Safe.
I feel safe with Connor.
Suddenly, I want to scream.
Swallowing hard, I look down at my hands. He says my name, but I hold up a finger.
“Give me a minute. I’m getting my shit together.”
I hear his impatient exhalation, hear all the other questions he wants to ask in it, but I’m concentrating hard on swallowing the swell of words rising fast on the back of my tongue, on tamping down the hot expansion inside my chest, the feeling of seismic shock, like the earth jumped ten feet sideways from one breath to the next.
You’re in deep, Tabby. Denial will only take you so far. You might as well just fucking admit you have serious feelings for this irritating, overbearing, completely incompatible sexalicious stud of a man, and get on with your life.
And maybe take another amazing roll in the hay with him before the gig’s up.
When I look up, Connor is staring with laser-like focus at me.
“I have something to say to you. When I’m done, I would appreciate it if you’d act like I didn’t say anything and not ask me any questions, because I’m not sure exactly what shape I’ll be in. Okay?”
Connor silently examines my face and then nods.
I draw in a breath, let it out, and let him have it.
“I like you. More than that. I don’t know. I know a lot of words, but I don’t know what the word is for this thing between us. It’s confusing. And scary. And I don’t scare. I don’t know what to do about it, or if there is anything I can do, but I definitely don’t want to feel this way. I don’t like feeling confused. I like feeling in control, you know that, but with you, I’m not in control. I’m a passenger in a speeding car traveling down the side of a winding mountain road at top speed in the dark. I don’t have my hands on the steering wheel or my foot on the brake, and it freaks me out, like, hard. And yes I know that hard is a ridiculous word to use to qualify an emotion but my brain is operating at about ten percent of its capacity right now because of all the stupid emotions running around in my body like kids left alone with a negligent babysitter who’s fed them too much candy. I want to tell you everything, but I can’t, okay? I just can’t. I won’t. I swore to myself a long time ago that no one would ever…that I wouldn’t let anyone—”
I stop speaking abruptly when the waitress arrives with a bottle and a pair of champagne flutes. My face burns so hot, it might burst into flames.
The waitress sets the glasses down and presents the bottle to Connor. Without looking away from my face, he says gruffly, “Just pour it.”
We stare at each other across the table as she removes the foil cap and the wire muselet, uncorks the bottle—the pop it makes is loud and cheerful—and pours a measure into each glass.
“Shall I put the bottle on ice?” she asks Connor.
He doesn’t answer. He’s staring so hard at me, it’s like she doesn’t even exist. He hasn’t once shifted his gaze away from my face.
“Um, I’ll just go ahead and do that, then.” The waitress discreetly removes herself.
Connor extends his hand across the table, palm up. I hesitate but then reach out and rest my hand in his. His warm fingers curve around mine. He gently squeezes.
“Do you have any idea,” he says softly, “what that means to me?”
With my free hand, I cover my face. “You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”
He squeezes a little harder. “I know the word you’re looking for, in case you’re interested.”
“No. I’m not. Please stop talking now.”
He strokes his thumb back and forth across my knuckles. “I’ll stop talking on one condition.”
I peek at him between my fingers.
He says in voice thick with emotion, “Come sit next to me, princess.”
“Are you going to keep your hands to yourself?”
He says instantly, “No,” and I can’t help but laugh.
“Well, all right, then. Move over.”
I stand. Mercifully, the ground feels solid under my feet. Connor slides over in the booth and reaches out. I take his hand, slide in next to him, and he immediately engulfs me in a giant bear hug. He buries his face in my neck.
“Goddamn you,” he whispers.
“I know,” I whisper back, my eyes squeezed shut. “I’m sorry.”
We stay like that with our arms wrapped around each other, just breathing, for what seems like a long time. When the waitress returns with the champagne in an ice bucket, we reluctantly break apart. She makes an apologetic noise and quickly leaves.
I weakly laugh. “It’s like we have a bet on how many poor waitstaff we can embarrass across the continental United States.”
