Lethal Balance: Sons of the Survivalist: 2

by Cherise Sinclair

  Before she could worry, he spoke, his darkly resonant words soothing her even as his fingers excited her. “Such a pretty color, and so slick. I grow even harder when I see how wet and ready you are for me. Sí, my dick is demanding to be inside you, but the rest of me wants to play right here for a few hours or so.”

  Hours? She wasn’t going to survive more than a few minutes.

  His fingers drew her apart, sliding over her folds, and she felt his warm breath on her mound. On her clit. His tongue ran over the sensitive nub in small circles, and the exquisite sensation was like nothing else.

  “Mmm, you taste like sin, mamita.”

  All of her nerves had melted right down to her pussy. Everything ached and begged for more.

  He gave her more, his tongue even more wicked than his voice, his fingers keeping her open, then pressing inside her, curving up to rub inside as his tongue lashed the outside. Trapping her clit between two devastating forces.

  The sensations increased, thickening, overwhelming, and he never relented, moving only slightly up or down, one side or the other.

  Everything inside her gathered, every muscle turning rigid as he paused, paused, and then his lips closed over her clit, and he sucked, even as he pressed down on it with his tongue, rubbing directly on top.

  Like a ship in a tsunami, her world spun out of control as the huge waves of pleasure rolled through her and over her, drowning her in sensation. Don’t scream, don’t scream.

  His fingers inside her kept it going, drawing out every last ripple until she was a quivering mess, heart thudding wildly, gasping for breath.

  “There now.” He was on top of her, laughing slightly. “You are incredibly beautiful when you come.” He kissed her, slow and gentle, then harder, propping himself up on her right side while his free hand roved over her damp body.

  “You may put your arms around me…for a minute, I think.”

  As she released the headboard, her fingers were stiff. But her hands were happy as she hugged him and marveled at the rock-hard muscles of his shoulders, his deltoids. “I—”

  “No, you may not talk.”

  In a silent request, she patted the shirt that still lay over her eyes.

  His low laugh made everything deep inside her quiver. “No, it will remain also. Until I’m inside you, when I get there.”

  Wasn’t that going to happen now?

  “I haven’t yet gotten enough of the way you taste.” His teeth nipped at her ear lobe, and goosebumps raced up her arms. “I just wanted to give you a chance to get your breath.”

  He curled her fingers back around the headboard’s scrollwork, kissed her lightly, and moved down.

  * * *

  The second time his shy woman orgasmed had been even more satisfying than the first. He hadn’t lied; he never lied. JJ truly was gorgeous when she climaxed. The way a flush rolled upward from her nipples to her cheeks, deepening her color, was enthralling.

  He wanted to see her eyes. But she was a worrier. Just from the little she’d said, the asshole boyfriend had left her insecure of her beauty, her scent, her taste. Left her anxious about what to say, how to give back in order to please a man.

  So Caz had removed her ability to do anything—eliminating the option of failure—and Dios, she had responded beautifully.

  As she lay limp except for after-orgasm quivering, he pulled off his jeans and suited up. Settling between her thighs, he lifted her knees. “I’d like to feel your legs around me. Can you do that for me?”

  She did. Her inner thighs were like warm silk pressing against him. He froze for a moment, fighting himself for control.

  “Hands on my shoulders.” As she obeyed, he removed the shirt from over her eyes.

  Blinking, she focused on his face. Her eyes had turned the blue of the center of the hottest fire.

  Holding her gaze, he stroked her cheek, feeling the connection between them. The desire. It was disconcerting how much he wanted her, physically and emotionally. “Are you ready for me, JJ?”

  Her lips formed the word although no sound escaped. “Please.”

  Fisting his dick, he positioned it at her entrance. She was very wet—and so very beautiful. Testing, he slid in an inch and saw her pupils dilate.

  Her fingers dug into his shoulders.

  “You’re tight, mamita, and Dios, you feel good.”

  The tiny crease between her brows said he should go slowly. She was too tight—this time. But that tightness forced him to hold onto his control with everything he had. As he moved in and out in small thrusts, she enclosed him in heat. “You feel magnificent.”

