by Lora Leigh
Kell rose from his seat on the mattress and headed for the closet as Ian left the bedroom. He finished hanging his dress uniform neatly in its protective covering, leaving it for now. From the floor he pulled free the duffel bag he had carried to Atlanta with him and checked it quickly.
Everything he needed was there. Cash, alternate identifications, a change of clothes, weapons, and ammo. Always prepared. He was always prepared. Until he met Emily.
He hadn’t been prepared for what she would do to him. How she would make him feel.
She made him feel things he had never believed he could feel, even after Tansy. The love he felt for Emily went so deep, was tangled so tight around his heart and soul that he wondered if he would survive if anything happened to her.
It was damned scary. The time spent with her had been so short. And yet she had a hold on him that he couldn’t have expected.
His Papère Beaulaine had warned him once that Beaulaine men, they loved fast, loved hard, and they loved forever. That when a Beaulaine male found his woman, he knew instantly she would change his life forever.
And Kell had scoffed. He had been young. He had been too arrogant. Too certain that no woman would ever fill that much of a man. And his grand-père had smiled. That quiet, knowing smile of his that Kell saw as an elder’s acknowledgment that young men will be young men. That they’d always scoff at the wisdom of their elders.
God, he had missed that old bastard. As hard as the betrayal of his parents’ disowning him had been, his grandparents’ refusal to take his side, to help him, had hurt even more. His papère had been his hero. His grand-mère an angel.
The Kriegers had always been more distant, so their defection hadn’t been a surprise. But the Beaulaines, they always stuck together, the old man had once told him, because blood was thicker than water. And blood mattered.
As he sighed, a light knock sounded at the door, soft, hesitant. Emily.
He tossed the duffel bag back into the closet as the door opened and she stepped inside, clad in nothing but a silken robe that couldn’t compete with the feel of her skin.
She tucked a strand of dark auburn hair behind her ear as she stood in the doorway, her expression pensive when she saw he was dressed.
He held back his smile. He could see the emotions riding inside her gaze. Hesitancy, arousal, the need to feel him wrapped around her.
She was still new to this intimacy, to having a man capable of controlling her sensuality, and yet allowing it freedom.
“I was going to catch Reno for an update,” he said softly as he sat on the bed and removed his boots once again. “It seems he’s already left though.”
“I saw Ian going downstairs.” She played with the belt of her robe, her slender fingers tense.
“He was giving me an update.” He set the boots and socks aside. “I would have been back to bed in a few minutes.”
She nodded jerkily. “Is everything okay? With the mission, I mean?”
“Everything’s fine.”
She licked her lips nervously as he rose to his feet and padded toward her.
“It should be over soon?” she asked.
“Soon,” he promised, then ignoring her gasp, he lifted her into his arms, watching as the robe parted over her legs and fell to the side. “Let’s go back to bed. You need your rest.”
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, though her blue eyes darkened in worry as she stared back at him.
“We need to talk,” she reminded him.
“There’s going to be plenty of time to talk later, chère.” He didn’t bother to try to tame his accent now. He was too busy trying to tame the lust rising inside him. “For now, I need to touch you again. To feel you against me.”
He entered her bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him before locking it. A second later he was laying her back on her bed, staring down at the white robe as her hard little nipples pressed against it, the shadow of the dusky pink color surrounding them barely discernible beneath the material.
He jerked his shirt over his head before his hands went to his jeans, and he discarded those just as quickly.
He was so hard he was hurting. So filled with hunger he felt as though he had never come in his life. His cock was straining out from his body, furious with Kell’s delay in taking her.
A wicked smile curled Emily’s lips as her slender fingers pulled at the belt of her robe, releasing the tie and allowing the panels to fall apart as she rolled to her knees and shed the garment.
Kell felt the breath jerk from his body. Blood pooled hot and thick in his cock and drew his balls tight. She was like Venus rising. Like every sexual dream any man had ever conjured up in the dark lonely hours of the night.
