Twisted

by Cynthia Eden

  And he had. “And you really think this is going to scare me off?” Seriously, it was like he hadn’t even met her. “So you’ve got some darkness inside. Do you think I don’t?”

  A faint frown appeared between his eyes.

  She smiled at him. A slow twist of her lips. “Oh, Dean, maybe one day, I’ll tell you some of my secrets.” Because she carried more than her share. And when it came to the sins of the past . . . “Maybe we’re more alike than you realize,” Emma whispered as she rose onto her toes. Her lips feathered across his. “Maybe that’s why you want me so much.” She didn’t even question why she wanted him. She just did. “And you do want me, don’t you, Dean?” Emma could feel his arousal pressing against her. A long, hard bulge, and she wanted to strip away her clothes and be with him.

  It wasn’t just about fucking. Not just about hot sex though there was certainly a bonus there. After everything that had happened between them, to them, she wanted the elemental reaffirmation of sex. Of life.

  Because there’s too much death and evil around us.

  She wanted to seize this moment with Dean. Seize the pleasure and not look back.

  Her lips pressed to his. A light, sensual tease when she wanted much more.

  “You should be afraid of me.” His words were a low rasp.

  Emma laughed at that. “You won’t hurt me.” She knew this to her core. He claimed not to be the good guy, but Dean didn’t know the men she’d met in her life. She’d gotten quite used to looking through people and seeing the secrets they tried to hide.

  Dean’s big revelation hadn’t scared her at all. It had just made her want him all the more. Because beneath that careful control, he was like her.

  His hands curled around her shoulders. “I think I want you too much.”

  That didn’t sound like a bad thing to her. “Prove it.” And she kissed him again. Only this time, Emma’s tongue slid over his lower lip. Then into his mouth. Oh, but she enjoyed his taste. She liked it when he—

  Lifted her up. Held her too easily and had her pinned between his body and the wall in the next breath. And he took over the kiss. There was nothing soft or hesitant about Dean. His tongue plunged into her mouth. He took. And she loved it. She kissed him back with a growing passion, the wildness barely held in check. He’d pushed between her thighs, and Emma wrapped her legs around him as she held on tightly. His cock pushed against her, and she arched against that powerful ridge, rubbing her sex against him. The clothes were in the way. She wanted him in her. Would the pleasure be as good this time? Would once be enough?

  He pulled back just long enough to grasp her shirt, then he yanked it over her head. The shirt hit the ground, and he lifted her up. So strong. She kept forgetting how strong he was. He shoved her bra out of the way, and his mouth closed over her breast. Her head fell back against the wall as a moan broke from her. His tongue swirled around her nipple, and a streak of fire shot right to her core.

  “Shouldn’t want . . . this much . . .” His words were growled against her skin. “Shouldn’t need . . .”

  There was nothing wrong with need. Nothing wrong with a lust that consumed.

  She’d squeezed her eyes shut. Emma opened them. Watched him. “Fuck me, Dean.”

  Something happened then. She could feel it in the sudden tenseness of his body. His muscles went rock hard against her. When his head lifted, and she stared into his eyes, his pupils had expanded. His gaze was so dark and deep. His cheeks were flushed. Desire, lust, was stamped on his face.

  He slid her back to her feet.

  “Dean?”

  He reached down. His fingers brushed over her bare stomach as he yanked open her jeans. Then he was pushing the denim out of the way. It tangled around her feet, and Emma jumped, moving clumsily, to free herself, but then his hands were back on her. He was holding her there, keeping her still as his gaze swept over her.

  She could feel that gaze like a touch. So hot, molten, then he was touching her. Not her breasts. Not her legs. His hand went right to her sex. His fingers—two—slid inside her, and Emma lost her breath.

  “I’ll fuck you until you can’t think of anything else.” The words were a dark promise.

  But she already couldn’t think of anything else. Her hips pressed down against his hand, moving helplessly because his thumb was right over her clit, and she loved the way his fingers were pushing in and out, in and out, and she’d be able to come soon if he’d just—

  His fingers pulled away.