Connor slides a hand under my hair, wraps it around the back of my neck, and settles it there. He picks up one of the flutes of champagne and presents it to me. “Here. This will make you feel better.”
I take it, hold it under my nose, and sniff. I get a fragrant whiff of fruit and flowers, along with a little zing of effervescence. “It smells good.”
“Wait until you’ve got it on your tongue.”
Our eyes meet. I know I’m not the only one who found that offhand comment enticingly sexual. Holding his gaze, I take a sip…
And groan in pleasure. “Seriously? That’s like drinking happiness!”
Connor smiles. “You like?”
“Wait, let me be sure.” I take another sip, and then an even bigger swallow. I nod enthusiastically. “Yep. It’s official. This stuff is great.”
“Well, at a thousand bucks a glass it should be.”
I freeze, horrified, and stare at him with my mouth open.
He’s unmoved by my shock. “It’s been a strange day, princess. You deserve a treat. Drink up.”
His cell rings. He fishes it from his pocket, answers it with a gruff, “Talk to me,” listens for a while, and then grunts. “Roger that.” He disconnects the call and looks at me. “That was Ryan. O’Doul and the agency have put together a local team in Miami to get Søren. Go time is zero six-hundred hours tomorrow.”
I check Ms. Kitty on my wrist. It’s eight minutes to seven p.m. on the west coast, which makes it almost ten p.m. in Miami.
In eight hours, the FBI will raid Søren’s hideout. With any luck, in eight hours Søren will be in the custody of the United States government. In eight hours, I’ll be able to breathe again.
Connor and I stare at each other. I feel every single throbbing beat of my heart.
“So what’re we going to do for the next eight hours, jarhead?”
Connor downs his glass of champagne in one gulp. He looks at me, licks his lips, and growls, “Everything.”
Then his mouth is against mine.
Even if I wanted to protest, I couldn’t, because the man tastes better than a thousand-dollar glass of champagne.
Twenty-Five
Tabby
“I can’t drive with you doing that, princess,” Connor says, breathing raggedly, his hand fisted in my hair.
His hard cock is in my mouth.
I’ve just unzipped his pants and gorged myself on it, because I couldn’t stand one more second of rubbing the pulsing length of it through the fabric as Connor tried to kiss me and concentrate on the road at the same time.
“Then pull over,” I mutter, and take him all the way to the base. I fondle the heavy, velvet warmth of his balls, and he sucks in a breath.
The Hummer zigzags. A horn sounds. Someone yells a curse.
I slowly draw up, savoring him like a lollipop, my other hand curled around his girth, stroking my thumb up and down the thick vein on the underside of his erection. I slide my tongue over the slit in the head. Connor moans softly. His big hand spreads out to cradle my skull as he flexes his pelvis, wanting more.
“You like my mouth,” I whisper, feeling powerful.
“Princess,” he pants, driving so erratically, the car is swerving all over the place, “I love your mouth.”
I falter for a s
econd. There’s that word again. But it only gives me a moment’s pause before I go back to worshipping his cock.
When I fumble with my zipper and slide my hand into my pants so I can stroke myself while I suck on him, Connor almost drives off the road.
“Fuck,” he says between gritted teeth, straightening the wheel. The car slows down and turns. My fingers are already slick with my own wetness. I rub my clit, making circles in tandem with the circles I’m making with my tongue. It feels so good, I moan and rock against my hand.
After a few more turns, the truck slows to a stop. Connor turns off the engine, pulls my head up with both hands, and kisses me so hard, it takes my breath away.
When he breaks the kiss, he demands, “You want my cock or my mouth first?
“Decisions, decisions.” I slowly stroke my hand up and down. “Are we back at the hotel already?”
“Yes. Answer the damn question.”
When I take too long to answer because I’m preoccupied with stroking him, Connor puts his mouth against my ear.
“You can’t decide, I’ll decide for you. You’re getting my cock. From behind. I’m gonna get you on your hands and knees and fuck you until you come, and then I’m gonna fuck you some more, until we both come. And then I’m gonna fuck you again.”