  Not enough. She needed words to counteract the poison that Nash had fed her. “You’re like a hot fist around me, slick and so amazing that I have to fight not to simply pound into you like a virgin boy.”

  An almost inaudible gurgle of laughter escaped her. Her eyes lit with happiness. She was a generous, giving woman. A responsive one.

  Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he worked his way in. Her nipples were hard points against his chest as he penetrated her fully, taking and making her his own.

  Mine. Such an anachronistic sentiment—and one he felt to his depths. Mine.

  “Hang on to me, mi princesa. The time for slow is over.”

  When her hips lifted, he almost smiled. Could she be more perfect?

  His first hard thrust sent heat searing through his cock. His balls. Then he was pounding into her, feeling her soften around him, under him. Her arms curled around his neck, holding on.

  When a flush ran over her cheeks, he rubbed his chin against her temple, smiling. Because she was aroused again. How could he resist taking her with him this time?

  Changing position, he moved higher, his pelvis slightly above hers so he could grind downward against her clit with every thrust. She stiffened as if he’d hit her with an electrical charge, and her core tightened around him. “Mmm, mamacita, that’s good.”

  “Oh, oh…” Her eyes glazed with need.

  She was simply beautiful.

  His balls drew up tightly. The heat was an urgent mass at the base of his spine. Yet he held out—pounding hard, twisting slightly to tease her clit.

  Her fingers became claws, biting sharply into his shoulders. Her legs tightened around him.

  “Time to come, mi pequeña poli,” he murmured and bit the sweet curve between her neck and shoulder.

  Her head tipped back, and she gave a tiny, high cry. He held her, feeling the sensations take her.

  “So fucking beautiful.” Her cunt was still rippling around him as he gave in to his own needs, driving in with short fast thrusts. He was deep, deep inside her as heat poured out of him in the most satisfying pleasure he knew.

  For a moment, he let himself collapse onto her soft body, before lifting his weight off. As he looked down into her shining eyes, her scent, her taste, her very self were imprinting on his heart.

  JJ woke just before dawn. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was, feared she was back in Nash’s apartment. But a breath brought her the fragrance of snow and sharp tang of evergreens from the barely open window. Moving her head, she drew in the scent of Caz’s clean spicy-lime aftershave…and of musky sex.

  Lots of sex, Lord help her. Her vibrator had never gotten her off so many times—let alone that hard. She’d had three orgasms with just the first round. Three. What was the proper etiquette for receiving that much pleasure? Was she supposed to send a thank you note?

  After the first time, they’d slept, cuddling like spoons, both of them exhausted.

  He’d woken her around two am. Drowsily, she’d felt him move away, heard something crinkle, before he’d snuggled back up behind her. His right arm beneath her curled up so he could cup her breast. So nice, she’d thought sleepily. And then his thick, rigid cock pressed at her entrance for only a second before sliding in. She stiffened. Shocked.

  “Don’t move, princesa,” he’d murmured in her ear. He cupped his left hand over her pussy, finding
her clit. Working his magic as his unmoving shaft throbbed inside her.

  God, she was approaching the pinnacle, ready to come. And then her brain had woken up. Worries flooded in, and she’d tensed. He’d laughed, low and masculine. He started thrusting, big and heavy inside her, even as he continued stroking her clit. Her brain didn’t have a chance against his control over her body. A few minutes later, she climaxed so hard her heart almost stopped. He’d followed, his arms tightening around her, and she’d never felt so wanted.

  Then they’d slept again. All night.

  She breathed softly, listening. The wind had died down, and the world was quiet.

  Lying still, she savored the feeling of his heavy arm over her waist, his warm breath ruffling her hair, his chest against her back. In a harsh world, he was safety and comfort, laughter and compassion.

  Yes, she liked him. For more than his lethal sexy body and gorgeous face—although, yum.

  For more than the sensually decadent way he made love—although, again, yum.