  No!

  He yanked open the fly of his pants. Didn’t strip. Dean shoved on a condom as his eyes raked over her, then he was in her. Pinning her to the wall, pounding into her again and again, in a rhythm that was too wild to meet. Too strong to deny.

  “Not . . . enough . . .” He rasped the words. Then he was pulling her even closer. Carrying her as he still thrust into her. Her breath came too fast. Her heart was about to jump right out of her chest.

  Were they going to the bedroom?

  But . . . no . . .

  They fell onto the couch. He was still on top of her, but he moved her legs, opening her even wider for him, so that, impossibly it seemed, she took even more of him inside her. He was in so deep, filling her so completely, that Emma’s body seemed more his than her own.

  Deeper. Harder.

  He put her legs over his shoulders. Drove into her. The position left her totally open to him, completely vulnerable, and she loved it.

  He was growling her name. Telling her that she was “fucking perfect” and “fucking tight,” and she wanted to speak but couldn’t. Emma could only fight for her breath because the climax was there, piercing right through her, wave after wave that wouldn’t stop. Too intense, too perfect, and, yes, even better than before.

  And he was with her. His body jerked, and he held her in an unbreakable grip, nearly bruising. She squeezed her sex around him as he erupted inside her, and Emma held him as close as she could.

  “Need more . . .” His words were so dark.

  A shiver slid over her even as her legs fell limply back to the couch.

  He’d told her that he needed his control. She knew that his control was long gone.

  He was still hard in her, even though she knew he’d found his release. For an instant, their gazes held. There was a tangle of emotions in his stare. A need that seemed to consume.

  Perfect. Just what I—

  “I want more.”

  Her breath caught. She’d wondered if once would be enough this time. Her body was still humming with pleasure. Aftershocks still made her sex contract around him.

  She wanted more, too.

  He pulled from her slowly, a long glide.

  “Don’t move.” His order. “We’re not done.”

  Then he was heading to the bathroom. She heard the water running in there, and Emma didn’t move, not because he’d ordered her to stay still but because she wasn’t sure her knees would hold her if she tried to stand up.

  She’d wanted him wild. She’d pushed him in order to get Dean’s control to break. He only seemed to let go of that control when they were having sex. It was only then that he let what she thought of as his “real” side out. Because he wasn’t the buttoned-down agent.

  He was passion and fire and darkness.

  She was naked on that couch. Spread out there, still feeling him inside of her.

  And the lights were on. Glaring down at her.

  Then . . .

  Darkness.

  Emma tensed. “Dean?” He’d done that, right? Turned off the lights?

  The floor creaked. “I told you,” he said, his voice seeming to come from that darkness. “We aren’t done.”

  Another creak. This one closer. Her eyes were adjusting quickly because light still spilled from the window.

  “Why do I want you so much?” His words rumbled to her.

  She turned on the couch. Licked lips that seemed too dry. “That’s not really a question that a man is supposed to ask a
woman.” Her hand rose. Curled around the length of his arousal. “You’re just supposed to tell me . . .” Her head leaned toward him. Her breath blew over the length of his cock. “How much you do want me . . .”

  “More than I’ve ever wanted another.”

  That stopped her. Surprised her.

  “Y-you’re just supposed to tell me . . .” She moved toward him again, sliding over the edge of the couch. Her lips brushed over the tip of his arousal. “What you’d do to have me.”

  Then she eased off the couch. Sank to her knees.

  “Anything.”

  Her fingers were trembling faintly. He sounded like he meant what he was saying. Maybe in the heat of the moment, he did.

  She kissed his aroused length once more, then took him into her mouth.

  His fingers sank into her hair. “Emma!”

  She stroked him with her hands and her mouth. She learned him, as he’d learned the secrets of her body the night before. He was thick and hot, long and hard, and when she licked the head of his cock, she could taste the saltiness of his arousal.

  Like Dean, she wanted more.

