by Elle Kennedy
Except Sofia had other ideas.
Cheeks flushed and eyes glittering, she crawled on top of him and gripped the base of his cock. “You should have done this when I was coming,” she whispered, and then she sank down on him, impaling herself on his dick.
Holy fuck, yeah, he should have. Her pussy was swollen, soaking wet and tight as a glove, and he cursed himself for missing out on feeling it spasming around him as she’d climaxed.
But this was good, too, the wet heat surrounding him, the slow grind of her pussy along his shaft as she started to move.
D gripped her hips as he stared up at her. Her hair was still damp, the long, dark strands falling over her shoulders and swaying above her rigid nipples as she rode him.
“I’m five seconds away from coming,” he warned her, and it was the honest-to-God truth. Licking her had turned him on like a motherfucker.
“Good. I want you to.”
She bent forward and kissed him, and the hard points of her nipples scraped his pecs. One puckered bud rubbed his own nipple, and it was that tiny bit of unexpected friction that sent him over the edge.
His lips were locked to hers as the orgasm shot through his body and fragmented his brain. Gasping for air, he broke the kiss and continued to thrust upward, fucking his way through the orgasm, which only made it stronger, painful almost, but damn it, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t pull out. Couldn’t leave the warmth of her body.
Sofia collapsed on top of him, her breathing tickling his chest as his thrusts eventually slowed, then ceased altogether.
D rested his hands on her lower back and struggled to regain his breathing. When her lips skimmed over the tattoo on the base of his throat, he stiffened slightly, but didn’t push her away.
“So this snake was part of your cover?” She sounded thoughtful as she kissed the red-and-black ink on his flesh.
“Yeah.”
He left it at that, but just as he’d expected, Sofia didn’t let it go. “Was it a gang thing?” she asked curiously.
“Kind of. A cartel thing.” He stopped, reluctant to continue, but he knew she’d keep pushing if he didn’t. “The tats on my arms I got after I joined Smith Group. I was assigned the Jason Hernandez alias, and Hernandez was supposed to be a hardened criminal, just out of jail.”
“Have you ever been to jail? The real you, I mean?”
“No. Have you?”
Her laughter heated his chest. “No.”
D felt a smile tug on his mouth. He was glad she couldn’t see him, because hell, he’d smiled way too much for his comfort tonight.
“Anyway, my first assignment was to off this cartel scumbag—Hector Domingo. Or Hector el serpiente, as he liked to call himself.”
She snickered. “Hector the Snake? Doesn’t that imply that he’s, well, a snake?”
“He was a snake. Double-crossed his business partners, killed his rivals, added toxic chemicals to the drugs he distributed. Not exactly a prince.”
D slid his hand up her back, awkwardly playing with the ends of her hair. It felt weird lying down with her like this. And he was still inside her. Semihard, but his cock was still and relaxed, almost as if it was simply content to be where it was.
“I needed to infiltrate Hector’s crew, but in order to do that, I had to prove myself.”
“How?”
“By doing lots of shit you don’t need to know about. But I did it and I proved myself. Except there was one last thing to do before I was officially welcomed into the fold. I had to get the cartel symbol tattooed on my neck. Every member of the crew had the tat.”
Sofia rose, straddling his thighs as she peered at him in dismay. “You were willing to get a snake permanently tattooed on your neck for a job?”
“Didn’t have much of a choice. Once you agreed to work for Smith Group, they owned you. They owned me.” Reluctance seized his throat for a moment. “You saw the marks on my back under the eagle?”
“Yeah. I saw them.” She hesitated. “What does the tally mean? Forty-three what?”
“Forty-three kills. Each time I completed an assignment, I’d have to report to headquarters for debriefing. This building in Wilmington—”
“Virginia?”
“Delaware. It was a consulting firm, but that was just a front. Inside, it was like the fucking Pentagon. I’d go in and get debriefed, and before I left, they’d ink another tally mark on my back. They liked to remind us operatives that every life we took belonged to Smith, that we belonged to Smith.”
