Extreme Danger

by Shannon McKenna

  “Are you just going to dip your wick and then fuck off?”

  He had the odd sensation of something or someone speaking through him. “No,” he said slowly. “That is definitely not my intention.”

  “Uh, good.” Josh sounded nonplussed. “Because if it was, I’d, like, have to kick your ass.”

  “Gotcha,” Nick soothed. “I get the ass-kicking part. Loud and clear.”

  “Do not hurt her.” Josh’s voice wobbled with intensity. “She’s taken enough shit from worthless bastards. She deserves better.”

  “Yeah, she does,” he said. “And, uh, I won’t.”

  He felt like a lying prick. Christ, with his track record? He’d never gotten close to a woman without eventually hurting her.

  Josh hung up. Nick let the receiver drop from his ear, dazed. Another surreal vignette. Fending off the furious brother while his dick waved wild and free outside his jeans, like a flag in the wind. Wow.

  “Your brother’s very protective of you,” he observed.

  Her hands were still clamped over her cheeks. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “He’s really excitable. I shouldn’t have given you the phone.”

  “It’s OK,” Nick said. “I kind of liked him, actually.”

  She dropped her hands into her lap, incredulous. “You what?”

  “He gives a shit,” Nick said. “I like that quality in a person. My only problem is, I’m not sure whether I promised to marry you, or keep my hands off you. And if I get it wrong, he’ll kick my ass.”

  She dissolved into giggles, tears squinching out of her eyes. “Don’t worry,” she said breathlessly. “I won’t hold you to either one.”

  “Have you got any more family that I should be looking over my shoulder for?” he asked. “Dad with a shotgun? Mom with an Uzi?”

  “Just a sister. Carrie’s nineteen. Josh is twenty,” she confessed. “Our parents died a long time ago. I raised the two of them myself.”

  He blew out a long breath. “Wow. That’s heavy.”

  “Yeah, it was, pretty much.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “Well. I guess that kind of killed the moment, huh?”

  Shit, shit, shit. Mayday. Going down. “Depends,” he said, trying to maintain a deadpan expression in the face of his own lust. He grabbed her small hand, pulled it down and wrapped those soft, smooth fingers around his turgid cock. “Personally, I think the moment’s alive and well. In fact, this part of me never even noticed the interruption.”

  She stared down at him, stroking and exploring with those light, feathery fingers till he thought he would scream. “I see,” she whispered.

  “If I’m going to get my ass kicked, I might as well make it count, right?” He retrieved the condom from where it had fallen on the rug, and put it into her other hand. Crossing his fingers. Please. Please.

  She shook with a burst of silent giggles, and finished ripping the condom open and pulling it out one-handed. It took her for-fuckingever to pry the thing out and fumble it over his dick. He was just about to end the ticklish torture, yank it out of her hands and get it on himself when she finally rolled the lubricated latex slowly up the length of his shaft, with one long, tight, fantastic squeezing stroke.

  “It looks awfully snug,” she commented, sounding worried.

  “It’s great,” he said, his voice strangled. “Please. Do that again.”

  She made that soft little laughing sound, and obliged him, petting and pulling and milking his cock until he was gasping for air and clutching her, his arms shaking.

  God, he loved that sound, that breathy happy gurgle. He wanted to hear more of it. It made him feel…he didn’t even have a word for it. He didn’t even have a place for the feeling, but it spurred him to grab her and kiss her again.

  That awkward hand job was the most erotic sensation he’d ever felt. He’d got lucky, damn lucky. A soft, fragrant, laughing woman filling his arms, her soft lips opening, her shy tongue retreating before his, and then slowly responding. Becca was sweet beyond belief.

  He cupped her head and deepened the kiss till he was practically drowning in her—and knocked those weird black glasses askew. Oops.

  She straightened them, giggling helplessly. “I can’t believe I forgot I still had these on.”

  “Leave them,” he suggested, starting on the buttons at her neck.

  “But they’re hideous,” she protested.