  So she took more, widening her mouth, moving her head as she found a rhythm. Her breasts brushed against his powerful thighs. Her nipples were tight, aching, and she couldn’t stop tasting him. She wanted him at the edge again. Wanted him over that edge. With her, lost, with her.

  “Emma!”

  But he wasn’t coming. He was pulling away from her. Staring down at her in the darkness, and she was still on her knees.

  “Be careful . . .” A low growl. “I’m wanting you too much.”

  She shook her head. It wasn’t possible to want someone too much.

  Was it?

  His hands reached for her. He pulled her to her feet, and her weak knees slid a bit. She thought they’d go to the bedroom, but they didn’t. He just lifted her up, held her right there, and sank inside her.

  No protection.

  They were flesh to flesh, and Emma couldn’t catch her breath. Her sex was swollen and slick from her climax, and he’d slid all the way inside her.

  “D-Dean!”

  “I’m . . . clean,” he growled, “but I’ll stop . . . I’ll—”

  “Don’t.” She locked her arms around him. Rose up. Pushed down. “Clean, too. Protected. On the pill.” There was no risk of pregnancy.

  And—

  No stopping.

  If she’d thought the rhythm before was wild, she’d been wrong. They were both out of control this time. Her nails scratched over his shoulders. His teeth scored her neck. He thrust into her, strokes long and perfect, and the pleasure wasn’t just waiting, it was crashing into her.

  “Yes!” His sharp words. “I can feel you . . . squeezing . . . yes!”

  She lost her breath. Her heartbeat thudded into her ears, and she felt the hot splash of his release in her. Consuming. Completing.

  Emma kept her eyes squeezed shut. She clung to the pleasure because it was too good to let go.

  He carried her back to the bedroom. Slid her beneath the covers. Curled around her.

  She still had her eyes closed. She was almost afraid to look at him. She was afraid of what she might see in his eyes. No, she was afraid of what he might see in her own eyes.

  So Emma stayed silent, for once lost for words, and she stayed in his arms until sleep claimed her.

  WADE HAD GONE back to the swamp. Night had fallen, and he was surprised that the cops hadn’t halted their search for the day. But when he pulled up and saw the spotlights that had been set up, Wade knew that something had happened.

  He approached Detective Landry. He was glad to see the guy there—because Landry had been sharing pretty freely with him since the FBI had come storming in. “What’s happening?”

  He could hear dogs barking in the distance.

  Landry looked tired, the spotlights casting long shadows over his face. “One of the dogs found some remains near the edge of the river. We don’t know yet if the remains are linked to the perp who took that girl, but . . .”

  But it sure as hell wasn’t a good sign.

  He’d have to call the team and let them know. He thought Sarah was still at the hospital, and Dean—

  “I figured some of the LOST team would be showing up again.”

  His shoulders stiffened at that voice, and he turned to see Kevin Cormack heading toward them. The guy had just parked his car, too. Had he gotten a call about the remains and rushed back to the scene?

  “But I thought,” Kevin continued, voice mild, “Dean would be the one to show first.”

  As Landry hurried away, Wade squared off with the FBI agent. “You found a body.”

  “No, we found ‘remains’ a few hours ago.” Kevin’s words were very careful. “We don’t know yet if those remains belong to one of Ricker’s victims or to some unfortunate fisherman who had an accident.”

  Right. This was where he could press his advantage. “And you won’t know, not unless you get yourself one grade-A forensic anthropologist in here. Because if those remains have been out here for a while”—he was betting they had—“then the decomposition rate will make most methods of analysis useless.”

  Kevin rocked back on his heels. “I’m guessing LOST comes equipped with its own forensic anthropologist?”

  “Victoria Palmer is the best.” The simple truth. “The FBI has worked with her in the past, so it won’t be a stretch bringing her on. She’s already been vetted.”

  Kevin glanced toward the sound of barking dogs. “I’ve worked with Viki before.”

  His eyes narrowed at the familiar use of her name, but Wade said, “If you’ve worked with her, you know there’s no one better. This asshole is out there, killing, and we need to move as fast as we can to stop him.”

