by Kris Norris
And, if she got a few minutes to play—to taste him the way she’d been dying to—it was only fair.
Sam stilled, obviously torn between wanting to take things at his pace and allowing her this concession. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t strip off his pants himself. She had no doubts he could slip out of his jeans then into her faster than she could scoot off the bed. But she wanted the pleasure of undressing him, herself. Of watching him respond to her touch, her voice.
The muscle in Sam’s temple jumped, then he was moving—gaining his feet then helping her shuffle to the edge of the bed. He remained silent, watching her through narrowed eyes as she unbuckled his belt then opened the fly. His cock pulsed against the cotton briefs, the heavy length already bulging out of the opening.
She smiled as she hooked her fingers around the band and pulled them down his legs, taking his briefs and socks along with the denim. A quick shift of his feet, and he was bare. Gloriously naked. Hard. Weeping with anticipation.
She hummed, skimming her palms up his thighs until she reached the base of his shaft. The thick length hardened further under her gaze, more drops of slippery fluid beading from the tip.
She leaned in, blowing a warm breath across the head then smiling when it flared. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to lick you? Feel you move inside my mouth? You haven’t been very fair.”
Sam’s fingers carded into her hair. “Fair doesn’t make you scream out your release.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Pleasing you is just as exciting. Just as satisfying. I bet you taste even better than I remember.” She ran her tongue across the smooth skin, humming at the salty flavor of him. “I was right.”
Sam’s grip tightened. “This isn’t helping me get you on your back with my dick deep inside you.”
She clenched her thighs at the image that materialized in her head. “Oh, but it is. I’ll be more than ready if you let me indulge just a bit.”
“You’re already more than ready.”
There was no denying it. She was. Wet. Hot. So needy it hurt. But she wanted this moment with Sam even more. A memory she’d carry with her if the future didn’t work out the way she hoped.
If he left.
When he left. That was the reality.
She blocked out the negative thoughts. Tonight was about living. Loving. There wasn’t room for anything that didn’t bring them pleasure.
She licked him, again, swirling her tongue across the thick head then taking it inside her mouth. She couldn’t take all of him. Not without choking. But the length she could accommodate—it was heaven. Or sin. Both, she supposed. It made her feel powerful. Sexy. Hearing Sam moan above her, his hips jerking of their own accord, his fingers flexing against her scalp, sending tiny stinging jolts straight to her sex…
It was better than she remembered. More intense, as if she’d found a way to turn up all the colors. Make everything more vibrant. Even his scent was headier. More tempting.
Bridgette took her time, rediscovering every hard inch of him. She let her hands smooth over his ribs and abdomen, skirting past the scar he didn’t want to acknowledge. The one she knew he must have gotten the night he’d lost Gray. She didn’t want to give him any reason to stop. To distance himself. He’d be doing that soon enough. Once the trial began, and she’d be damned if she’d lose what could be her last chance to savor him.
Sam growled out a raspy version of her name, getting her to look up. His eyes were heavy lidded, his nostrils flaring. A red hue colored his cheekbones as the loud echo of his throaty inhalations sounded around them. He was close.
She smiled then bobbed down his length, taking as much of him to the back of her throat as she could. Sam gave a strangled shout, tilting his hips a bit in an effort to go deeper.
“God, Bridgette. I won’t last long if you keep sucking on me like that.”
She shrugged, not wanting to release him. He still didn’t understand that she didn’t want him to last. She wanted him to lose control. To fuck her mouth like he’d claimed her body earlier. Then, she’d run her hands all over him, learning every new dip and plane, until he’d recovered enough to continue.
He grunted, tugging on her hair. “Don’t want to finish like this. Need. You.”
She looked up his body to meet his gaze. His jaw was clenched, the cords in his neck straining. His eyes had an edge to them—hunger. Lust. Maybe a combination of the two.
