“Yeah, I, uh…” Kruze gestured apologetically down the length of his still mostly-clad body. “Are you sure—?”
He couldn’t finish giving her a way out, not with her tongue in his mouth and her delicious, warm, wet body now under the blanket and planted directly over his hips. She was his crack cocaine, and he was her helpless addict. Kruze closed his eyes at the way her fingers now sheathed his cock. She’d already shoved his jeans down to his thighs as if she owned him. A man should be so lucky to be owned by this woman.
As Bree worked her hand up and down, her fingers magically tight and warm, Kruze licked, kissed, and nibbled every bare piece of her skin he could reach. Her lips. Her chin and neck. Those magnificent breasts.
There’d been an animalistic, feral magnetism between them since the first time they’d met. It was stronger tonight. More demanding. He already had a tight hold on her bare ass with one hand, and his blood was boiling. He needed to slow this freight train down or he’d finish first, and that was not how a guy made a woman feel beautiful or treasured.
“W-w-wait up,” he mumbled around her eager tongue and lips, his heart racing as she moaned into his mouth.
“Wait, nothing,” she answered, as, with a ragged cry, she impaled herself right where he needed her to be. He hissed at the sheer pleasure of her heat. Bree’s knees locked onto his sides. Her core gripped his cock with an amazingly strong stranglehold. This was it. She was primed and ready to explode. So soon. Almost as soon as Kruze. Her body had a tight grip on him. Kee-rist, yes. This was it. He was heaven bound, his body bucking into hers in a rhythm as old as time.
*****
She’d wanted this man since he’d surprised her at the Morristown Community Center. Aw hell, Bree knew better. She’d wanted him since she’d first laid eyes on him on that quaint side street in Paris. Kruze Sinclair was all alpha male, with a splash of cocky pirate thrown in for good measure. If this moment was all he had to give, she’d take it and treasure it for the rest of her life. Because she was head-over-heels in love with him, and love didn’t make demands or threaten or pout. It just gave and gave until—
Effervescent warmth roared through her bare body. She was a dripping wet bottle of champagne, uncorked and ready to explode. From her toes to the top of her head, the power of this coming together took control. Her blanket was long gone. Her clothes, too. Only Kruze’s big, capable hands covered her ass now. He was all she needed. Her knees clenched his waist as he thrust his hips into her pelvic cradle. She eased off, remembering his wound. But wonder of wonders, here they were again, burning together. The fire was so sweet, it brought tears to her eyes.
“Give it up, Bree. Give it to me,” he groaned, thrusting that drool-worthy cock of his deeper into her body. Pumping harder. Kruze was not a small man, and she hadn’t been with anyone since Paris. There was always some pain, some tearing during intercourse. So be it. She’d be sore tomorrow.
Closing her eyes, she rode him like the wild animal he was, her breasts bouncing and their flesh slapping together. Her heart had never truly let him go, and her body was remembering him. How to adjust to his girth and width. How to swallow every last inch. Her muscles clamped down on Kruze, striving to give as good as she was getting.
With a gush, Bree arched her core into him, grinding together with heat and love. She let the fire take her. Let her heart go with it. That was all she had to give, the ultimate feminine sacrifice of body and soul. And she was flying, shot into the universe on the fiery wings of love.
“Kee-rist!” Kruze hissed into the top of her sweaty head.
His hands were on her hips now. She’d curled into him when she came, her nether regions still gripping his cock, while the dance demanded more from them both. Another squeezing shudder roared through her, milking him. An answering thrust filled her womb, stretching her. The ultimate joining of two bodies the way Mother Nature demanded. He held her hips tightly to his cock, while her quivering body suckled every last drop he had to give.
Bree fell limp and sated onto his magnificent chest, her arms around his neck, her heart pounding like a herd of wild horses had been set loose in her chest. Oh, that poor heart. Loving Kruze had taken its toll.
But his pounded harder and louder than hers. She could hear it thundering beneath her ear. They were both slick with sweat, but she wasn’t cold. This was that magic moment. Like Paris before, time stood still, and all they really had was each other. Once again, they were truly one, their bodies combined into a perfect whole.