Sofia looked so upset that D forced a chuckle. “Hey, the snake’s not so bad, is it? Abby says it makes me look like a badass.”
Her mouth twitched. “Yeah, I guess it does.” A thoughtful glint entered her eyes. “So, did you kill Hector el serpiente?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
“I cut off his head with a machete.”
Sofia gasped, her cheeks going pale. “Jesus Christ, Derek.”
“Hey, you asked.”
After a beat, she burst out laughing. “You’re right, I did. I guess that one’s on me.” Her expression went serious again. “Do you have any good memories? Did you have any moments in your life where you experienced actual joy? You know, one of those perfect moments where everything is right in the world, where your heart is so full it feels like it’s going to explode, and you’re so happy you can’t stop smiling?”
She sounded profoundly sad as she voiced the questions.
D thought it over, and a massive lump rose in his throat, obstructing his airway. “Not before tonight.”
She wrinkled her forehead. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. Tonight. Right now.” His voice sounded hoarse to his ears, like his throat was lined with gravel. “This is the first time everything in my world has felt right.”
And, Jesus Christ, that scared him.
So much he clamped his lips together, refusing to say another fucking word. Sofia Amaro was dangerous. She was too damn dangerous, and he couldn’t believe he was only recognizing that now. He should’ve heeded the warning signs the night he’d fucked her two months ago, the night he’d left the warmth of a woman’s body actually wanting more.
But he’d ignored those alarms. He’d ignored them, and now he was in bed with the woman. Caressing her. Talking to her. Revealing things he had no business revealing.
As if sensing that he was shutting down on her, Sofia slid off his lap, off his cock, and D almost wept from the loss.
“I had one of those perfect moments when I was seven,” she admitted, stretching out on her side next to him. She didn’t comment on the confession he’d just let slip, and he was grateful for that. “It was when my grandparents and I lived in New Mexico, before they got deported.”
When she trailed off, D broke his recently decided no-talking rule and asked, “What happened?”
“Nothing, really. My abuela packed a picnic lunch, and the three of us went to the park. It was the most gorgeous day. Clear and sunny and beautiful. My abuelo was pushing me on the swings, and everyone was looking at us.”
D turned his head to find her grinning.
“He had a lot of tattoos,” she explained. “Way more than you have. Full sleeves, all over his legs, even on the backs of his hands. People always looked at him funny when he walked by, but I didn’t see the ink. I saw the man. He was a really good man. And we had so much fun together, that day especially.”
Her tone grew wistful. “I just remember swinging higher and higher, feeling like a bird, free and happy and soaring, and every time I looked down, I would see my grandmother smiling at me from the picnic blanket and feel my grandfather’s hands on my back as he pushed me higher. Everything was right in the world that day.”
Something hot and unfamiliar traveled through D’s chest and settled in his heart. When he noticed Sofia’s expression collapsing, the warmth turned into a deep ache.
“I never understood why they didn’t take me back to Mexico with them when they got de
ported. They insisted I would have a better life in the States, but that was bullshit, Derek,” she said angrily. “How was moving around from house to house better than living in Mexico with people who actually loved me?”
He had no answer for that. He had no answers for anything, actually. Only questions. Lots of fucking questions.
How had he allowed Sofia Amaro to get under his skin like this?
And what the hell was he supposed to do now?
• • •
Liam was wrenched from sleep at four in the morning by a hard kick to the shin. He instantly went on the alert, his hand shooting for the end table where he’d left his gun, only to falter when he realized he wasn’t under attack.
The kick had come from Sullivan, who was lying next to him on the bed, arms and legs thrashing as he moaned in his sleep.
Sully was having a nightmare. A bad one, from the look and sound of it.
Liam hesitated, then touched the other man’s shoulder. He gave it a soothing squeeze, hoping the gesture would ease his friend.
It did the opposite.
Sullivan shot into a sitting position, and even in the darkness, Liam could see the sheer panic in his eyes. Sully’s fists flew up in a defensive posture, his breath coming out in sharp pants.
