Wicked and Dangerous

by Shayla Black

  Buried in as deep as he could be, Decker flexed his hips and pushed a bit more. She hissed, then her eyes flew open and met his stare. He could happily dive into their chocolate depths and stay for a sweet, long while.

  He stilled for a moment, feeling her tight walls engulf him, sucking him in deeper. He shuddered, his spine stiff, his body seized by the need to experience her in every way possible. The first time had been good. Already Decker could tell the second time was going to be even fucking better. Yee-haw!

  Gathering her against his chest, Decker lifted her lush hips and eased out of her snug pussy before he stroked deep again. She felt electric around him, squeezing him as she gasped, jolting him with another sizzle of need. Jesus, what was it about this woman?

  Rachel wrapped her legs around his hips and rocked with him, thrusting to his rhythm, her little cries driving him higher and higher. Frantically, she kissed her way across his shoulder, to his jaw. Then he claimed her mouth, his tongue plunging as deep as his dick. He wanted all of her every way he could get her. Her nails dug into his back, and she went wild underneath him, urging him on silently to give her every fucking thing.

  After that, containing himself . . . impossible. His hips moved like they had a mind of their own, hammering her with long, rapid strokes. Tingles burned in his balls, danced through his body.

  He grabbed her tighter, somehow managing to sink even farther into her body, deeper than he swore he’d ever been inside any woman. Blood raced, his heart chugged. Fuck, this was going to be good.

  “Mine,” he growled.

  She’d probably question that statement later. He ought to as well. But now, what they shared felt damn good. Right. Like he’d willingly fight any man to the death who wanted to touch her. That shit wasn’t happening—at all. In this moment, for this night, she was absolutely, unquestionably his.

  And the thought turned him on even more. Fuck, at this rate he wasn’t going to last long, which blew his mind. Orgasm number two didn’t usually happen for a long while, and he could really lay thick pleasure on a woman while he took the time finding his own. This was completely different. Damn it, he intended to make sure she climaxed before this growing need blew off the top of his head.

  As pleasure surged, his heartbeat roared, mixing with the deafening sounds of her mewls. As she screamed, arching up to him, Decker surged deep, filling her one final time. Blinding heat seared him. Her pussy constricted, pulsing, caressing the length of his cock and annihilating his restraint. As she shuddered through her orgasm, his seed spewed with the force of C4, detonating everything inside him.

  Damn, at this rate, she was going to kill him. But he’d die happy.

  With a groan, he stumbled from the bed, damn near dizzy, and disposed of the condom. She looked so gorgeous all flushed and damp, lying across her bed. He snagged a towel from the bathroom, ran warm water over a corner, then returned to clean her up.

  “I’ll do it.” She reached for the terrycloth, still panting.

  Decker edged away. “I’ll do it. You’ll lie there and look pretty so I can contemplate all the other ways I can sully you.”

  With a tired laugh, Rachel rested back against the mattress. She was a bit stiff, a little self-conscious as he wiped her clean, but he was relieved to see that she trusted him enough to allow this intimacy.

  Once he tossed the towel back in the bathroom, he crawled over her body and hunkered down beside her, nudging her to her side so she lay against him, her thigh tossed over his. The ceiling fan churned anemically overhead, fighting ineffectually against the humidity, sweat, and blazing sexual heat in the room.

  He didn’t think he’d make it until dawn before he’d want inside her again. As she pressed against him, lips caressing his chest, her breasts cupping his ribs, he mentally revised that to an hour. Maybe less.

  “So that’s what sex is supposed to be like?” she whispered.

  Decker hesitated. “Really fantastic sex. This was above and beyond for me, too.”

  Rachel sighed happily. “I’m glad you came over tonight.”

  “Yeah.” And if she thought for one minute that he was about to get up and leave, he had a big surprise for her. With someone out to get her, he wasn’t budging. After that . . . well, he was starting to think that maybe he wouldn’t budge then, either.

