns into my side and hitches a leg over my thigh.

  “Thanks for the porn compliment,” she murmurs, reaching her arm across my gut. “I guess. Better than being told I look homeless or ugly.”

  “Definitely not ugly.” I turn my face toward the top of her head and inhale the scent of her hair.

  We’re casual, sneaky-fucking, but I’m over here catching feelings and sniffing her hair.

  Smooth, dickhead.

  “Did you know you have a feral cat in your hall? He’s mean.”

  She snorts so the fabric of my shirt ruffles on the air. “That’s Milo. He’s the captain of this ship. Don’t piss him off.”

  “He attacked me last time I was here.” I wrap my arms around Nadia’s shoulders and pull her in tight. “I have scars on my legs.”

  “You must’ve been doing something you shouldn’t,” she counters on a sleepy mumble. “Milo is my knight. You were clearly a traitor behind the gates.”

  “I was trying to leave,” I grumble. “I did nothing wrong.”

  “You were sneaking out.” Pulling back just a little so I can see her eyes, Nadia grins with arrogance. “He knew you were hurting my feelings, so he was making sure you’d remember us when you got home.”

  “How could I forget?” I huff. “Mooching woman, sparkling eyes that glitter like fireflies in the night, and scars on my legs. Every time I took a step and my pants grated against my thighs, I thought of you.”

  “Are you looking for an apology?” she teases. “Because you won’t get one from me. That’s not the kind of life I want to live.”

  “Pain in my ass.” And yet, I pull her closer and bury my lips in her hair. “Are you always gonna tease and talk shit, or are you capable of being serious for a second?”

  “Depends.” Yawning, she stretches like a lazy cat. “I’m feeling pretty mellow right now, so we can get serious, and it’s possible you’ll get a serious answer.”

  “Are you staying?” I jump straight to the heart of what I need to know. “Are you staying in town, working at the shop, and continuing to pink up your house?”

  “Pink up my house?”

  “Pink throw pillows, pink coffee coasters, pink vase on your kitchen counter.”

  “Perceptive,” she murmurs, “considering it’s dark out.”

  “Reynolds?” I thread my hand in her hair and pull her head back. “Answer the fucking question.”

  “Why?” she challenges, losing some of that laziness she was drifting on. “You only want casual. You don’t want me around your sister. So really, if I left, you would win. Why are you panicking?”

  “Because I don’t want you to leave,” I admit quietly.

  “Wait… what?” Despite my almost silent words, Nadia’s body tenses in response. “You want me to stay? Are you ill?”

  “I don’t do casual very well. Whether I love or hate, I do it thoroughly. So whatever you and I have, it’s gonna race toward intense.”

  “Love?” Clumsily, she tries to push up. “Are you insane? We hardly know each other.”

  “No, I…” I release my tight hold and grunt when she digs an elbow into my gut. “I’m not in love with you. But I guess I’m deep in like, and I know me. Whichever way it goes, it’s gonna spread like wildfire. I’m gonna hate you, or I’ll wanna keep you forever. So I need to know which way you’re leaning. If you’re gonna leave, then it’s time for me to make myself scarce and let you do your thing. But if you’re gonna stay, then I might let myself think about the love stuff.”

  “There you go, talking about love again!” Her eyes are comically wide, her breath racing ahead of her. “You didn’t even like me last week, and now you’re talking love!”

  “No, I’m not in love with you. Fuck. Do you have ears?”

  “So you’re here to be weird, fuck me, then tell me you’re not in love? Rosa, you are so strange!”

  “I’m here to say that I sometimes enjoy how fucking annoying you are, I enjoy being around you when it’s just us, and if I allow myself, I’m gonna catch some fucking feelings. So if you’re not gonna stick, then I’d like to know so that I can turn left and head straight to hate, rather than love first, and hurt more while I hate later.”

  “So those are our only options? Love, or hate? Are you bipolar?”

  “No, I’m a man who doesn’t enjoy screwing around and wasting time.”

  “And spending a week with me, a month, perhaps even a year, and then me deciding I’m leaving town…?”

  Would be my worst nightmare. “That would be a waste of my time, and come with the added bonus of bitterness. I’d rather avoid that if I can.”

  “Wow. Milo?”

  “What?” I spin on the bed, momentarily convinced Milo is a jungle cat readying to pounce, and not a house cat who will meow me to death.

  “Get him, Milo! Make him sorry for being such a jackass.”

  “I’m not being a jackass! I’m trying to understand what’s coming for us.”