“Sully.” Liam slid up to his knees. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe.”
The other man whirled his head around. “Boston?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Everything’s cool, man. Just go back to sleep.”
The mattress started to vibrate as Sullivan broke out in wild shivers. “What are you doing in here?”
“I needed to sleep. You needed someone to watch over you.” He shrugged. “Decided to kill two birds with one stone.”
Sullivan gingerly lowered himself onto his back, but the shaking spell didn’t cease. His torso continued to shudder, his breathing shallow now. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck.”
Swallowing, Liam lay back down as well. After a moment of hesitation, he reached for his friend. “C’mere.”
Sully stiffened, then began trembling again, so hard that Liam forcibly yanked Sully toward him. Sully’s head fell against Liam’s chest, and then the man curled up next to him, both arms tucked toward his own chest as shivers rolled through him.
“I want it so bad I can taste it.”
Sully’s breath tickled Liam over the thin fabric of his T-shirt, and now Liam was shivering, too, because Sullivan’s body was like a block of ice.
This time he didn’t hesitate—he wrapped one arm around his friend’s broad shoulders and held him tight. A lump rose in his throat and his heart ached.
“I know,” Liam said softly. “But you’re going to get through it—I promise. You just need some good, old-fashioned detox. I’ll take you to a facility myself after the extraction.”
Sullivan’s voice was muffled against Liam’s right pec. “D is still on the island?”
“We think so.” He awkwardly smoothed his hand between Sully’s shoulder blades. “But you don’t need to worry about that, okay? Trevor is leading the op. The boys will bring D home safe.”
Silence stretched between them. Liam stared up at the ceiling, then moved his hand along Sully’s spine and cupped the back of the man’s head. Sullivan’s hair was soft beneath his palm, bringing a strange tightness to his chest. It felt so fucking strange holding another man like this.
“I’m not sorry I killed her.”
Sullivan’s anguished confession broke the silence.
“She deserved to die, Boston. She deserved it.”
He gulped. “Do you . . . ah . . . want to tell me what she did to you?”
“No.” The response was swift and empathic. “Don’t make me talk about her.”
He was quick to offer reassurance. “You don’t have to. You can tell me when you’re ready. Or don’t tell me at all. It’s fine.” He threaded his fingers through Sully’s hair. “Go back to sleep.”
“I . . . can’t.” His friend sounded tormented. “Every time I close my eyes, I think about that bloody cell. And her. And the cycles.”
Liam’s forehead creased. “The cycles?”
“That’s what Mendez called it.” Sullivan was barely audible now. “Cycles. I just finished the third one before I escaped. Three weeks of”—his voice cracked—“of the most incredible high you can ever imagine. Euphoria. So fucking perfect. And then they took it away. The high went away and everything hurt.”
Christ almighty, everything did hurt. Liam’s entire body was riddled with pain as he listened to his teammate’s description of what those bastards had put him through.
“And when I was hurting, they’d come in and wave it around, taunt me with it and say I could have some if I told them where D was. But I didn’t talk.” A note of pride rang in the bedroom. “Not one fucking word, Boston.”
Liam ran a hand over the nape of Sully’s neck, and his friend shivered in response. Just one shiver this time, not the incessant trembling from before.
“It would go on for a week. A whole week of agony.” A pause. “Have you ever gone through withdrawal?”
“No,” Liam said hoarsely.
“That’s torture. They could’ve sawed my bloody arm off and it wouldn’t have come close to the pain of not having a fix.” Sullivan shifted, his cheek sliding over Liam’s shoulder before settling on his pec again. “But I wouldn’t talk, and then the next cycle would start. That high . . . That bloody high . . .” He groaned again. “I can’t talk about it anymore. I want it too much.”
Liam kept his gaze on the ceiling. Shadows danced across it, thanks to the sliver of moonlight coming in from the crack between the curtains.
“You talk,” Sullivan ordered. “I want to hear you talk. Tell me what’s been going on.”