  “Elroy isn’t exactly known for moving fast,” Kevin said softly, “but I’m betting Dean already told you all about that.”

  Actually, Dean hadn’t. And Wade hadn’t told the guy about his reasons for joining LOST. We’ve all got demons. Live with them and move the hell on.

  “You can’t move slowly with this perp,” Wade said as he rolled back his shoulders. The cops seemed to be swarming—had they found another body? How many victims had Ricker taken out there? “Not when he already has another victim in his sights.”

  Now Kevin stepped toward him. “Another victim? How do you know that?”

  “In the past, the guy never let one victim go, not until he had another lined up.” That had been the way he worked. What, did the guy think no one had access to the old FBI profile on Ricker?

  But Kevin was still advancing. “No, no, you’re speaking specifically, aren’t you? What does LOST know that we don’t?”

  Wade hesitated.

  “If someone is in danger, we can help.” Intensity thickened Kevin’s voice. “Give me something here. I can go to Elroy. I can get him to cooperate with LOST . . . you just have to put your cards on the table.”

  But Dean hadn’t told the guy. Why hadn’t Dean told Kevin about Emma?

  “Tell me what you know,” Kevin said, “and I’ll make absolutely certain that Victoria Palmer gets access to all remains found here.”

  That was the goal, wasn’t it? Cooperation with the task force? He knew Dean wanted to take down Ricker. And their boss at LOST, Gabe Spencer, had given the guy the backup of the team, for a limited time.

  I’ll show you my cards, for now. “We think he’s targeted the woman who was here with Dean earlier,” he said softly. “Emma Castille.”

  “What?”

  “Ricker broke into her apartment. Tagged her wall with a message saying she was next.”

  He could see that clicked right away with the FBI agent. Kevin said, “The cops told us they found a tag like that in the old bar that Julia was using for a home.”

  So the guy had been briefed. Only the cops didn’t find that tag—Emma and Dean did. “Our profiler thinks that Ricker has adjusted his MO. He’s warning the victims about wh
at’s coming to build their fear, to give himself more power over them.” With killers, it was always about power.

  “Where is Emma Castille right now?” The agent’s voice was strained. Too tense.

  Wade thought the answer to that question should be obvious. “With Dean.”

  Kevin swore. “He’s using her.” Said so quickly. So flatly. And with total conviction. “He’s going to risk her life to get Ricker.”

  When the guy started to whirl away, Wade grabbed his arm. “That’s not the way that LOST works,” Wade told him. They didn’t risk innocents. Never had. Never would.

  “That’s the way Dean Bannon works,” Kevin tossed back. “I worked side by side with the guy for years. I know him, and I know that Emma Castille isn’t safe, not as long as she’s with Dean.”

  Wade shook his head. No, no way would he buy that. Dean wasn’t some renegade who’d risk an innocent woman’s life.

  “You don’t know the guy as well as you think,” Kevin muttered. “I thought I could trust him once, too. And you know how that ended? With a woman named Charlotte Brown being killed.” Grief cracked through the man’s voice. “I trusted him to save her, and Charlotte wound up in the ground.”

  DEAN TURNED HIS head. Emma was asleep in his arms. He could hear the soft sound of her breathing. Even. Deep.

  She’d slipped easily into sleep, and she lay there, so trusting in his bed.

  Emma was still naked, with the sheets lightly covering her body. He’d tried to warn her away, but she hadn’t listened. She’d stayed, tempted him.

  No one had ever tempted him the way she did. No one had ever made him ache so much.

  It was dangerous. She was dangerous.

  But he found himself leaning toward her. Pressing a kiss to her temple.

  Trust. Such a delicate thing. She’d given him her trust, when she shouldn’t have. Her trust, her body. Emma had held nothing back in those hot, passion-filled hours, and neither had he.

  For the first time, he’d let go completely with a lover. Forgotten his control. Hadn’t wanted it even for an instant. Emma didn’t seem to mind the darkness that he carried. She wasn’t scared of it—or him—at all.

  Would that change with the coming days? When she saw just exactly what he had planned, would Emma turn from him?