“Bridgette.” He released one hand in order to trace where her lips touched his cock. “I’m too close. Too wired from the shootout. Thinking you could’ve gotten killed…”
She eased back, dragging her tongue along his length one more time before letting him slip free. Sam hooked her arms, lifting her then taking her down on the mattress. He moved over top, wedged her knees apart then pushed into her. Pleasure seared across her skin, her body already on the verge of release.
Sam stilled, dropping onto his elbows then gathering her close. He placed his forehead on hers as a shiver shook through him.
“God, Bridg. What you do to me. Loving you like this. Bare. You beneath me. Shit.” He tilted his hips, slowly easing out then surging back in. “So wet. I love that you’re always ready for me.”
He moved, again. Slightly harder. Faster. She wrapped her legs around his thighs, crossing her ankles behind his back and using them to draw him deeper. He moaned, claiming her mouth as he increased his pace.
Tongues met then tangled, mimicking the way their bodies moved. Sliding over each other then parting just enough to breathe before coming together, again. Pillows got knocked off the bed as their movements shimmied them across the mattress, bunching the blankets beneath her back.
She didn’t care. Not with Sam looming over her, gazes locked, his fingers still wrapped around her shoulders as he pounded into her. It was an odd mix of sensual and savage. Gravelly whispers followed by guttural moans. He was a different man than before. Still safe. Still attentive to her needs, but intense. A hint of wild in his scent, like a tamed bear suddenly set free.
He was driven. Borderline obsessive in his need to have her. He was pumping harder, blurring the view beyond his shoulder into a wash of shadows. Heat poured off him in waves, making the air heavy. Hard to breathe.
She clung tighter, dangling on the edge of her release. Helpless to fall forward or pull back. He consumed her, and for the first time in years, it didn’t scare her. Didn’t make her want to curl in on herself. She’d done this to him. Pushed him past his limits. And it felt powerful.
Pleasure tore through her, stealing her breath as her climax came crashing down. She shouted his name, pulsing around him, gripping him so tightly he had to push onto his hands to keep moving. Four more thrusts, then stillness.
His body stiffened, the bands of muscles flexing as he hovered over her, holding his breath.
His cock swelled then he came. Hips jerking against her groin, hoarse versions of her name breaking the silence. He shuddered through several contractions then collapsed on top of her. Spent.
Bridgette wrapped her arms around him, palms pressed against his skin as he panted through a series of rough breaths. Tears burned her eyes, slowly tracking down her cheeks. It had been too much and, yet, not enough. Never enough with Sam. He kissed her neck then stilled, muttering under his breath before pushing onto one elbow.
She shook her head, urging him back down. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
He nuzzled her nose, his chest still heaving against hers. “Not going anywhere. I’m just…worried. I was too rough, wasn’t I? Fuck.”
She slid one hand over his shoulder to his chin. “You were perfect. Just the right amount of rough.”
“Then, why are your cheeks damp? And it’s not sweat.”
“Because you made me see stars.”
“Or because I scared you.”
“That’s not the word I would have chosen.”
He arched a brow.
She smiled. “Cherished. Loved. Those are closer.”
<
br /> He pursed his lips then rested his head on hers. “Bridg.”
She closed her eyes, breathing him in. She didn’t know how this was going to play out, but for tonight, he belonged to her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sam sat in a chair beside the bed, watching Bridgette sleep. She’d passed out in his arms exactly one minute after he’d whispered her name, and she’d barely moved all night.
The after-effects of adrenaline overload. It had kept her sharp during their altercation with the gunmen. Had been part of the reason they’d needed to blow off steam the moment he’d walked her through the door. But now…
Now, the high was over, nothing but bone-deep weariness left. Fucking the last of her strength away hadn’t helped her combat the lulling effect, either.
Loving. He was supposed to love her fears away, not take her like some kind of junkie in need of a fix.
He tensed his jaw, turning in the chair as he scanned the yard for any movement. Though it was still storming out, the snow held that eerie glowing quality to it that seemed to light up patches the landscape with only a hint of daylight brightening the horizon.