“With what?”
“With anything. Everyone. Did Abby have the baby?”
“Yeah, she did.” Liam smiled in the darkness. “Jasper Jeremy Sinclair Woodland. Mouthful, huh?”
“Jeremy . . . after her foster father?”
“I think so. And Jasper was the name of Kane’s grandfather. His mother insisted on it, and Kane and Abby caved. Abby said it was better than arguing with Kane’s mom.”
Sullivan’s weak laughter heated Liam’s collarbone. “What else have I missed?”
He thought it over. “Ethan and Juliet got married a couple months ago. And Luke and Olivia set a date for their wedding—June, I think. Isabel caught baby fever after Abby had Jasper, and Trevor says he’s planning on knocking her up soon. Cate turned nineteen.”
“Huh, she’s almost legal now. I bet the rookie’s happy about that.”
“Naah. Ash knows he can’t touch her without losing a hand, or worse. The boss would kill him.”
“What about you?” Sullivan asked abruptly. “What have you been up to?”
Liam took a breath. “Looking for you.”
Sully froze. “That’s it? Six months have gone by and that’s all you’ve done, mate?”
“Yes.”
Tension thickened the air, and it was so suffocating that Liam quickly lightened the mood. “My family’s on my ass again,” he admitted.
“Yeah? What’s the Macgregor clan upset about now?”
“My ma’s ragging on me about not coming home. She’s harassing me about Robbie’s baptism—Robbie’s my new nephew. My sister Maggie had another kid.” He fought a rush of guilt. “When Ma said Robbie’s name, I honestly couldn’t remember which of my sisters he belonged to. I swear, my sisters and my brother’s wives pop out rugrats every other day. It’s like the apocalypse hit and they’re trying to repopulate the earth.”
Sullivan laughed again, low and husky.
Christ, Liam had missed the sound of his friend’s laughter. He’d missed his friend, period.
“They love you.” Sully sounded sad. “You should go home more often.”
“Yeah. I guess.” Except he hated going home. His family was pure chaos. Liam had seven siblings, and he was
in the middle of the age lineup. Not the oldest, not the youngest, just the forgotten fifth child. And when his folks did remember he existed, all he ever got was their disappointment and their disapproval, because he’d chosen a life of action instead of stability and family.
He had two brothers and five sisters, all married with children, and he was the odd duck. Always had been, and probably always would be.
Liam could only imagine what they’d say, what they’d think, if they saw him right now. Lying in bed, holding another man.
Christ. His relationship with Sullivan Port messed with his head. It wrecked him. He had no idea what he felt anymore, what he wanted, but deep down he knew that Sullivan was right. Their friendship was too important to destroy over something as trivial as sex, especially when Liam didn’t know if he even wanted the sex. Sullivan might be bisexual, but Liam had always considered himself straight. Or at least he’d used to.
Now, who the fuck knew?
As tension continued to roil in his gut, he realized that Sully’s breathing had steadied. He’d fallen asleep. Liam supposed he could have moved his arms, released his friend’s body.
But he just held on tighter.
Chapter 23
Sofia found herself alone in bed when she opened her eyes the next morning. For a moment, she experienced a burst of panic, only to relax when she spotted D in the kitchenette. He was leaning against the small counter, gripping the cheap plastic motel phone in one hand and holding the handset to his ear with the other.
He was also naked as the day he was born.
Her breasts grew achy as she admired the smooth musculature of his towering frame. Every inch of him was hard, sinewy, masculine. And his face . . . God, for some reason it looked even more gorgeous to her this morning.
Maybe because she’d spent the entire night in his arms? Or because that perfectly chiseled face had gazed down on her with tenderness she never could’ve imagined while he’d moved inside her?
Something had changed between them last night. They were making progress. Real, honest-to-God progress. He’d opened up to her more than he ever had before. He’d held her in his arms. He’d made love to her with his mouth and his hands and his cock. Made love, not fucked. Fucking had left the equation when they’d had sex in the cell, and Sofia was well aware of that.