Storm (Bad Boys of X-Ops #3)

by Rie Warren

  Blaize’s lips. Her mouth. Her tongue. Swallowing my come.

  Another jet blasted out, and I gasped, pressing a thumb against her tightened lips sealed around my cockhead.

  I jerked off the last few shots, pumping my cock into her, every single muscle in my body stamped hard, shiny with the sweat of sex.

  Finally released from the explosive torment, I fell back, laughing through my parched throat.

  I had just about enough energy left to pull her up from between my legs, bodily hugging her. Arms around her. Legs trapping hers. My mouth finding hers and following the slick trail of her tongue.

  “Don’t do anything by halves, do you?” I rocked her onto her side, grinning down at her.

  Her hair was one hell of a deep-red mess—sexy and disheveled—her lips swollen and pink. Her cheeks flushed and the ocean blue eyes lusty and dusky.

  Goddamn, she’d bedeviled me.

  “Falling for me?” I asked.

  “Did I say that?”

  “Yup. When did that happen? Before New Orleans?”

  “I plead the Fifth.”

  “You are a hard woman to read.” I trailed my tongue down to her neck, feeling her humming heartbeat with my mouth over her pulse point.

  “Comes with the territory.” She sighed, arching her neck.

  “I think I should make you come in my territory.” My cock hadn’t softened or flagged.

  The thick long rod reared up against my belly with renewed urgency and potency.

  “I’m striking the falling for you comment from the record.” She bowed up when I skated both hands against her hips, flipping to my back and bringing her with me.

  “You can expunge the whole fuckin’ thing from admissible evidence. Still heard it with my own two ears.” I whispered against the shell of her ear, circling the bright pink crests of her tits with light fingertips.

  “You want to talk, Storm? Or make me come?”

  I looked up when I sucked one of her cherry-pink nipples into my mouth.

  She bit into her bottom lip.

  I squeezed the other nub, releasing it to roughly palm her entire breast while I suckled the other.

  A knock sounded on the bedroom door. More like a boot solidly planted against it.

  I lifted my head, grunting. Blaize tweaked her nipple, moaning.

  “Come back later, asshole!” I yelled.

  Moving on top of her, I began removing the panties she’d put on sometime during the night—why bother—from her legs.

  She helped, sitting half up, laughing as we wrangled the scrap of lace from her body.

  Another knock. Louder that time.

  “Better be coffee!” I shouted, pushing Blaize down on the bed.

  “Yeah. And your Pilates class is starting downstairs in two minutes.” Kouto’s deep voice rumbled from the other side of the door. “Venom wants you in his office pronto.”

  I laid my head against Blaize’s tits she helpfully cushioned between her hands.

  “What the fuck for? It ain’t even”—I glanced at the watch on my wrist, momentarily confused to find it facing outward—“ten in the a.m. yet.”

  “The boss has business to attend to,” Kouto replied, chuckling.

  “So does this boss,” Blaize whispered. “But don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”

  Her hand wound down her stomach, and she arched up, sliding a finger across her clit.

  “Fuck. Really?” I weaved beside the bed, stuffing my legs into my pants, my eyes glued to the soft little line of red hair above her cunt and her fingers parting the slick way to heaven. “Wait for me, Blaize.”

  “I need relief, Storm.” She drove two fingers inside with a wet sexy sucking sound.

  Wanted my mouth down there. Pronto.

  Fuck.

  Venom.

  Mission.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be helping me out?” I asked, nearly whining with the need to get my mouth on her pussy she kept playing with.

  “Right now I’m helping myself.”

  “I can see that. I swear to God if you lick your own—”

  “My tit?”

  Jesus. Then she did it. Sucking that bright pearl of flesh between her own lips.

  I stood at the door, nearly cranking the knob off in my hand. I hit a palm against my forehead. Because she was gonna get herself off.

  “But you can think of me with my fingers inside of me while you talk to Venom.”

  “You are an evil woman, Blaize.”