  “No, you’re a control freak. What’s wrong with a little adventure? What’s wrong with a little mystery?”

  “Those are razzle-dazzle words extroverts like to use instead of ‘risky’ or ‘dangerous’.”

  “‘Razzle-dazzle’?” she cackles. “Big bad wolf boy Mitchell Rosa said razzle-dazzle.”

  “Ya know what? Forget it. We’re incompatible.” I turn away and place my feet on the floor—pink rug. “Forget I said anything. I’ll let myself out and—”

  “Wait.” Tossing her giggling self at my back, Nadia wraps her arms and legs around me and nuzzles her lips against my throat. Against my wolf. “I’m in like with you too, Mitchell Rosa. I’m totally in like, because you’re so fucking tightly strung it makes my heart pitter-patter when you deviate from the script.”

  “You use my neuroses to torment me.”

  “You admit to being neurotic,” she counters on a purr. “Step one to recovery is admitting you have a problem.”

  Shaking my head, I drop it forward and study my feet on a sigh. “I don’t think we’re compatible.”

  “Talk to me about why you’re this way?” Despite the fact she’s half naked and wrapped around me, my heart responds to her, rather than my cock. “I will never purposely torment you. That’s cruel. But understanding will be good for us, then we can talk about where you draw the line, and I can perfect my game of flirting with it.” She presses gentle lips to my throat. To my shoulder. My earlobe. “I’m in like with you too, Rosa. And I already caught feelings. If I hadn’t, then you sneaking out on me wouldn’t have hurt.”

  “I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.”

  She snickers, low, breathy, and with a distinct edge of desperation. “This version of you is wigging me out. I’m used to the mean and grumpy Mitchell. This guy who talks of feelings and apologies is a stranger to me.”

  “I’m both.” Lowering back onto the bed, I allow Nadia to unravel her limbs from my body and scooch over. Then I lay down beside her and tug her in close; a hug, and a way for me to speak without having to look into her eyes. “I’m grumpy—it’s just the way I am. But my entire life, I’ve wanted to help people. Help the sick.”

  “Because of your sister?”

  15

  Nadia

  …Is Scary

  Mitchell’s hand stretches down and rests on my hip. His palm is large, his fingers long. He’s able to touch me from hip to spine and warm my skin the way no man ever has before.

  And damn him for making me notice that.

  “Yeah. Because of my sister,” he admits after a moment of silence. “Because she spent her life in and out of the hospital. She was always in pain, always sick, always sad when we had to continue our lives—Mom and Dad had to work, and me and the guys had to go to school—so while we did that, while our lives moved ahead, she was stuck and often alone.”

  “So you wanted to save everyone?” I ask in dis
belief. “Mitchell, you were only, what? A toddler when she was born. Just a baby yourself.”

  “Responsibility was never placed on my shoulders,” he murmurs. “I was never made to feel like I had to fix anything. Our parents tried hard to shield all of us. But still, I guess my personality tended toward fixing, as opposed to Beck’s tendency to laugh everything off.”

  “Both are trauma responses,” I tell him. “Neither are wrong.”

  “Right.” Uncharacteristically sweet, he nuzzles a kiss against the top of my head and makes my heart fizz. But with that fizz comes my own panic. Mitchell wants promises of forever, and I want to run far away from the kind of commitment that fucked my mother over a time too many. “But to be able to fix, I needed to know what was coming. I needed to be able to plan.”

  “Control,” I whisper. “You needed to control everything.”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing,” he grumbles. “You make it sound like a flaw.”

  “I didn’t say that. You’re projecting because you’re insecure about it. And that’s cool too. At least you’re honest about it.”

  “You think my need to plan is bad?”

  “Not necessarily,” I shrug. “I think most humans enjoy a sense of stability and the ability to plan ahead. So long as it doesn’t become toxic and rule your life.” Pulling back, I meet his eyes and lift a brow. “And as long as you’re not trying to control other people’s lives too.”

  “You?” he asks. “You mean yours?”

  Smiling, I snuggle in again and shake my head. “I actually meant Abigail’s. You visit the shop at least once a day. You call her a dozen times more. You declare that she’s to eat with you or one of your brothers every night. You demand to know where she is at all times.”

  “Not to control her,” he argues. “I want her to live her life, happily and carefree. I just call to check in that she’s safe.”

  “And how many times has she been hit by a car?”

  Stiffening, Mitchell pulls back to meet my eyes. “What?”

  “How many times has she been held hostage at the end of a gun?”