Kruze blew a heavy breath over her naked shoulders and back. Even that didn’t chill Bree, not with his big hands cupping her butt, and his much larger body keeping her warm. She was a precious pearl tucked inside his deliciously warm arms. Bree burrowed under his chin, dazed from the passion, and loving the musky scent of their lovemaking. Her body still clenched his with aftershocks.
Since the first time they’d laid eyes on each other, Bree had felt this same fierce animal craving between them. She’d been touring Paris, alone but having the time of her life, and falling in love with the charming City of Light and its people. After touring the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, she’d been on her way to Gelati d’Aberto, an ice cream shop recommended by Francois, the handsome, flirty concierge at her hotel.
Like Kruze, Bree had been lost in the middle of a noisy throng of sightseers when she’d spotted his ruggedly handsome face. He’d been crossing the middle of the street, his dark glasses pushed up on his head. She couldn’t have missed him if she’d tried. He’d been so obviously an all-American male. Kruze was taller than most people and more rugged. His shoulders were broader, his stride longer, and he was always so darned sure of himself. But cunning had glinted in his emerald greens that day. He’d been the hunter in the middle of a herd of grass-eaters, and she’d been his nervous mate.
A visceral jolt of electricity had zipped up her spine at his audacious focus. He’d been so daring, had walked up to her, and without blinking, he’d taken her hand as if they’d already known each other. After their respective crowds of noisy sightseers had comingled, then drifted away, only Kruze and Bree were left standing on the street. Time had stood still then, too. She’d been a daring fool to think she could ever tame him. Did he have any idea what his leaving this time would do to her?
Oh, damn. Bree blew out a heated breath between her pursed, dry lips. They’d done it again.
“We… we didn’t…” she wheezed, then, at last, spit out, “condoms, Kruze. We didn’t use any protection.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kruze lay still, his arms banded like steel around his whole world. The pain in his side had grown sharper, and now the fire in his heart flamed bright and hot at Bree’s declaration. As angry as she sounded, he couldn’t help liking the divine possibility of having just made another baby with her. What would Robin say when and if she found out she was going to be a big sister? Something deep inside his psyche couldn’t wait to tell her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Bree, though he didn’t entirely mean it. “My fault. I should’ve pulled out before I—”
“Before you what?” Bree snapped. When she lifted her head, he saw that her gorgeous baby blues were dark and angry. “I’m not one of your idiot fairytale princesses, Kruze. I’m as much to blame as you for our failure to use our big brains. Damn it!”
He took her head gently between his hands, pulled her into his face, and pressed a long, wet kiss to her swollen lips. “What’s meant to be, will be. We used plenty of protection last time. A whole box of condoms. One of them didn’t work.”
She pulled back, crossed her arms over his chest and settled her chin to her arms. Her breasts flattened against him, warming Kruze in ways Bree could never understand. Her eyes were still plenty sharp. He could almost feel the sins of his past sneaking into the afterglow.
Like the gentleman he was, Kruze ran a finger over her cheek, and tucked that rebellious strand of hair hanging in her face, back ov
er her ear and out of her way. “You’re so beautiful,” he told her, daring to wrap this hostile woman in his arms again.
She huffed and rolled her eyes, her exasperation straight pointed at him. “I can’t believe I did it again. Am I crazy?”
Silly, silly woman. She had every reason to doubt him, but Kruze was not the idiot he’d been that morning in Paris. He had a goal and plans he desperately wanted to succeed. For once, they were both long-term. “I think the better question is, what if we’re pregnant? You’re not in this alone, Bree. I’m here this time, and I’m not leaving you, Robin, or our brand-new Baby Bean, ever again.” He paused, his heart climbing up his throat at the very real possibility of having a family. His family. It didn’t help that his eyes kept watering.
“Baby Bean?” Sarcasm colored her question. Bree was holding her breath. She didn’t believe him. Why should she? He’d been a foolish, selfish, thoughtless prick before.