  He stopped her hand as she was about to pry them off. “It’s a look,” he explained. “It’s a classic porn motif. The formerly frigid sex bomb secretary, right after her sexual awakening, but before she thinks to ditch the specs and lose the tight bun. Add virginal lingerie and you have yourself a fantasy.”

  “Oh, please. Spare me.” She yanked the glasses off and flung them onto the coffee table. “Men are such pigs.”

  “Oh, absolutely,” he agreed, lifting the huge, tentlike flannel thing off her. Finally naked. As stunning as ever. No. More, even.

  He held out the nightgown. “Get up,” he said hoarsely. “Let me put this on the couch, under you.”

  She blinked at him, looking dazed and confused. “Huh?”

  “For the wet spot.” He tugged her to her feet and spread the thing out deftly beneath her. He tossed her back down on top of it so that she bounced, her beautiful, pink-tipped tits jiggling seductively.

  He gripped her hips and slid her ass back down to the edge of the couch. “You’re dripping pussy juice like a ripe peach,” he muttered. “I can’t get enough of it. Except that if I don’t fuck you now, I think I’m going to die.”

  She smiled at him, biting her lip with that uncertain look, but she opened for him like a flower as he folded her legs high and wide, that wet pink pussy open to him. Offered to him.

  It hit him like a blow to the chest, as he positioned himself, jeans half-down. He breached her tight opening and started pushing inside her. How sensual she was, how generous. The look in her eyes. She clutched his upper arms as he forged his way deep inside. When he started to thrust, she made husky, surprised sounds with each slow, deliberate stroke.

  They found their rhythm together, him listening, her gripping his ass and wiggling, and settled into a deep, wonderful plunge-twist, swivel-glide that made her gasp with pleasure, lifting herself to him.

  Oh, God. So good. He’d lived without anything so good for so long, he’d forgotten feelings like this existed, or else he’d put the memory aside, persuaded himself that they were a luxury. Something you could do without and probably should, like sugar or booze.

  But no. This feeling wasn’t like that at all. It was more like water, oxygen. A flat-out necessity. You went without it for a while, and you choked, and then you croaked, and you blew away like a dried leaf.

  He’d been drying up and dying inside for years. And hadn’t known it. Hey, dying felt so damn normal after a while.

  The pace quickened without him noticing, because Becca was grinding herself against him, gasping and whimpering as she worked up to one of her awesome, call-the-cops orgasms. He concentrated on bringing her off, massaging her clit with his thumb as he stirred her around with his cock, finding where those sweet spots hid, and ah…there she went. Arching and jerking, her strong cunt muscles squeezing his cock, milking, begging him to join her. Fill her.

  Not yet. Not fucking yet. No way. He wanted this to last forever.

  As soon as she had more or less settled down, panting and gleaming with sweat, he resumed thrusting. It went easier now, slicker and smoother. A deep plunge in, a tight, aching slide out. First the quivering resistance of her plushy pussy on the driving instroke, and her jealous hug-and-grab on the outstroke. Outrageous.

  Thank God for the latex. It kept him honest, or he’d have lost it in an instant. It damped the sensations down just enough for self-control. He managed to bring her off a couple more times, but every time she came, it got hotter, harder, wilder. Just a small part of his brain watched from a distance as he went at her, moving her, spreading her. Pumping and ramming ag
ainst her. The slap of his balls against her wet, slick ass, the sawing of breath, those pleading moans, his, hers, hoarse and dry and desperate. The thundering rumble in his head, of a gathering orgasm that drove him along before it like an oncoming storm.

  Sobs, shouts, as something inside him shattered and gave way.

  Layer after layer in his mind was smashed through like a wrecking ball, crashing through brick and mortar and concrete, dust and rubble. Each rhythmic explosive charge knocked him deeper into nowhere.

  When he came round, he was horrified to find that they were on the floor. Holy fuck, how did that happen? The coffee table was overturned, books scattered everywhere, her glasses on the rug, the phone beeping, fallen out of its charger. Becca lay beneath him, gasping for breath beneath his weight. Arms clutching his neck. One leg wrapped around his waist, the other twined around his ankle.

