Illicit

by Pryce, Madeline

  “I’m driving,” he growled, reaching behind the seat for the clothes he knew Greg kept stashed there.

  Without protest, she slid across the wide bench seat and settled into the passenger side. He threaded first one arm and then the other through a one-size-too-small flannel shirt. His father’s scent wrapped around him, threatening the beast and comforting the man. Stepping into jeans that were just an inch too short, Peter climbed into the warm truck and slammed the door. He slid the seat back until his knees no longer touched the steering wheel.

  As he drove, an uneasy silence fed his festering anger. For the first time since entering the truck, he looked at Eva. Her eyes were still wide, still unfocused.

  “You’re afraid of me.”

  “The leopard still lurks in your eyes,” she said, her voice raspy and raw.

  His hands tightened on the steering wheel and left his knuckles white. “I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”

  Her laughter filled the truck. Some of her fear abated. “Last night. Yes.” She turned her body toward his. “The note was a nice touch.”

  It was more than he’d ever done for any other woman he’d left in the middle of the night. He squeezed the steering wheel, heard something crack. “You’ve got an hour to pack your crap, and then we’re heading to Montana.”

  She whipped her head in his direction. “Excuse me?”

  “I didn’t stutter. Greg’s gone, what else do you have in this God forsaken town? It’s a shit hole, and you know it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. The fire in her gaze stoked an entirely different kind of heat in his stomach. “I’m not uprooting my life to run away with a man I don’t know.”

  “It’s not safe for you here,” he seethed, wanted to shake some sense into her.

  She sank into her seat. “I’m perfectly fine where I’m at.”

  With a yank of the wheel, the truck swerved off the side of the road, sliding to a halt between two trees. He jammed the gear stick into park and spun on her. She made a small sound, pressed against her door, a pathetic attempt to escape him in the confines of a vehicle.

  Catching her by the chin, Peter held Eva still. Her skin, despite the heat pouring from the vents, was just as icy as his. He tilted the rearview mirror her direction, angling it so she could see her face. Wincing, she tried to pull away. He forced her to look at what the asshole had done to her.

  “The son of a bitch hit you.”

  She lifted a trembled hand, touched his cheek. “I’m fine,” she whispered.

  The sleeve of her coat fell down her arm, exposing the ligature marks from his silk tie. As if they were still in that fucking bathroom, he saw the smear of blood on his cock. He was the asshole who’d hurt her. Him.

  He pulled away from the caress. “Don’t,” was all he could manage.

  He drew in a deep breath and took an ounce of comfort at his scent lingering inside her. When he calmed enough to form a sentence, he pushed away what he and Eva had done last night and finished his original thought. “He probably killed Greg too.”

  She jerked her face from his grip and met his gaze boldly. “Grady isn’t a murderer.”

  “Put the facts together. He has a gun. He’s violent. He’s obsessed with you. Who knows how long he waited for you to come out of the cabin? He probably listened to us the entire night. There was another note, Eva, taped to the door when I left. Coincidences are a pile of shit.”

  She swallowed, looked like vomit might spew out of her mouth at any moment. “Another note?”

  “You aren’t safe, Eva.”

  She shook her head, almost as if the action could make all the pieces fall into place. “No.” The conviction in her voice sent him reeling; she didn’t believe him. “I know Grady, he didn’t kill Greg. He never would have set it up so I’d find the body. Never. Until tonight he’d never so much as raised his voice to me.”

  How dare she defend him? Before he could stop himself, he buried his hand in the tangle of curls and drew her head back. Images of their night together flipped through his mind. He saw Eva on her knees, mouth stretched over his cock. The image morphed. In Peter’s place stood the cop.

  Jealousy burned almost as hot as the rage. He spoke through clenched teeth. “He’s the reason you won’t leave town.”

  Eva gripped his wrist, tried to pull away with all the success of a gnat annoying a bear. He tightened his fist and pulled her an inch from his face. Her nails dug into his forearm, the thick cotton of his shirt muting the sensations.