“I shouldn’t have left you behind in Paris,” he told her, his voice hoarse. “I was wrong then, and I was wrong not telling you how much I love you before. I do love you, Bree, and not just because we have a daughter between us or that we might be pregnant again. I’m glad we are, if we are. In fact…” He choked. His damned heart seemed intent on jumping off his lips. “I’m so glad…” He licked those dry lips. “… so glad I could cry. If we’re not pregnant this time, I hope we try again. And again and again. I want—”
Bree jerked away from him, blinking as if she’d never seen him before. Her breasts were on full display, her nipples pebbled and pointing at him. His palms begged to cup those babies, but he didn’t dare. She wasn’t touching him anywhere but where they were still connected like lovers, where the insides of her knees and thighs gripped his hips and legs. But he wasn’t a total idiot. Kruze could feel the chasm growing between them. This time, he was the one holding his breath.
Who’d he think he was to breeze back into Bree’s life, have unprotected sex with her, and possibly—hopefully—fill her body with another child? His child? The child of the same jerk who’d ditched her and left her pregnant before? That hadn’t been part of his plan tonight. The sex, yes, but not forgetting to use the condom in his pants pocket. He knew the rule: If you want to dance, you have to pay the piper. He’d always used protection before. Why hadn’t the thought crossed his mind this time?
Because this time, they hadn’t just had sex; they’d made love, and he knew it.
“Say something,” he begged, his body pounding with real terror now. Tell me you love me again. I know you do.
He was no catch. If anything, he was well-used, chipped, and broken. He was that damned teapot, full of steam and nothing but hot air. Worthless. Why should a soon-to-be professional journalist from New York City, possibly a celebrity newswoman, waste her lifetime on him?
“Say it again. What you just said,” Bree demanded, her attitude up and her index finger stabbing his chest. “Say. It. Again.”
She was daring him. Reining him in. Asking for something he’d never given any woman before. Even Juliana...
“I love you, Brianna Banks,” Kruze whispered contritely. “Only you. I do, first and forevermore, love you. And I’d really love to be part of yours and Robin’s life, if you’ll let me. It’s all up to you, Bree. Would that be so awful?”
She licked her bottom lip, drawing his attention to her lush mouth. Which had Kruze licking his lips in anticipation. Man, he wanted to kiss the hell out of that mouth. But he needed a sign first. Just one word. When it didn’t come, he ordered, “Marry me. After we get to my place. I know a guy who can marry us.”
“Your place?” she said coyly, licking her lips again. Bree knew precisely what her naked body was doing to him.
Reaching both hands to the sides of her head, Kruze took her mouth hot and hard. “Yes, my place,” he growled around her lips. “Where’d you think we were going?”
She threaded her fingers into his hair. “To Senator Sullivan’s safe house, like you said before.”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head to make sure she understood, rubbing his lips across hers. “Sullivan owns a safe house in Maine, true. But I was never taking you there. I’ve got my own place. That’s why Chance said we were twenty miles due south of Eagle Lake. That’s where my cabin is, and now it’s all yours. You’ll love it.”
A sigh breathed out of Bree’s splendid body. “I do love you, Kruze,” she said thoughtfully, her fingers tracing over his forehead and brows and down the line of his nose to his lips. “I’ve loved you since I first laid eyes on you in Paris.”
He ignored the implied “but” he heard in that tender declaration. “I’m taking you there again, Bree. I’m doing everything right this time around. Say yes. Marry me.”
This time when she licked her bottom lip, his went dry. When her lashes fell, Kruze’s heart stalled. He’d jumped the gun. This was too soon, too fast. He closed his eyes, so damned emotional and as repentant as fuck. “I don’t deserve you. I know that, and I…” He’d gone from being over the moon excited to stuttering like an unthinking fool with a big foot in his mouth. A tsunami of tears welled up inside. Kee-rist! Men didn’t cry. Why the hell was he?
“Do you think…?” He swallowed hard. The real question, ‘you could ever marry me?’ wouldn’t come, and it was a weak man’s question at best. It was too soon, too hard, and for a dumbass like him, eternally too late. What’d he expect? That Bree was as impetuous as he was? Now, after he’d left her pregnant and alone? That she would ever want the same thing he wanted? How could he hope to make up for the time he’d lost with Bree and Robin? Did a warrior like him even deserve a family? Sure didn’t seem like it.