  Her laughter echoed when I hit the stairs, limping because my cock was hard as a wrought iron pole.

  “Look like you need a cane, boug.” Kouto’s gleaming white smile split his black face.

  “Got one in my fucking pocket, can’t you see that?”

  He slid a cup into my hand. “Coffee. From Sol.”

  “At least someone cares.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Voodoo Chile

  VENOM HAD WANTED ME so super early in his office to talk about the church of the Blood Legion . . . and probably try to feel me out some more. He could dig as much as he wanted. I was an airtight motherfuck. Hell, I’d learned from Walker about keeping my shit sealed shut.

  Kouto, joined by Burn, completed the line-up crowding into the room.

  “Since when did you bastards get up at the crack of midmorning?” I stared at Burn, who snarled at me, before turning to Kouto and sniffing at the bowl he held in his hands. “And what the hell are you eating? Smells like someone pissed in your cornflakes.”

  He gave one of his nasty grins—all white teeth in his darkly colored face—pulling a goddamn chicken foot from the tureen of what, on closer inspection, looked to be soup.

  “Yeah. It’s too early in the day for that.” I shuddered, the smell alone enough to knock me out. “Aren’t you s’posed be saving that shit for the hoodoo spells or something?”

  “Sol cooked up a batch of his famous chicken foot soup for me. I’m a growing boy.” The huge man rumbled with a chesty laugh. “And don’t worry none, Storm. I won’t put a cunja on you until Venom tells me to.”

  Didn’t that make me feel warm and cozy inside? The fucker was probably a direct descendent of Madame Laveau.

  I took a chair while the others followed suit, and Venom started in with his usual bullshittery about total world domination by the Blood Legion MC. How he was gonna start satellite Legion clubs throughout the country, recruit his own breed of biker outlaws to expand his growing cocaine-smuggling/gun-running/money-laundering thugocracy.

  Lighting a cigarette, I stifled a yawn. For the next half hour, I endured his bla bla bla speech about the Almighty Venom and his genius plans. Someone had clearly had his flakes AKA morning dose of yeyo.

  When he finally wound down from kissing his own ass, and sat his ass down for coffee accompanied by a bump, he started handing out the day’s workload.

  Venom and Burn got all the good stuff. You know . . . organizing ammo . . . delivering the monthly payment to the police . . . checking on the whorehouse that occupied another building down the street, which meant getting a free fuck or two from their choice of the unwillingly employed women.

  Real good stuff. Not.

  I got stuck with grunt work for the day. Handling the alcohol deliveries, mopping freakin’ floors, making sure idiots were where they were supposed to be, but at least my head wasn’t on the block. Yet.

  Venom could give me all the crap he wanted, but I drew the line at cleaning the fucking crappers. No way in hell was that happening. But I sucked up the rest of the bullshit detail after I got some food in my stomach and arranged for breakfast to be delivered to Blaize.

  Yeah. I was probably in danger of looking like I really did give a fuck about the woman. Couldn’t help it on a serious level. It was . . . nice being able to take care of her for a change.

  Besides, if everything worked in my favor there was the very real possibility I’d get her on my cock.

  That one thought kept me from
going ballistic as I stocked the fucking bar in Thunder Road and made sure glasses were clean and paid one more delivery schmuck.

  Just because logistics was my schtick with T-Zone didn’t mean I enjoyed menial labor. T-Z logistics involved transport and weapons and things that went BOOM. Fucking Venom and his head games.

  After completing the scut roster he’d detailed for me, I returned to his office midafternoon. He sat behind the desk gnawing on a plate of ribs with a mirror set up beside his elbow all ready with neat lines of his after snack snort.

  Pleasant.

  Surprisingly, I didn’t have any wish to revisit my days of getting amped, not even when he motioned his bald head toward the solid gold sniffer I used to partake from.

  “Gonna pass on that,” I said.

  He wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “That rehab really did a number on you, cous? Hope it didn’t give you second thoughts about any of your other illegal extracurricular activities.”