  No, what was messing with her plan to keep her distance was his personality. How caring he was with everyone—her, Regan, his patients. His subtle sense of humor. His ability to talk about stuff that had her stammering with embarrassment. His straightforward honesty. The way he teased his brothers. Even his annoying protectiveness.

  Oh, she liked him far too much. More than liked him, if she had to admit it. And that was simply impossible.

  Although gaining a daughter had slowed down his hookups with women, he’d undoubtedly go back to being a player once his life settled down.

  What did that mean for her?

  She sighed. It meant the man would shatter her heart. Because she didn’t have the willpower to give him up even though she knew there’d be an ending.

  Everything in life came to an end. She’d learned that the hard way, over and over and over.

  With Cazador, their time would end sooner rather than later. Maybe even after this night. They wouldn’t halt because of an accident, illness, or disaster. He’d simply shift from watching her with heat in his eyes to seeing her as a friend.

  That would hurt so, so much.

  But she could deal.

  Okay, then.

  She would indulge if he wanted to continue. Although it’d have to be a very quiet, secret fling. He had his daughter to consider. As a LEO, she had her reputation to consider.

  When he called it quits, as she knew he would, she’d cry, pick up the pieces of her heart, and go on.

  Because that’s what a woman did.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Who dares, wins. Who sweats, wins, Who plans, wins. ~ Lieutenant Colonel Sir Archibald David Stirling, Founder of the SAS

  * * *

  “This is the last of them.” On Wednesday, the day after the snowstorm, Regan handed Uncle Gabe her stack of dishes. He was scraping off the uneaten food for the chickens. She bet the hens would really like the crunchy taco shells and meat.

  “Thanks. Good job, Regan.” Finishing, he handed the dirty plates to Audrey to put them into the dishwasher.

  Regan looked around for another job. Uncle Bull was wiping down the table. Papá and JJ had put the leftovers away and were getting drinks for everyone.

  “Mija, can you carry these to the coffee table?” Papá asked.

  “Sure.” She grinned and took two glasses. Why was it so much more fun to help here than in the foster homes? Maybe because everybody liked each other? Or because even when they were grumpy, no one was mean. Nobody hit her or called her bad names or sweared at her.

  This afternoon, she was supposed to do homework…but fell asleep. Papá just laughed and said that running around in the snow made people tired.

  They’d done a lot of running around today. She’d helped fix up the snowmobiles. No, that wasn’t right. In Alaska, they called them snow machines. Alaska people were weird, sometimes.

  As she set the drinks down, Uncle Bull took a seat at one end of the sectional—his favorite spot. Gabe and Audrey sat on the other end.

  “JJ.” Sitting in the middle, Papá patted the cushion beside him. “Sit here.”

  As JJ sat down, she smiled at him, kinda soft, almost like how Audrey smiled at Uncle Gabe.

  “You, too, mija.” He took Regan’s hand and pulled her down on his other side.

  “Are we going to sing?” Regan bounced a little. Papá had let her play the drum for a couple of songs last time.

  “Later, sí.” Papá nodded at Uncle Gabe. “Over to you, viejo.”

  “Regan, when we were growing up, sometimes one of us boys had a problem.” Uncle Gabe’s mouth twisted kinda funny. “We had lots of problems, actually. But if we couldn’t fix a situation on our own, the sarge made us all talk it over to figure out what to do.”

  Uncle Bull raised his pointer finger. “When planning a mission, the first step is to gather intelligence.”

  Why were they all looking at her? She shrank closer to Papá.

  He put his arm around her, pulling her against his side. “I told them about the books getting ripped up at school.”

  Gabe nodded. “Tell us what you know, Regan.”

  Were they going to throw her out now? Her heart felt like it had feet and was trying to run right out of her chest. With hard boots. “I…I didn’t do it.”

  Audrey made a pfffting sound. “No one thinks you did, honey. You love books too much to hurt them.”

  Leaning forward, JJ reached around Papá to take Regan’s hand. “Somebody damaged those books and said it was you. That’s not right.” JJ’s eyes narrowed. “And they shouldn’t get away with it.”