Bree swiped a tender fingertip under his leaky eye. “That little girl of ours has a crush on you, you know,” she breathed.
And there was her reply. By not answering his question, she’d still given him her answer. Bree was beguiling him with her body. Diverting the subject at hand. His heart sank like the bow of the Titanic. Straight down and back into utter darkness.
Kruze wrapped Bree up tight in his arms, hugging her, so damned remorseful at her generous, ‘that little girl of ours.’ Yes, he was now a father, but that wouldn’t make him Bree’s husband. He couldn’t look at her, didn’t want her to see the devastation pulling him under. Didn’t want her to see the hurt. He was no prize, certainly no one to crush on. But with Bree and Robin in his life, he’d honestly thought they could weather any future storms together, like a family. If that wasn’t the best adventure of a lifetime, nothing was.
Except Bree was smart, and had already decided against marrying him. He’d heard her when she’d told her parents how high the divorce rate among married SEALs was. And that she wasn’t rushing into anything just because he’d gotten her pregnant.
“You’re tired, honey,” Bree told him sweetly, stroking a hand over his hard head, ruffling his hair, and kissing his scruffy cheek like he was a kid. “It’s been a really long day, and you’re injured. Let me check that bandage before we go to sleep.”
See? There she was, doing it again, as naked as a newborn babe, still taking care of him. How did good women do that? Sacrifice their needs for another’s? Even when they weren’t wearing a stitch? Even when they didn’t want to stay with the man they were helping?
‘Because they are good,’ his mother’s wise voice whispered.
Now Kruze knew he was losing it, if Scarlett Sinclair had truly spoken to him. He let his hands drift down Bree’s bare back to her bare bottom. At least he still had that. “You’re right. It’s been a bad day.”
She acquiesced and slid off his hips. Quick as a wink, Bree pulled on a pair of red panties he hadn’t noticed until then, followed by her jeans and sweatshirt. She dressed quickly, helped him button his shirt and jeans, then rolled him to his right side to check that damned screwdriver wound. There was no sense arguing. He’d lost this round.
“Do you have a flashlight in that magic bag o
f yours?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “Inside zippered pocket. There should be five of them.”
“Good Lord, you are a Boy Scout,” Bree said when she found what she was looking for. “My gosh, they look like five little soldiers standing in that pocket, and they each come with a brand-new pack of batteries.” Her voice sounded overly excited, and Kruze understood. She was still ignoring the elephant in the lean-to. Pretending he hadn’t asked, and that she hadn’t answered. That she wasn’t going to.
Her fingertips were icy-cold when she pressed his skin near the bandage. Kruze squeezed his eyes shut. They still had a couple days of hard walking ahead of them. He couldn’t let his being wounded slow them down. Married or not, he had a woman to protect and a little girl to think about. Robin expected her mother to come home safe and sound. Kruze meant to grant that wish, if it was the last thing he did.
“I don’t guess you have a thermometer,” Bree murmured.
“Sure don’t.” He kept his tone steady and calm, devoid of the ache in his heart. “I’ve been hurt worse before. This is nothing.”
She tugged the tape off and leaned over as she examined the wound closer. Her warm breath was chilly on his bare skin. “You’re definitely running a low-grade fever, and there’s a bright red ring around this hole. The good news is it’s still bleeding. It’s possible your body will cleanse the puncture wound enough to keep more infection at bay.”
Kruze grunted his agreement. “You done yet?” Because your touch hurts worse than what that screwdriver did.
“Not until I repack this wound and re-bandage it. Hang on. I’ll be quick, then I’ll warm up more of those tasty MREs. After we eat, we can keep each other warm the rest of the night.”
He meant to answer, to keep talking, to stay awake and alert. To stand guard while she slept. To keep pretending… But Kruze was more than just banged up tonight. He was alone again, and it was hard to pick up the shattered pieces of the foolish life he’d lived. What made him think he deserved a woman like Bree or a child as sweet as Robin? He didn’t. Apparently Karma didn’t think he did, either. And that was okay. A man couldn’t plant thistle seeds and expect roses to bloom. He’d reaped precisely what he’d sown.
Damned (SOBs Book 4) Page 21