  I barked a laugh. “No chance of that.”

  “Even if the towelheads are mixed up in everything?”

  “Think I proved that last night.”

  “A start in the right direction,” he judiciously allowed. “So what can I do you for?”

  “Want the night off.” Sitting down, I braced my elbows on my knees.

  “What the fuck for?”

  “Gonna take Blaize out.”

  “What for?” he repeated.

  “Fuck’s sake. Haven’t you ever taken Shar out on a date?”

  His face screwed up for a moment, making the tats on his skull distort. Then his expression cleared. “How’s about we double do-si-do with y’all tonight?”

  “Would that. But I don’t share as I said before.”

  “Huh. Well that blows.” He tapped the business end of his Ruger on the desk.

  “Just the way things is.”

  “You know what else blows?” He sniffed loudly then picked up his silver-etched straw.

  “That’d be cocaine.”

  “Got it.” Chuckling, he asked, “Sure you won’t do a line?”

  “Pass.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  “What about tonight?”

  “Fuck if I care. Just make it home by your curfew.”

  Shaking my head, I ducked out of the door, sending back the peace symbol.

  I located my woman in the bar, getting cozy with the natives. Not too cozy, I hoped, considering how I’d left her—het up and horny—hours earlier.

  And she still looked good enough to eat . . . out.

  I signaled for a drink, joining her. “What’d you do today, beb?”

  “Mmm. Wouldn’t you like to know?” Blaize’s fingers skipped up the inside of my thigh.

  Capturing the nape of her neck in my hand, I drew her mouth to mine. The long slow collision of our lips and tongues left me a few brain cells short of fully aware.

  She tasted so goddamn good. I couldn’t wait to get my mouth all over her body, between her legs, on her tits . . .

  “You promised you wouldn’t take business into your own hands.” I lightly bit her bottom lip.

  “Didn’t promise any such thing.” She teased me with a smile, slipping off her stool to slide between my thighs as my beer arrived.

  “Did you get yourself off without me or what?” I virtually growled the words.

  If she was gonna make herself come she oughtta at least have the decency of letting me watch.

  “Uh unh.” She shook her head, the loose strands of her vibrant red hair floating around. “But I was so wet.”

  I choked on my swig of beer. My hand tightened to catastrophe point on the bottle. I was surprised I didn’t break the longneck in half.

  Blaize was playing her part as MC babe to the hilt, but suddenly I couldn’t tell how much was an act or how much was real.

  She had me more than a little off-step. And very, very interested.

  “You like that idea? Me being all hot and wet for you, Storm?” She tilted her head, squeezing my thigh muscle until it jumped, and my cock did, too.

  “Yeah. How ’bout you show me.”

  “Right here in the middle of the bar?”

  Suddenly clueing in to where we were, which wasn’t in a private fucking boudoir, I noticed we’d once again drawn a nosy audience.

  “No. Not here where anyone else can see you.” I glared first at Blaize who was really doing a master head job on me and, second, at the assholes and their honeys who obviously hadn’t witnessed steamy flirtation of this caliber before.

  There were shrugs and snickers and salutes before everyone got back to their own fucking business. AKA drinking, gambling, shooting pool, smoking reefer, and playing with loaded guns.

  Because that combination of extracurricular activities wasn’t scary at all.

  With a last one-fingered-salute to any cunts who continued to stare at us, I turned back to Blaize—who was smiling—and my beer, which was growing tepid.

  “So, what’d you really do today, cher?”

  “Played nice with the friendlies.” Leaning closer, her lips brushed my ear.

  I shivered.

  Jesus.

  “Had a talk with Nikki.” Blaize nipped my neck.

  I shuddered.

  Fuck.

  Clearing my throat with a swig of beer, I asked, “With or without weapons on hand?”

  “No weapons, unless you count a nail file.”

  My eyes flipped wide.