And she belonged to him.
“Come here, chère.” His hands framed her face as she knelt on the bed before they slid into the rich, silken depths of her fiery hair.
Emily stared up at him, drowning in the emerald depths of his gaze, feeling the air thicken with sensuality, with the hunger that rose between them.
She hadn’t expected this. She had never had trouble pushing away her previous bodyguards. They were her father’s goons. She had enough trouble with her protective father; she hadn’t been in a hurry to create more by accepting one of his handpicked son-in-law candidates.
But Kell was different.
For one thing, he was harder. Her hands pressed against his chest, smoothed over the flexing muscles as his lips covered hers. He was stronger, more forceful; the very aura of confidence and competence that surrounded him drew her. His air of dominance and sexuality was in harmony with her own sensual desires, which threatened to burn her each time he touched her.
As he was doing now. His lips moving over hers, parting them to dip his tongue in playfully before pulling back and drawing her lower lip between his and sucking lightly, sexually.
His hands moved up her back, then down. Gripped her hips and pulled her closer, cushioning his erection against her belly.
“Are you sore?” he whispered as he pulled back, one hand sliding from her hip and moving confidently between her thighs. She gasped at the feel of his palm cupping her, his fingers sliding over the damp flesh of her pussy.
His fingers rubbed against the folds, shifting between them to circle the sensitive opening.
Emily felt her head fall back on her shoulders. And Kell was there to take advantage. His lips moved along her jaw, down her neck.
“Never too sore,” she whimpered. “That feels too good, Kell.”
“Never too good, sweetheart.” His voice deepened, becoming a sexy murmur along her collarbone as his finger slipped inside the snug entrance.
“Oh. Yes. Too good.” Spreading her thighs wider she fought for a deeper penetration, opening herself for him, desperate to experience more of the incredible pleasure his touch brought her.
“You’re soft as silk. As hot as fire,” he whispered against the curve of her breast before giving her a gentle, erotic bite with strong teeth.
Emily shuddered at the caress. The combination of primal hunger in the bite, the wicked titillation of his finger stroking inside her, teasing her.
“And you’re hard,” she moaned, her head lifting, her lips finding the hard column of his neck.
Kell let her have her way as he felt her teeth at his neck. Sharp little sensations moved along his flesh before tightening his cock and balls from the feel of her teeth.
Her hands were like satin gliding over his flesh and the gentle cushion of her tummy rubbed against his cock, causing his teeth to grit at the primal arousal growing inside him.
He wanted to throw her to the bed and ride her to ecstasy.
Instead, he held himself before her and let her explore. Like the vixen he had dreamed of catching as a boy, she was curious, inquisitive. Her nails scraped along his chest to his abdomen, making his teeth grind as he fought for patience.
Her lips skimmed over his neck to his chest. She bit. She licked. She had electri
city pouring into his body, tightening his nerve endings and cascading along each cell with a pleasure he wasn’t certain he could withstand.
She was like whiskey. Potent. Fiery. Burning clear to his soul with her feminine demand, sharp little bites, and satiny licks.
“Ah sugar. Keep this up and I’m going to lose my head,” he said, his hands in her hair, sifting his fingers through the strands as she nipped at his lower chest.
She was going lower. Drawing close to his cock, her hungry lips and tongue tightening his muscles into a mass of anticipation.
“I want to feel you,” she whispered as her lips went lower, licking inches from the head of his dick. “In my mouth. Against my tongue. I want to feel you like I can’t feel you inside me. Without a condom. With nothing but your flesh against me.”
Shit. Hell. Fuck. He was going to come before she ever touched him. If he didn’t get a hold on her—
She got a hold on him instead. Her tongue slid over the head of his cock, her mouth surrounded it, and Kell knew he was lost. His hands tightened further in her hair for long seconds as he fought the need to control it, to keep her from bringing him to release too soon.