He glanced back at her, noting the small hickey at the base of her neck. He’d been rough. Demanding. Claiming her as if he’d had something to prove. Ownership to stake. It wasn’t like him. He’d never been one to think in those terms. Drag his knuckles on the ground and beat on his chest. He respected women. Respected her. Her intelligence. Her bravery. Her determination. It amazed him. But, then, she’d pulled him over top of her, and he’d seen red. His own version of a bull in a ring.
He was blowing it. He knew she didn’t go for that kind of guy. No woman in her right mind would. And, yet, he couldn’t help the urge to mark her. A visible sign to any other man that she was already taken.
You mean like a ring, jackass?
Sam cursed Gray’s ghostly voice. He’d been strangely silent the past few days, and Sam had hoped it meant he was finally making progress. Learning to leave that night in the past. Forgive himself.
It didn’t help that Gray was right. Again. The proper route would be to get down on one knee and ask her to marry him. Give her a civilized display of his love, instead of trying to leave some kind of sexual tattoo. Bridgette deserved that. She deserved more.
He studied her. Hair spread out in a golden curtain about her shoulders, long, dark eyelashes resting on creamy skin. God, she was breathtaking. And remembering how she’d moved beneath him—insisted he make love to her with his body crushing hers into the bed—it had messed with his brain. Or maybe he’d shut the damn thing off. Listened to his dick, instead. A bad habit where she was concerned.
He’d make it up to her. As soon as he and others had taken care of the men hunting her, he’d go shopping. Get something unique, like her, then beg her to spend the rest of her life with him. He wasn’t sure how the details would work out. Her life in Seattle. His life in Montana. But he’d find a way. Make a way.
If she said yes.
He wanted to think it was a given. That she’d been showing him this was far more than scratching an itch. But a part of him realized she could do so much better than an ex-soldier still trying to make peace with his past, who had a ghost as a conscience.
His phone buzzed, dancing the unit across the small side table. He swiped his finger across the glass, keeping his voice low. “Something brewing, Hank?”
“Movement. Near the barn. One tango, so far. But if he’s coming after Bridgette here, no way this guy is alone. Thinking any others are spreading out. Trying to cover as many exit strategies as possible. Betting there’s at least one taking up a sniper position, though the snow’s going to make it harder than shit to get a clear sight line. I’ve got your buddy Ice circling around.” Hank chuckled. “Looks like I’m gonna have to pay the guy, and he hasn’t even agreed to come on board, yet.”
“He’ll never take your money. Guy’s got too big of a heart. Might sway his decision, though.” Sam checked his gun then slipped on his boots. “I’ll get Bridgette up. We’ll meet you out back. I’d like her to be safe before we take on these boys.”
“Roger. Kujo’s got a truck waiting. He can see her to safety while we end this. Backdoor in five.”
Sam shoved his phone in his pocket then sat on the edge of the bed. He hated to wake her, but leaving her here, even with one of his teammates, didn’t feel right. Too many variables. Hadn’t Sadie’s attacker blown up the house? Better to remove Bridgette from the equation, then he, Ice and Hank could go hunting.
He cupped her shoulder giving her a gentle shake. “Hey, darling. We need to go.”
She blinked then jolted upright, tossing half the blanket on the floor. Sam reached for her, holding her tight until she focused on him.
He smiled. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You okay, now?”
She looked around the room then back at him, nodding.
He sighed. She’d been doing that a lot. Visual cues instead of speaking to him. Not that her responses weren’t accurate or informative enough. A nod obviously meant yes. But he hated knowing she was scared. That she wouldn’t talk in case he heard the quiver in her voice or the noticeably higher octave. That she was worried he’d think she was weak. She wasn’t. Not in the least.
He thumbed her cheek. “There’s movement outside. We’re going to get you dressed, then we’ll head for the backdoor. Kujo’s waiting to take you to safety while we deal with these men. End this.”
She opened her mouth, but he placed his finger over her lips, stopping her.