  • • •

  SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the window, despite the blinds slanting up. Decker cracked an eye open and found Rachel draped across him, still completely naked, her dark hair cascading over his shoulder and down his arm. He raised his head a fraction. Her eyes remained closed, dark lashes feathering gentle half-circles on smooth cheeks. In the morning light, he saw a little spill of freckles on her nose. Her fingers splayed across his chest. Her breathing remained deep and even. So trusting.

  She made him hard as hell. Again. Still.

  After waking her at two and four thirty to slide into those sweet curves and possess her again, he should be sated and totally exhausted. But at just before eight a.m., even with shaky legs and an empty stomach, he was contemplating another go-round.

  Yep, this woman totally flipped every switch.

  And if he wanted to keep her alive long enough to see where this was leading, he needed to stop mooning over her and figure out who might be trying to kill her. Item one on the agenda: Dig up a picture of the illustrious ex and see if Owen was a match for the ass-hat in the bar. Preferably before Rachel awoke and wondered what the hell he was up to.

  Slowly, he rose from bed and grimaced. He felt grimy, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept over with a woman. And he’d gotten soft since a damn toothbrush was pretty high on his list of must-haves.

  Tossing on his jeans and the pistol he’d hidden beneath, he headed to the guest bathroom down the hall.

  Inside, he flipped on the light. Bless Rachel. She’d thought of everything to make a guest comfortable. The vanity held a new toothbrush, fluffy towels, shampoo, and soap.

  Decker made quick use of them, then wrapped the beige terrycloth around his hips. As he cracked the bathroom door, he heard a crash in the kitchen. His heartbeat kicked into high gear. Adrenaline ratcheted up, and he charged out, pistol in hand, ready to fight whoever had come for her.

  As he sneaked down the hall, his back hugging the wall, he heard a feminine cry, then another crash. Fuck, what was going on?

  Heart pounding, he forced himself to stay calm and crept closer, finger on the trigger, promising that any motherfucker who wanted to hurt her was going to find himself minus a head.

  Fighting for calm, Decker clung to shadows until he rounded the corner and had a straight sightline into the kitchen. But he didn’t see anyone attacking Rachel. Rather, she attacked a plastic bin of flour and a couple of eggs while wrestling with a stainless steel bowl. A can of nonstick cooking spray rolled down the counter. She slammed down a wooden spoon, looking beyond frustrated.

  Actually, it was kind of adorable.

  Until she emerged from behind the tall counter and he realized she was wearing a frilly red apron, a pair of black stilettos—and nothing else.

  He wanted to fuck her right now.

  Darting back into the bathroom, he grabbed his jeans and flipped them over his pistol, hiding the piece, then sauntered down the hall and set everything down within easy reach—just in case—on the adjacent kitchen table.

  “That looks mighty good,” he drawled.

  She blinked up at him, flushed and flustered. “Pancakes will be ready soon.”

  “I meant you, beautiful. Forget food right now. I’d rather fuck you.”

  And he didn’t take no for an answer; snagging one arm around her waist and dragging her against his body, he dropped a hard kiss across her lips. Jesus, she smelled sweet. She’d brushed her teeth and pulled her artless curls into some half-up, half-down ’do that made him want to mess it up with his fingers.

  He claimed her lips, sinking into her mouth and delivering a long, slow kiss of good mor
ning. Rachel melted against him, opened wide to let him in, and gave as good as she got. Hmm, he could get used to this . . .

  When he pulled back and sent her a steamy stare that suggested they get busy, she blushed a pretty pink.

  With a laugh, he glanced down her body. “In fact, you look good enough to eat, beautiful. Did you dress up just for me?”

  The blush deepened. “Maybe a little.”

  “I like it. I’d like the shoes better if they were up around my ears, but . . .”

  She rolled her eyes. “Is that supposed to be another pick-up line you found on Google?”

  “Nope. That’s all me. Impressed?” He winked and found that he really liked teasing her. He adored the way she looked down demurely while giving him a flirtatious smile with a hint of the devil.

  “Decker, you’re a wicked man.”

  “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he promised, then pulled her in for another kiss.