Her mouth surrounded the throbbing head, drew it deep, and began to suckle with such innocent pleasure he swore he felt his eyes water.
He had never been tasted, taken with such pleasure. He had never had another woman worship his body, his cock, as his sweet Emily was worshipping him.
“Chère. Sugar. Sweet, sweet Emily,” he groaned, thrusting against her hips with a short jerk of his hips he couldn’t control. “You’re gonna get in trouble with that wicked mouth.”
She shuddered at the sensual threat, then another, harder tremor washed over her as his hand moved from her hair, trailed down her spine then clenched on the rounded curve of her rear.
“Like that, little fox?” he whispered.
The vibration of her approving moan against the flesh of his cock had the hard flesh spasming in warning release.
His fingers clenched again, his lips curving in a tight smile as her suckling faltered. But her moan was just as dangerously exciting.
Slender fingers cupped his balls now as the fingers of her other hand gripped the shaft. And stroked.
Kell drew in a hard breath.
“Let’s see if you like this, eh?” He landed a light slap against her rear. Watched her jerk. Felt her moan.
Not hard. Emily wouldn’t like a hard caress. She was delicate yet strong. But her flesh was sensitive, easily bruised and easily stung.
He wanted to deliver the lightest touch. Just enough to make her feel the flames, to tempt her, to see how much more she could stand before he went further.
She wiggled her pert little rear and mouthed the head of his cock with enough hunger to send flames racing up his spine. Damn. She would kill him before she finished tonight.
He landed another tap to her rear, grimacing as she tightened, then allowed his fingers to trail along the shallow cleft as she stilled. Like a little fox, waiting, cautious, wary.
He drew back, watching the shudder that raced through her then feeling her mouth draw on his cock again. She was sucking him like a dream. Like a hungry goddess, licking and mouthing his dick as her playful fingers played on his balls and his shaft.
He tapped her rear with his fingers again, just a bit harder, and before she could process the added burn, moved his fingers down her cleft, curved beneath her thighs, and filled her tight, hot pussy with two fingers in a sudden, stretching thrust.
Enough of this playful teasing. He pumped inside the clenching tunnel with the fingers of one hand while the others gripped her hair, held her to him and pumped her mouth with slow, steady strokes.
“Enough teasing, sugar,” he growled. “You’ll take me now, eh? Now, before we both die from the need.”
Nineteen
KELL PULLED AT EMILY’S HAIR and her mouth sank deeper on his dick, her expression transforming in her pleasure as the pressure on her scalp became a delicate pain.
Hell. Damn it to hell. He loved a woman that liked her hair pulled.
He pulled again, felt her moan, watched her lashes flutter against her cheek as her suckling grew harder. Deeper. The stroking motions of her fingers over his shaft became firmer, stronger, as the fingers cupping his balls twitched and flexed until he felt the sweet bite of her nails against the tender flesh.
He pulled again, one hand moving to cover hers on his erection as his hips began to move. To thrust into her mouth, to gain control before it was too late to control.
Force of will, he told himself desperately. That was all it took. Pulling from the heated suckling of her mouth nearly destroyed him.
The edge was so close. The hunger rising so sharply inside him that he took time only to push her around on the bed, lift her hips, and begin penetrating her.
Emily stared across the bed in shock, her gaze locked with her own in the mirror across from her before she lifted it to Kell.
Did he know his expression was tortured? Tormented? Nearly as much as hers. He was pushing inside her by slow degrees, making her feel every bite of the impalement, every inch that stroked across every nerve ending.
He had one hand locked in her hair, the other clamped on her hip, and behind her, his face was a mask of lust and need. But his eyes. His eyes were filled with something. Something hot, possessive, challenging.
She bucked in his grip, pulling away and smiling in triumph as he slipped from her. She watched his lips firm, watched the determination that crossed his expression before he stilled her movements and began pushing inside her again.