“I know. You hate other people putting their lives at risk for yours. But…that’s our job. No different than you taking on mob syndicates in the courtroom. Come on.”
She waited until he’d moved his finger. “Sam. I really should mention—”
“Hold that thought until after you’re safe. We don’t have time to get into a discussion, now. But I promise we’ll talk, after. About anything you want. Okay?”
She pursed her lips but nodded, again, quickly dressing then following him out of the room. She stayed close, like at the bar, once again, shadowing his every move. They walked quickly, making their way downstairs then avoiding any windows as they headed toward the rear of the house.
He led her into the living room, sticking to the inner wall. The front window exploded, spraying glass across the open space. A dull thud hit the wall between them, chipping off bits of drywall.
“Stay down.” Sam shoved Bridgett’s head down then pulled her back the way they’d come.
He retraced his steps, heading for the kitchen. Hank had mentioned something about an arsenal in the basement, but without the code or Hank’s thumbprint, it wasn’t an option. Though outside was risky, Sam couldn’t chance these men would destroy the house to get to her.
He stopped before entering the other room, glancing at the windows. The kitchen was on the opposite side of the house, but if Stevens had sent more than two men…
More glass broke in the living room. Risks or not, they had to move.
“We’ll head out through the side door. Stay between me and the house. Keep your head down and your feet moving. If I get hit, run in a zig-zag pattern toward the closest cover. If you think someone’s chasing you, keep running. Don’t stop and hide until Ice or Hank catch up. Understand?”
Another nod.
“Words, darling. I want to hear you say it.”
Red crept up her cheeks as her lips pulled tight. “Yes, Sam. I understand.”
“Good girl. Ready?”
He took off, not waiting for her to answer. They didn’t have time to wait if she wasn’t. Bridgette kept the pace, darting across the kitchen then out the door once he’d done a quick scan of the area. They hugged the side of the house, sticking to the deepest shadows as they made their way around front.
Sam crouched next to the corner, motioning for her to stay as he took a quick peek around the side. Falling snow hid most of the driveway and yard, dulling any sounds that
might have carried across the open space. He searched for tracks, but with the wind kicking up the top layer, any prints had been blasted away.
Sam focused on her Jeep. It was a good hundred yards across the lawn then over to the driveway. And nothing but wide open space the entire way. He glanced at Bridgette. She was fast. But that was a long stretch with only a couple of handguns and a knife for protection. They couldn’t go up against a rifle in the hands of the right man. And, after the shot through the window, he had to assume at least one of the men had some training.
Sam backed up when something glinted off to his left. He ducked as a chip of wood siding from the corner of the house pelted his face. “Move.”
He pulled her toward the rear. They’d backtrack halfway then make a run for the fence line and follow it over to one of Hank’s sheds. From there, they could make for the narrow line of trees that ran to the edge of the long, winding driveway. Either Kujo or Ice would anticipate Sam making a play for the Jeep. They’d be there to back him up. He’d bet his life on it.
Bridgette didn’t question him, shifting with him when he turned toward the out-building. She stayed low, moving faster than he’d predicted as he angled them behind a slight rise. It wasn’t much, but with the swirling snow, it might mask their thermal signatures enough to get them to the shed.
Another missed shot puffed a clump of snow into the air just as they reached the small wooden building. Sam ushered Bridgette behind the right side, moving in beside her. She pressed her back against the wood once they’d taken shelter behind the wall, looking at him for guidance.
He scanned the area, catching a glimpse of the far side of the barn situated behind the house. Damn. Hadn’t Hank said the initial movement had been beside the barn? And, if he could see even a portion of it through the snow…
“Rear. Now. Then, follow me over to the trees. We’ll make our way to the Jeep from there.”
He took off, pausing just long enough to clear the area before running for the trees. There was a moment of eerie silence, as if everything had stopped moving, except them and the falling snow, before the rest of the world came rushing back. They hit the trees as gunshots sounded behind them.