  He started to lift himself off, his muscles weak and trembling with the aftermath, and felt her pussy clench around him, echoing the cling of his arms. Unwilling to let him go. It was nice. He liked it.

  Which was weird, for him. That kind of move from a woman after sex usually made him feel suffocated.

  He had no idea what he’d done in those last few moments during that…was it a blackout, for Christ’s sake? He was almost twice her size. He hoped he hadn’t hurt her. That she didn’t hate his guts.

  “Sorry,” he whispered, studying her face.

  She smiled, with her eyes closed. “You’re weird, Nick.”

  “I know,” he said, in heartfelt agreement. “You OK?”

  She stretched luxuriously beneath his weight. “First, you make me come like never before, and you thank me. Then, you make me come again and again and again…and what do you do? You apologize.”

  “I lost control,” he growled. “I could have hurt you.”

  “News flash,” she said. “You didn’t. And I doubt that you even could.” Her eyes opened, suddenly somber. “Not during sex, anyway.”

  He slowly withdrew himself from her clinging sheath, but she twined both arms around his neck and squeezed. “Nick? I have to tell you something.”

  He braced himself, gut clenched against the ache of nameless fear in his gut. “Yeah? What?”

  “If you do your standard post-sex routine and get all mean and grumpy and sour, and run out on me, you aren’t ever going to have to worry about Vadim Zhoglo again.”

  He started to grin, warily. “I won’t?”

  “No, you won’t,” she said. “Because I’ll kill you myself.”

  He almost collapsed right on top of her as the shudder of laughter cut him off right at the elbows. He got to his feet, with some difficulty, peeled off the extremely full condom. Then he pried off his shoes, and shoved down his jeans, stepping out of them. “I’m not running off,” he assured her. “See? I can’t. I’m naked. Just ditching the latex. OK?”

  “Hurry back. I mean it.” Her voice was steely.

  He did, still shaking with silent hysteria. But when he came back into the room and stared down at her gorgeous body lying on the ground, his laughter suddenly faded away. It bothered him, to see her lying naked on the floor. She looked too helpless there. Too vulnerable.

  He’d rather see her naked bouncing through a field of flowers, or naked in a bathtub, or naked in a forest cascade. Better yet, naked tucked snugly into a soft bed. And him on top of her.

  His cock started to stir, and grow heavy and long between his legs. He crouched down and pulled her to her feet. “I didn’t run away. But I’m warning you right now. I’m a chronic insomniac.”

  “Yes? And so? What of it?” she asked crisply.

  “Since I can’t sleep, I’ll let you take a wild guess as to my top favorite alternative bed activity,” he offered.

  Her eyes dropped to his cock, which had stretched out to full length and was now starting to do the super duper hydraulic lift trick.

  “Good God,” she said faintly. “You’re kidding.”

  “Does that look insincere?”

  “But don’t you need to rest? Don’t you ever relax?”

  “Nope,” he said. “I hope you don’t, either.”

  She let out an explosive breath. “If you can’t relax after sex like that, then you’re in a world of hurt, buddy.”

  The laughter that wrenched through him threatened almost to turn into sobs. He wrestled it down as he kneeled to pull the rest of the condoms out of his jeans pocket, and then waved the long, dangling strip of silvery foil packages in her face before he scooped her up, cupping her ass so that she straddled him. “Tell me about it.”

  “Hey.” She wiggled halfheartedly, and then clamped her thighs around his waist. “Is this another of your sleazy, manipulative games?”

  He kicked her bedroom door open. “Of course. That’s a given.”

  He couldn’t be bothered to get rid of the mountain of pillows, so he tossed her into the midst of them, and jumped on her. She giggled and shrieked and struggled as he wrestled her into position, ripped open a condom with his teeth, expertly smoothed that sucker into place.

  He’d meant for this one to be playful. Lah di dah, frolicking around in the piles of fluffy lace pillows like a couple of horny bunnies. As always, though, things took a turn. Straight into a place he’d never been, had no procedure for, no rules, no training. No clue.