  “Easy, lover. I took her for a pedicure.” Blaize pushed out a long sleek leg, pointing down to her feet.

  Strappy sandals. Bare toes. And hot coral-colored toenails.

  “We bonded. Promised not to scratch each other’s eyes out over you.” She winked at me.

  “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

  Drawing one lone fingertip down the center of my chest, she had to feel the muscles in my stomach clench when she stroked me there. “You’re just figuring that out?” Again with the innocent-coy look.

  Heaven help me.

  I caught her hand before it hit the detonation zone of my hard dick stuffed into my jeans. “I got a surprise for you too.”

  She aimed her glance at my groin. “I don’t think that’s a surprise, Storm.”

  I finished my beer, standing up. “It will be once you get it inside you.”

  “You’re that good, are you?”

  “Baby. Why do you think women fight over me?” Smirk.

  I probably wasn’t imagining the steam starting to rise from her ears when her mouth popped open in advance of what would no doubt be a shrieking tirade about me and easy pussy.

  Seeking to calm the wildcat before she left her claw marks on me, I murmured, “Easy now. Just playing with you.” Taking her hand in mine, I ushered her toward the door. “How’s about I show you my Nawleans?”

  “That’s the surprise?”

  “Mm hmm.”

  Catcalls and booty calls and rude comments followed us onto the street.

  “Fuck y’all. I’ll be back by dawn,” I hollered back.

  “Before dem haints git you.” Solomon sat outside, parked on his usual chair.

  “There’s more than one kind of spook.” That fucker Slade ambled from around the far corner of the building just as Blaize and I reached my bike.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Po’boy

  “THIS IS MY BIG night out in the Big Easy?” Blaize stomped up the steps to the front door.

  This constituted the two of us back at our safe house in Faubourg Lafayette. I guessed she’d been expecting a night on the town, maybe some romance.

  My bad.

  “Easy now.” I unlocked the door, letting us inside. “I figured we needed an excuse to get away and try to uncover some info on this Slade guy, right?”

  Blaize flicked on the lights in the shades-darkened rooms, fuming. “Lemme show you my Nawleans, cher.”

  I scratched my jaw, watching her rail around the place. I leaned again
st the wall while she found her burner cell.

  “Aren’t you just all forward thinking?” She marched back to me. “Very clever. Very smart.” She sneered.

  “Just because we’re away from the Legion doesn’t mean I’mma let you talk down to me like we’re sitting in the war room, Mizz Cahmichael. I think we’re past that now. Don’t you?”

  Her finger pointed in my direction. “Remember when I said I was going to write you up on so many charges of insubordination you wouldn’t be able to—”

  I tuned out from her tirade. Had that verbal bitch fest down by rote on more than one previous occasion. First she’d call me incompetent then say words like mission fail and suspected theft of governmental vehicles and everyone’s fave: breach of protocol.

  I watched her luscious mouth move a mile a minute.

  Damn. She was gettin’ alllll hot and bothered. She really hadn’t jilled off earlier.

  I could probably take care of that.

  Later.

  Stalking to her, I confiscated her phone and handled my own. “I’ll be making the call. Thanks.”

  Shut her up. Just like that.

  She gawped at me.

  I blithely hit the three contacts for a conference call.

  Kept it on speakerphone, though. So Blaize—my superior—could listen in while I chatted with my buddies.

  That steam coming out of her ears earlier? Now a roasting blaze just about rocketing her into the atmosphere.

  I grinned at Blaize.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “You know, my maw maw said you do that too much and your eyes’ll get stuck,” I mentioned.

  “I think that’s if you cross your eyes.”

  “I believe it’s the same principle.”

  She huffed out a very low, very nasty curse about me and my cock and what she’d like to do to it that didn’t include—very definitely—another A-class blowjob.

  We stood in a silent standoff, waiting until Walker, Justice, and Bane picked up the call one by one.

  The first two lazy bastards were probably too busy doing fuck-your-new-wifey detail to pick up on the first ring.