I thrill to his words, and to the look in his eyes, hungrier than a starving animal. I whisper, “Yes to all that. And Connor…”
“What?”
“Make it rough.”
There’s an electric pause. He licks his lips, and his voice gets all rumbly. “Rough leaves marks, sweetheart.”
Without hesitation, I say, “I want your marks. I want my skin to show where your hands were, where your teeth were, how I make you lose control. I want to be able to look in the mirror tomorrow and see everywhere you touched me.”
For a moment, Connor closes his eyes. He mutters, “Could you be any more perfect?”
One of his hands grips my head to hold it in place while he ravages my mouth. With his other hand, he pinches my hard nipple through my shirt. When I squirm in pleasure, he releases my nipple, slides his hand into my pants, and pinches my swollen clit.
My whole body jerks. I gasp into his mouth. He laughs against my lips, a low and satisfied sound, and then slides a finger deep inside me.
I say his name, my voice husky with need. My hips start a rhythm in tandem with the press and slide of Connor’s big finger. His thumb goes to work on my clit, circling round and round. I groan. My eyes slide shut. I arch my back, opening my legs wider for him.
Connor bites my jaw. His hot breath fans down my neck. When he rubs his cheek against mine, his stubble is scratchy against my skin. “You like my fingers, Tabby? You like my tongue and my hard cock? You like it when I tell you how much I love your mouth and your pussy?”
I whimper.
“Yes, you do,” he says roughly. “Because you’re my beautiful, dirty, sweet, badass girl. Now let me watch you suck my cock while I make you come, sweetheart.”
I obey without thinking, adjusting my position so I can take him down my throat while he works his magical fingers between my legs. The steering wheel is jammed into my shoulder, I’m getting a cramp in my arm, and I’m wound up like a pretzel between the seats, but I don’t care.
He makes me forget everything else. He wipes my mind clear of all the garbage. Intellectually, I know it’s only sex, but it’s so much more because it’s him, and he makes everything better just by being himself.
“Oh God, princess,” he whispers, staring down at me as I suckle and stroke him. “Fuck yes.”
He’s rock-hard in my mouth, hard and throbbing, and I’m throbbing all over too. I feel like a lit stick of dynamite, ready to blow.
Connor’s head drops back against the headrest. He starts to thrust up into my mouth, grunting in pleasure, his hand still working between my legs. I’m so soaked, I hear the sound it makes as Connor’s fingers fuck me. I’m close to orgasm when I hear the electronic chirp of a car alarm.
Connor groans. “Got company.”
I peek past the edge of the window and see a couple walking from the parking garage elevator. They’re headed toward the BMW parked next to us.
I quickly sit up and adjust my clothing. Breathing hard, Connor stuffs himself back into his pants, zips up, and gives me a hard kiss on the lips. “Upstairs,” he says gruffly, looking into my eyes. “Now.”
My heart singing, I jump from the car. Connor follows just as fast. We get to the elevators, Connor pushes the button, and then we stand there staring at each other in burning silence as we wait for it to arrive.
The bell dings, the doors slide open, Connor pulls me inside. As soon as the doors slide shut, he pulls me into his arms. His mouth goes to my neck. He sucks, hard, and a moan escapes me.
“Do you know what you do to me? Do you have any idea?”
He whispers it into my ear, pressing me against the wall of the elevator, his big body hard and hot against mine. I feel his heart hammering against his breastbone, hear the need in his voice, smell the masculine scent of his skin, and wonder if anything else will ever be as good as this.
Our lips meet. It’s anything but gentle.
I’m panting. Greedy for him. Wanting him inside me so bad, I’m trembling. He grabs my ass and grinds his pelvis against mine. His other hand gathers my hair. He wraps it around his wrist and uses it to hold my head in place while his tongue plunders my mouth.