  First, it was that searing, electric moment of connection, staring into her beautiful eyes as he started pushing his cock into her. Then that shivering, aching swell of emotion, as the pleasure intensified into something almost unbearable. The laughter petered out, the smiles faded. They just stared into each others’ eyes, awestruck.

  All he could do was hang onto her and fuck desperately.

  Something was happening to him, something huge and unstoppable. As natural as the sun rising, and just as miraculous. He had to close his eyes against it, bury his face against the pillow to muffle the sounds he was making, soak up the hot damp from his eyes.

  They clung to each other as his body hammered against hers. She clawed at him, raising herself, inciting his frenzied thrusts with her clutching fingers, her wild cries, and he was blasting off, oh God.

  She found her way over the brink with him, and they were flung out together by the force of it, across infinite inner space inside their minds but, amazingly, together. He didn’t lose her, in that lonely place.

  They were fused. One glowing, perfect entity.

  That perfect bliss dissolved into consciousness again. He forced his heavy eyelids to open and stared into the darkness.

  His chest felt hot, so soft. He marveled at it. Speechless, limp. Terrified, that it might desert him again, as mysteriously as it had come. Leave him cold and constricted as a clenched fist once again.

  Part of him pleaded: Let me feel it. Please. Let me feel it.

  And the other part: You’re going to pay for this in blood, dickwad.

  He grabbed her damp, limp body almost defiantly. She murmured in her sleep, but didn’t wake. Thank God. He was in too much of a state to feel all of this crap, and deal with her feelings too.

  This stuff was tricky. A guy had to walk before he tried to run.

  He still had the condom on, but his dick was hard enough to keep the thing in place, and would probably remain in that state for as long as he was anywhere in Becca’s proximity. So he stayed put, staring down at her face as she slept. Admiring how beautiful she was. The touseled mop of curls against the white pillow, the sensual weight of her sweet, sexy body, snuggled up to his. Heavy and warm and limp with perfect trust.

  He got worried that she’d get chilled, after all that heaving and bucking and sweating, but it was a complicated business, getting the blankets and sheets tugged down beneath her sleeping body without waking her up. She finally stretched and yawned, and gave him a radiant smile that made his heart hurt like someone was squeezing it.

  “You’ll get cold,” he said gruffly. “Let me get the covers over you.”

  “Not a ch
ance,” she said lazily. “You’re like a bonfire.”

  Since she was definitively awake, he decided to get rid of the latex and its liquid load. By the time he came back to the bedroom, he’d come to a decision, as final as it was outrageous.

  And he was prepared to enforce it. By any means necessary.

  “Get up and get dressed,” he said. “You’re coming with me now.”

  She sat up, looking bewildered. “Nick? What on earth?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “If I can’t persuade you to get out of town and go into hiding, the safest thing for you is to come with me now,” he explained grimly. “I know of a safe place you could stay.”

  She shook her head, in helpless confusion. “And all that carrying on you did about how Zhoglo’s gunning for you, and therefore I’m safer far away from you? Blah blah blah?”

  He widened his stance, clenched his fists. “I can’t stay away from you,” he admitted. “Particularly not now. So I’m not going to try. The next best thing is to stick to you like glue. Any butthead mobster comes within fifty yards of you, I’ll blow his ass off.”

  “Ah, thank you, I think,” she said faintly. “Is this some sort of courtship ritual on the planet that you’re from, Nick? How very romantic. I appreciate the depth of feeling behind it.”

  “Cut the sarcasm,” he said harshly. “I’m dead serious.”

  She hesitated, doubt plain on her face. He sensed that she was trying to choose her words carefully, so as not to push his wacko paranoid buttons. Which bugged the shit out of him still more.

  “Nick, I don’t think that Zhoglo will have any way of finding me—”

  “I know some people,” he went on, his voice roughening from pure desperation, “who can keep you safe. Even if I get wasted. And they could help you get a new identity, too. If it came to that.”

  Becca recoiled at his words and wrapped her arms around her chest, as if she were suddenly cold. “Nick,” she whispered. “It’s not so simple. I’ve got family. They count on me. I can’t just disappear.”

  He said something filthy in Ukrainian in a savage undertone.