  Sometimes Regan forgot JJ and Uncle Gabe were cops.

  After JJ squeezed her hand and sat back, Regan looked up at Papá. Did he—

  He kissed the top of her head, and her heart stopped running and went all squishy instead. He believed her.

  “Who told the teacher it was you?” JJ asked. “And what did they say?”

  Regan looked around. Audrey had a pen and paper so she could take notes. Uncle Bull was leaning forward and so was Uncle Gabe. Mission planning. How chill was this?

  “Mrs. Wilner didn’t tell me who, but”—Regan stopped to think, to say it right—“she said they saw me tearing pages out of the books. Only they couldn’t have, cuz I didn’t.”

  Uncle Gabe’s face got a pissed-off look, but his voice got even softer. “ ‘They’ indicates there were more than one involved and that Mrs. Wilner knows who the liars are.”

  Audrey tapped her pen on the pad. “Did you see the books that were damaged, Regan? Can you describe them?”

  “Uh-huh. They were the new ones Mrs. Wilner got in. Still in the box—she hadn’t even put them on the shelves yet. They were all shiny and pretty.” Then the teacher had shown her one of the messed-up books, the pages all raggedy and ripped. It kinda felt like a little kid had gotten kicked. Did books hurt?

  “Shiny.” Audrey patted Uncle Gabe’s arm. “I’d guess the books are hardbound with glossy covers.”

  “Glossy?” Uncle Gabe grinned at JJ. “Bet those hold fingerprints.”

  Papá frowned. “You’d need to obtain the culprits’ prints. Getting permission to fingerprint a minor might be problematic.”

  Fingerprints. Like Shelby or Brayden would’ve left their prints on the books? Cuz she knew it was those two stupidheads.

  “I hate to say it, but you’re right.” JJ scowled then smiled. “Wait. What if we—the police department—make it plain we’re not keeping the prints? The matching could be”—she smirked—“an exercise for the students.”

  Not exactly sure what JJ meant, Regan looked up at Papá who was grinning. Audrey clapped her hands. Her uncles were laughing.

  All right, then. Whatever it was sounded okay to her. Regan settled back against Papá.

  They all believed her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  At 70 years old, if I could give my younger self one piece of advice, it would be to use the words
‘fuck off’ much more frequently. ~ Helen Mirren

  * * *

  On the Friday after the snowstorm, JJ stood in Regan’s schoolroom for grades three, four, and five. The room was a visual blast of color. Creamy yellow walls boasted bright artwork projects. Another wall had a turquoise bulletin board. The colors of the brilliant rainbow arching over the computer corner were matched by the chairs below. A dark green rug marked out the reading corner. To counteract the decreasing sunlight, the teacher had created a summer wonderland.

  Seated at the table, Niko, one of Regan’s buddies, was labeling a page with the last student’s name.

  As JJ waited, she stretched, feeling a low ache in her lower half and a few sore muscles, as well…all from the unfamiliar activity. Because that one-night-only had turned into…more. For the past three nights, since the snowstorm on Tuesday, she’d been in Caz’s bed. In his arms. Making love over and over.

  And then getting up way early to go home before Regan rose. Although she had an escort. Because Caz insisted. “It’s dark out there, mi corazón. I will walk with you.”

  She would’ve thought waking up with him would be awkward. Instead, it was…wonderful. With everything he did, from making love to holding her in his arms all night, he made her feel cherished. Each morning, it was harder to leave him. This morning, he’d pulled her close and bent down for a long kiss and—

  “Officer?”

  She blinked and looked down to see Niko holding up the paper he’d been working on. “Sorry. Daydreaming.”

  When he grinned, she ruffled his hair. “Thank you for your help, Niko.” He’d volunteered to label each paper with the fingerprinted child’s name.

  “Sure.”

  JJ taped the final paper to the wall and stepped back to admire the thirteen sets of enlarged fingerprints. Each print was big enough to clearly show loops, whorls, and arches.

  Finished with his job, Niko had joined the others at a table where Gabe was demonstrating how to dust for fingerprints.