  Sweet. Always so damn sweet. She didn’t taste like danger, betrayal, or another man, as the other women he’d taken to bed for the last decade did. She was warm and real and . . .

  Shit, he sounded like some poetry-writing pussy. But it was all true.

  With an arm around her waist, he didn’t have any trouble finding the big bow at the small of her waist and untying her apron. She barely had a chance to sputter a little protest before he yanked it over her head and tossed it to the ground, then silenced her with another kiss. A moment later, Rachel threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself close, rubbing against his nagging cock.

  Decker thrust his hands in her hair, no longer giving a shit about her pretty curls arranged away from her face and all around her shoulders. “You keep doing that and you’re definitely going to get fucked.”

  She gave a throaty laugh. “Promise?”

  Fitting his hands around her ribs, under her arms, he lifted her onto the white tile of the kitchen counter. She gasped when her bare ass made contact with the cold surface. Rachel squirmed and tried to get comfortable. He just smiled. “Yes. Right here. Right now. Spread your legs and brace your heels on the edge of the counter.”

  She blinked, looking so gratifyingly shocked, but she complied. “Just . . . like this?”

  “Exactly like that,” he confirmed. “You make me ache for you every time.”

  A fresh blush bloomed over her whole body.

  “You ever had sex outside the bedroom?”

  She shook her head, biting her lip and casting her gaze down again. “No.”

  “Oh, beautiful . . . We’re going to have so much fun.” He grabbed her ankles and spread them wider, helping her anchor her heels on the edge of the counter, toes pointed down, leaving her pretty cunt completely open for his stare, his tongue, his cock.

  Best breakfast ever, and he couldn’t wait to dive in. He was on his last condom, but after this, he’d somehow manage to drag himself out of her pussy long enough to feed her and run by the drugstore. After that, all bets were off.

  Ready for a feast, he ran a finger down the inside of her thigh, skirting ever closer to her sensitive, swollen center. How fascinating to watch her folds grow slick and flush and pouty for his attention. Every part of her was beautiful.

  He dropped his towel and took a few sidesteps over to his jeans, carefully removing the condom without disturbing the gun. Rachel watched, her breathing rapid, her lids heavy, her lips rosy and parted, her legs spread wide. When had he ever seen a sight more gorgeous? No doubt, he was a lucky son of a bitch that she was all his, at least for now.

  And the thought crept back in that if he played his cards right, she could be his forever.

  His teasing mien fell away. The inner caveman roared, wanting to break free, to claim, to take, to mark. He’d never, ever felt anything like this, but he wasn’t about to fight something that felt so right.

  Decker stuck the condom wrapper between his teeth, ready to tear it open, roll it on, and sink so deeply inside her that she’d never think about walking away.

  The thought was spinning in his head. Her heavy breaths, his pounding heart, the gravity of the moment—it was all broken by the ringing of a doorbell.

  SIX

  RACHEL GASPED AND STIFFENED, THEN SCRAMBLED OFF THE counter. Decker snagged his towel from the hardwood floor and blocked her. No way was she answering that door or talking to anyone unless it was someone’s ninety-year-old grandma. And even then, he intended to frisk her for weapons.

  “Are you answering the door in nothing but high heels?”

  Panic flitted across her face, then she cursed. “No.”

  “Go put some clothes on. I got it.”

  “You don’t have any clothes either,” she screeched.

  Decker pointed to his jeans on the table, then turned her toward the hall, urging her back toward the bedroom with a little slap. “Go. You expecting anyone?”

  “No.” She jogged down the hall, carrying her shoes. “No one ever rings my doorbell, especially this early on a Sunday morning.”

  Frowning, he watched her disappear into her room, then snagged his gun and jeans, putting the latter on and palming the former. He shoved the condom in his pocket again. Whoever stood on the other side of the door was going to get his nuts blown off if Decker deemed him unfriendly.

  All kinds of pissed off for being cockblocked, he stalked down the hall. “This better be nothing.”