The elevator slows to a stop, and the doors open. I open my eyes, and he’s staring down at me with this ravenous, adoring look, like he can’t get enough of me. I can’t get enough of him either.
I say brokenly, “Connor.”
“I know. Me too.”
He kisses me one last time and then takes my hand and tugs me out of the elevator and down the hall. I follow him, almost tripping over my own feet in my rush. When we get to the door, he fumbles for the card key in his pocket, curses when I press my breasts against his back and reach around to stroke him, stiff and ready under his zipper.
He gets the door open, drags me inside, pushes me against the wall. The door slams shut. He pulls my shirt off over my head and tosses it aside. He bends down, takes my breast into his mouth, and bites.
It’s soft at first, a nip just under the puckered bud of my nipple, but when I groan and arch into his mouth, Connor presses down harder until it stings. I cry out, loving the feel of his teeth against my tender flesh, loving it even more when he gentles and strokes his tongue over the place he just bit.
“More?” he whispers, his fingers digging into my hips.
“More,” I beg. I’m instantly rewarded. He nips a stinging path all around my nipple, following each bite with a tender stroke of his tongue, so I’m overwhelmed with the cycle of pain/pleasure. I writhe against him, whispering yes yes yes as he moves to my other breast and repeats the process. When he finally raises his head, both my breasts are stinging and slick, and I’m wet between my legs like I’ve never been.
He demands, “Tell me what you want.”
“You. Everything. Anything. Please.”
My breathless pleading makes him growl softly in pleasure. “Get naked. And then get on the bed.”
The intensity in his eyes and voice make my pulse fly. I quickly strip. When I go to the bed and sit on the edge, Connor shakes his head. “On your knees, princess,” he says, his voice husky, and my pulse goes haywire.
I get on all fours and look at him over my shoulder. He walks closer, watching me. He pulls his shirt over his head and drops it to the floor. “Look at that beautiful pussy,” he whispers, staring between my legs.
My face flushes. I’ve never been looked at like this. I’ve never displayed myself like this, and I’m shocked at how much I enjoy his devouring gaze roaming over my naked body. I feel both vulnerable and powerful, which is confusing, exciting, and the most addicting thing I’ve ever felt.
Connor stands at the edge of the bed. He reaches between my legs and
lightly strokes me there, eliciting a soft whimper from me. Our eyes lock. He says, “Stay still and be quiet,” and then slowly pushes a finger inside my slick heat.
I bite my lip to keep from moaning.
Gently he works his finger in and out, until I’m pushing back against his hand and gripping the blanket, my eyes closed. When he slides his finger over my throbbing clit, I moan.
He smacks me on the ass.
I jump, gasping.
“Quiet,” he warns, and goes back to stroking me.
Now my ass is stinging along with both my breasts. If he smacks me again, I think I’ll come instantly.
Connor goes to his knees. His big hands slide up the backs of my thighs. I feel the warm, soft wetness of his tongue tease the fold between my pussy and my thigh, and stop breathing.
His tongue caresses me, teasing all around the outside of my pussy, until finally he spreads me open with his thumbs and suckles my clit between his lips.
I cry out in pleasure, arching my back. One second later, Connor smacks my ass again.
But he doesn’t pull away. He’s got his face between my spread legs, eating my pussy while spanking my ass. I think I might die right now of sheer bliss.
I buck against his mouth. He slaps me again. It makes me moan again, and I get another sharp, stinging blow on my bottom. “Connor,” I gasp. “Please.”
“You can’t come yet,” he growls, and then sinks his teeth into my thigh.
I bury my face into the blanket and whimper.
He plays with me, taking his time, running his hands over my thighs and ass, up my spine, all the while murmuring words of adoration.
Beautiful.
So sweet, so wet.
Look at this—perfect.
God, you make me crazy.
I don’t pay attention to the words themselves. It’s the reverent tone they’re spoken in that move me, the way he’s so completely into this. Into me. It makes me feel safe and beautiful and reckless. At this moment he could tell me to do anything, and I would.
Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games Series Book 2) Page 21