  “Tell me.” He brushed his nose against hers, aligned their mouths but didn’t close the distance. If he kissed her, he would fuck her right here on the side of the highway. “Are you still screwing him? Am I the asshole whose been pissing in another man’s pool?”

  “That’s disgusting. Let me go.”

  He eyed her mouth, recalled how sweet she tasted. He licked his lips and spoke slowly, each word defined with a growl he couldn’t control. “Answer. The. God. Damn. Question. Are you fucking him, yes or no?”

  A defiant, nearly irresistible, heat filled her eyes. “No.”

  His mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding. He didn’t ask, didn’t wait for her to open. His tongue pressed inside, demanding entrance. Another unwanted image hit him. He saw Grady pushing Eva onto her stomach, shoving into her from the back.

  The leopard slammed against his self-control, a battering ram plowing through splintered wood. Blood. Death. Revenge.

  He pulled from her mouth. “You might not be fucking him now, but you used to.”

  She glared up at him, chest rising and falling with every breath. Her heaving breasts pushed at her gaping coat. Silence hung between them, heavy and damning. It was all the confirmation he needed.

  Tonight he dies, the feline demanded. Agreed.

  To Eva, he said, “Answer me.” His voice was more animal than man.

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “You bet your sweet ass it’s my business, Angel.”

  She flinched, but stopped her struggles to pull away from him. “I told you not to call me that.”

  He licked her lower lip before closing his teeth around the flesh. He tugged. When she leaned in for his kiss, he indulged her. Breaking away, he kissed her chin, nipped her neck. He drew his tongue up the column of her throat, sucked her earlobe into the heat of his mouth and earned a trembling moan for his efforts.

  He whispered against her ear. “You are mine.”

  Desire filled her eyes and possessiveness swirled inside him at her body’s acceptance of his claim. She drew her lip between her teeth. Lifting and then twisting, Eva climbed onto his lap. Slowly, oh so fucking slowly, she straddled the ridge in his jeans. The heat of her bare pussy soaked through the denim. Damn, she was naked beneath her dress.

  Unable to resist, he thrust, rolling upward to press along her sensitive clit. She sucked in a breath and rocked her hips in a sensual rhythm that had him ready to come in his pants. He let go of her hair and closed a hand on either side of her thighs, just under the hem of her skirt. He skimmed up silky flesh, drew the dress with him. Her skin was creamy. Soft. Perfect.

  She leaned in close and pressed her breasts against his chest. Mouth an inch from his, she whispered, “You know what I think?”

  He could barely speak he was so turned on. His hands tightened on her flesh. He’d play her game. For now. “What?”

  “I think,” she let out the sound a woman makes right before she orgasms. Breathy. Low. Normally followed by “Oh, Peter,” and a “Yes, God, I’m coming”. Her voice hardened against his ear. “I think you should go fuck yourself, you arrogant prick. No one owns me.” Her hands came between them and she pushed off his chest, trying to remove herself from his lap.

  The conniving little bitch. God, he loved it.

  He might have laughed if he weren’t moments away from bending her over the seat. Before she could move an inch, he tightened his hands around her thighs and held her in place. Eva needed an
other lesson. He smashed his lips against hers, taking her mouth in a deliberately rough kiss. Her moan was immediate. The sound gripped his cock, stroked it. The hands that had been trying to push him away now ran up flannel stretched tight over muscles in his chest. Her palm stalled over the pounding beat of his heart. She fisted the fabric, yanked him closer.

  Yes.

  She belonged to him. No one else. The hand he had up her skirt curved inward. A rumbling noise of approval vibrated through him. He tore his mouth from hers, stared into her eyes. “This,” he plunged two fingers into her sex. She gasped, and he leaned in close to taste the sweetness of the sound. “Is mine, Eva, and I’m going to prove it.”

  Curving his fingers, he found the hard knot of her G-spot and coaxed a ripple of pleasure from her. Pressing against her clit with this thumb, he thrust in and out of her channel. She’d sing for him, he’d make damn sure of it.