  When he reached the door, he tore it open to find a man of average height with hazel eyes behind round glasses, a checkered shirt, and khakis. He had nondescript shoes and an even more blah cut of hair in an unremarkable color somewhere between blond and light brown. The only thing worth mentioning was the scowl on his face.

  “Who are you?” the stranger asked.

  Decker slanted him a menacing glare. “Who are you?”

  The scholarly, sharp face told him the guy was a few years older. The hint of paunch suggested this dude was more sedentary. The permanent vertical furrow between his brows said to Decker that the stranger scowled a lot. He lacked a coat, so it wasn’t like he could hide a shoulder holster. The piece might be tucked into the small of his back, but . . . The man’s hands looked too soft to be lethal.

  Whoever this was, Decker didn’t think he was threatening. Annoying? That he already believed.

  “I’m here to see Rachel.” The other guy tried to look down his nose at Decker, but that had to be hard when he had to look up a few inches and through glasses to meet his stare.

  “She’s . . . busy.” Decker flashed a tight smile and hoped the dude got the right idea. Whoever he was, no way was he homing in on Rachel.

  Mr. Glasses straightened his rims and glanced down Decker’s body, rolling his eyes at the tattoos and hard abs. Then his stare bulged when he spotted the gun pinned to his thigh.

  “What are you doing with that?” he backed away a step. “I hope you’re a policeman.”

  Not exactly, but close enough. “Something like that.”

  “Are you hurting her?”

  “Would I be answering the door if I was?” Decker rolled his eyes.

  “Are you taking advantage of her?” Though nervous, the stranger looked ready to dress him down.

  Decker tried not to laugh. Taking advantage of her? Every chance I get . . .

  “None of your business. Who the hell are you and why are you standing on her porch when you weren’t invited?”

  If it was possible, the guy got even more uptight, and some suspicions about his identity took root. And if this was who he thought, that would really fuck up everything.

  Before he could say another word, Rachel came skidding around the corner and into the foyer. She stopped at the door with a gasp. “Owen, what are you doing here?”

  Yep, that confirmed his suspicions. Damn it. While it seemed awfully convenient that Four-eyes was in town when Decker had been solicited to kill her, the truth was Owen hadn’t been the guy on the next barstool, offering him twenty-five thousand down and another twenty-five
when the job was done. Yes, Owen could have hired someone to employ him. But why? Rachel’s ex looked more like the sort who would protest violence, not create it. With a curse, Decker surreptitiously tucked his pistol in the small of his back before Rachel could spot it, and leaned against the wall.

  If Owen hadn’t solicited him to commit murder, then he was back to square one, trying to figure out who had.

  • • •

  WEARING LITTLE MORE than a frilly robe with her hair in disarray, Rachel stared at her ex-husband, who gave Decker a derisive glare, then sent her a look filled with scorn. She bristled. He’d moved on with his life. Hers was none of his business now.

  “I’m here to talk to you,” Owen said stiffly. “I didn’t realize you were occupied. New boyfriend?”

  “We just met,” she admitted softly.

  But Decker talked over her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Yes. I’m possessive, too.”

  Rachel nudged Decker, wondering what the devil was wrong with him. Then she tugged him away from the door, pulling it open. “Come in, Owen.”

  Val had other ideas. The fat orange tabby pranced to the door, sniffed at Owen, and hissed. Beside her, Decker laughed.

  “You’ve still got that beast?”

  “Of course.”

  “Hmm . . . And now you’ve added another.” He shot Decker another disdainful stare.

  Annoyance flared through Rachel. Who was Owen to judge? She hadn’t met his new girlfriend, Carly, but she sounded like she could be a bimbo. So she’d gone for the hot guy who was good in bed this time. So what? She was entitled.

  Except Decker was way more than that. When she’d met him at the bar, then texted him for what amounted to a booty call, she hadn’t expected anything beyond a good time. Instead, he’d put her at ease while challenging her notions of herself and sex. He’d been patient, understanding, willing to listen, and ardent in bed. If he wasn’t a one-night stand, he might be everything she wanted.