Oh God, it was too good. It was delicious. It was burning and tingling and sending wicked, wicked fingers of sensation to race around her already swollen clit.
“Come ’ere, chère.” His voice was hoarse as she pulled forward again, almost dislodging him. “Sweet little fox. My own little fox.” He surged forward, burying another inch as her back arched.
Emily saw the frank triumph in his expression then. The dark shimmer of male satisfaction on his piratical face. The days’ growth of beard and emerald eyes made him look wicked enough. But that lust and triumph in his expression only made it more so.
“Kell!” Her thoughts were scattered as he burrowed in deeper, his fingers pulling and releasing at her hair, his possession filling her, stretching her.
“Tell me what you like, eh love,” he groaned, retreating, penetrating, never filling her enough, never hard enough or deep enough.
As his fingers eased in her hair she jerked forward again, dislodging him once more. A frown edged at his brow. Both hands clamped on her hips, and before she could draw a breath and prepare for it, he was plunging inside her.
“Ah God!” He stilled, trembling nearly as hard as she was shaking. “Fuck. Emily. No condom,” he panted, a rivulet of sweat running down the side of his face to disappear into his beard.
No condom.
She stilled, trying to breathe, trying not to clench around the brutally hard flesh inside her. She saw his face then. Saw the struggle in his expression, the need, the force of emotion. And suddenly, she didn’t care. She had no intentions of letting him go. Ever. Super Glue would have nothing on Emily Stanton when it came to Kell.
“I don’t care,” she whispered. “I don’t care, Kell.”
He was staring at where their bodies were interlocked, sweat now beading his face as he swallowed convulsively. His fingers clenched on her hips. The muscles in his thighs tightened and he began to withdraw. Slowly, so slowly.
Emily dragged in a whimpering breath, both at the retreat as well as the sensations. She wouldn’t push it. She wouldn’t demand. Having Kell’s baby would be more joy than she could imagine, but—
A ragged, tortured groan left his throat. A second later, he was buried inside her once more and he didn’t stop. His hips moved quickly, hard. Each thrust built in pleasure, the feel of his flesh bare inside hers, the stretching heat, the need building and b
uilding as she kept her gaze locked on him.
She had to. If she didn’t center herself she would fly away. She would explode into fragments that might never find form again.
She arched in front of him, her fingers digging into the blankets as the thrusts increased. Her ragged cries, his male groans. They blended, forming an erotic, sexual tune that whipped around them in ever-increasing force.
The pleasure rose. It burned. It had her crying out his name, desperate for ease even as she fought to keep her gaze on the mirror, fought to watch his face. His lips.
Lips that were parting as she began to come apart. His teeth were clenched as she began to convulse around him, pleasure fragmenting inside her a second before she saw his expression twist. Agony and ecstasy. Her name on his lips, and then more.
I love you, Emily. He mouthed the words as his eyes closed and he began to jerk, the feel of his release spurting inside her dragging her from the last mooring that held her to earth.
I love you.
There was no sound to the words. Only his lips moving. Only his eyes closed, his expression absorbed, tight with emotion and a male pleasure too sexy to endure.
Emily heard herself scream his name. She felt the shudders shaking her body as she tried to twist out of his grip to escape the sensations that suddenly built upon themselves. Pleasure upon pleasure, explosion upon explosion, until she collapsed to the bed, exhausted. Drained. And holding her secret close to her heart.
Kell loved her. As surely as she knew she loved him, he loved her. And for some reason, he didn’t want her to know. He didn’t want to give the words voice, and instead kept them silent as his expression twisted with an inner agony. As he lowered himself beside her, still buried in her, still holding her close, he clasped her in his arms as though he feared she would be torn from them.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered at her ear. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Emily felt her heart drop to her stomach. That was regret in his voice. Not fear. Heavy, remorseless regret.
“No harm done,” she whispered. “It’s the wrong time of the month anyway.”