  “I’m not yours,” she said on a keening cry. Her words didn’t stop her from moving her hips against him.

  “Wrong answer.” It took him one second to unzip his pants, another to position himself at her entrance and plunge home.

  She cried out, a sound of shock, pain and pleasure. Her nails bit into his shoulder, the sharp bite just enough to keep him from coming on the spot. She was hot and tight. He gripped her slender waist, forced her body down as he thrust up. Jolts of pleasure tightened his stomach, propelled him forward for another taste of heaven.

  He pressed his mouth against her neck and devoured. His teeth closed around skin, and he bit down. Above him, Eva pressed a palm flat against the headrest and rocked. He slammed his eyes closed, willed his climax away. She rode his cock, every jerk of her hips coming quicker and quicker.

  “Harder,” she moaned.

  No. He was in control, not her. The flesh beneath his teeth broke, hot blood spilling into his mouth. The copper stung his tongue, spurred his appetite for more. He gripped her hip, stopped her damn writhing, and pounded into her body with the ruthless abandon of a wild animal. Harder. Harder. Harder. Every thrust sent his cock deeper into her gripping channel. Tight vaginal muscles squeezed, let go, squeezed, the sensations drawing unnamed pleasure from deep inside of him.

  Nothing should be this good.

  A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, the bite of salt adding to the scents of sex. He gripped the back of Eva’s neck, found her hair damp. What he wouldn’t give to have her naked, sweaty, his body sliding over hers. Not going to happen in a damned pick-up truck. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have her naked. He pushed at her coat, managed to get the wool off her shoulders and onto the floorboard. The dress, still smelling of death and grief, gave no resistance, not when he unzipped and pushed the material down around her waist.

  He cupped the weight of her breast before thumbing her nipple. His tongue found hers, stroked, pushed in and then out, mimicking the frenzied pace of their hips working in tandem. Her body tightened. The erotic sounds she made grew more desperate, more demanding. She was close, so damn close. His need to spill inside her drew closer.

  Fuck her, mark her, claim her. Yours. Only yours.

  “Say my name,” he growled, breaking their kiss. He needed her to know exactly who brought her pleasure. When he was through, Grady’s pathetic attempt to please her would be nonexistent. He twisted her nipple, knew she got off on the pain.

  “Peter,” she gasped, the hand she’d braced on the headliner slipping.

  He grabbed her arms, pinned them behind her back with one hand. He took only a moment to admire the way her breasts pushed forward, begged for his touch. God, she had great tits. With every thrust they bounced. “Louder,” he demanded.

  Her pussy spasmed. She threw her head back on the crest of pleasure he saw building in her eyes. He followed with his mouth, licked the fresh bite mark on her neck. His. Lower, he swirled his tongue around a taut nipple, sucked it into his mouth.

  “Harder, Peter. Fuck me harder.”

  Their pace doubled. Shit, he was going to come, if not from the sensations, from the noises she was making. Flesh slapped together, a wet sound that proved just how bad she wanted him. He couldn’t stop the climax, couldn’t hold off much longer. His teeth closed around the nub in his mouth, and he bit gently. Eva’s cry was inarticulate and so damned hot. She was close enough to euphoria that he experienced the first rhythmic flutters.

  “Who’s fucking you?” he asked.

  “You, you are. Please, Peter. Make me come.”

  Had any words ever been sweeter? He wasn’t through. Eva writhed, her body moving with a sensual grace he’d not seen in any other woman. His balls clenched, the tingling pulses of his orgasm speeding his heart. Her pussy tightened on his cock, held him in place until her spasms turned violent. Above him, she shuddered. Before he could notch inside—because he felt it coming, felt the swelling, the heat, the damning evidence he belonged to her just as much as she belong to him—he pulled his dick from her depths. He all but threw her onto the seat beside him. She never batted an eye, only eagerly bent forward to take his glistening cock into her mouth.

  Fisting her hair, he forced her head up and down as fast as he’d thrust into her body. She moaned, stroked the head of his erection with her tongue, twisted. She gripped the base of his cock and then squeezed. Up. Down. Up. Down. Oh fuck. A mere minute in her mouth had him spilling his seed down her throat. He growled his release, trembling against her like a fucking virgin.

  Tension melted the stiffness holding him rigid. He hadn’t proven shit, only that Eva was most definitely one hell of a fuck. His hand loosened his grip in her hair, and ran a hand down her smooth, naked back. Exhausted, he fell back in his seat and closed his eyes tight. He ran a hand down the day-old growth roughing his cheeks. If he watched her swallow his essence, taking another part of him into her body, he’d fuck her again.

  Neither of them said a single word when Eva righted her dress and climbed off him. He zipped up his jeans, put the still-running vehicle into drive and pulled back onto the road. Not a single fucking word. He didn’t dare look at her.

  Thirty minutes passed before the stone and wood structure of his family home came into view through a clearing of yellow cedars. He pulled in front of the garage and killed the engine.

  “Are you coming inside?” she asked.

  Her words conjured so many images. His cock twitched, the stupid, stubborn bastard. He didn’t look at her, couldn’t. “No.”

  He needed to talk to James, find out everything he could about Grady. The cop wasn’t a local boy because Peter never forgot a face. The asshole must have moved into town after Peter had left. A new wave of anger stole through him. Eva had lost her virginity at seventeen, now she had to be at least twenty-five. How many times had the cop fucked his angel?

  “Leave Grady alone,” Eva said, her words snapping him out of his fantasy of death and dismemberment.

  A noise left his chest, feral and damning. He speared her with hot, furious eyes. Even though it was Peter’s seed in her belly, it was Grady she protected. His fist slammed against the dash, plastic splintering. “The fuck I will.”

  She clenched her jaw, stared at him brazenly, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed. Tangled curls fell around her face and a sheen of sweat still clung to her temples. Blood dripped down her neck, disappearing beneath the dress. His dick tightened, ready for round two.

  He needed a distraction, anything to keep from shoving her onto her stomach and lifting her ass in the air. Maybe this time he’d paddle her rear end until she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, who owned her.

  No. He had to think of something besides fucking her. The image of Eva leaving the cabin only an hour before filled him. She should have looked relaxed and sated after their long night together. Instead, her eyes were glassy with tears and the tip of her nose red. She’d been crying. Had he hurt her...physically?

  “You were crying when you left this morning.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You were watching me.”


  His only answer was a shrug.

  She leaned the side of her head against the window, looked out into the winter wonderland. “Have you ever lost a parent?” she asked, still not looking at him.

  He tore his gaze from her swollen, bruised cheek to stare out the window. He’d rather have talked about how harshly he’d fucked her up the ass than delve into this emotional shit. The snow-covered trees and rolling mountains mocked him, took him back to a place he’d long since left.

  “My mother, when I was five. A hunter shot her in the head. The physical pain leaves but you never forget, not really.”

  The seat dipped, his only warning she’d moved close. No. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, accept her comfort. He leaned across her and threw open the passenger-side door before she could touch him. Gusts of cold air swept through the cab, stealing away their combined scent. He returned to the driver’s seat and gripped both hands around the steering wheel.

  “You should go,” he said, his voice cold. “I’ll leave the keys in the ignition.”

  “Do whatever you want,” she snapped and climbed out of the truck. Pausing, her hand tightened on the rim of the door. She turned to him. “You were right. I didn’t realize just how much I’d hate you in the morning.”

  He turned to her. A forced, sardonic smirk pried one corner of his mouth upward. Deliberately cruel, he ran an indifferent eye from her sex-rumpled hair to her black boots. At the sight of her, his heart sped.

  “The morning isn’t over yet, Angel. Just wait a little bit longer.”

  Just wait until she found out he didn’t intend to leave Bellows Falls.

  Chapter Seven

  Eva stopped at the edge of the tree line, her gloved hand faltering on the last barren tree limb. In the clearing, the Pard waited. Eleven pairs of eyes turned to stare, each one looking her over from head to toe. Cataloguing. Assessing. Judging.