Dangerous Games (Aegis Group, #3)

by Sidney Bristol

  “Fuck.” How to tell a nice, sweet girl that he was bad news for her?

  Andrea’s hand slid past the waistband of his boxers, her fingers grazing his shaft. Her touch was tentative, unsure and hot as hell. What would she do if he didn’t stop her? He gritted his teeth and waited, holding still while she traced the length of his cock and wrapped her hand around his girth. Her first stroke was a little too tight, but oh so good. For once, it wasn’t his own hand.

  Zain wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand from his shorts. He turned in her hold and found her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue past her lips. She cupped his face, leaning into the kiss, eroding any sense of control he thought he’d had.

  He grasped the hem of her shirt and she hauled it up over her head, leaving her in nothing but a pair of panties. The dim light was enough to make out the full curve of her breasts and the softness of her body. Her nipples were stiff, hard peaks pointed straight at him.

  She leaned back and tossed the shirt over the side of the bed. He bent, licking one breast, hungry to taste her. To touch all of her. She wrapped one arm around his neck, her fingers pushing into his hair. The little pants and gasps that escaped her lips were dead sexy.

  He was a dirty old bastard and right now, he couldn’t be bothered to care.

  Andrea arched her back, her breasts offered up like a feast.

  Zain pushed his hand between them, cupping her mound. She shifted, lifting her hips, pressing into his hand. He hooked his thumb under the fabric between her legs, pulling it aside, and touched her folds. She sucked in a breath.

  He had to be gentle. He had to be careful. He couldn’t just take what he wanted.

  One finger. He started with a single digit, and pressed it to her. He slid in easily, her channel slick with arousal, her hips shifting, drawing him in deeper.

  “Fuck,” he muttered between her breasts.

  He added another finger, pumping in and out as she gripped his shoulders.

  If he were a better man, he’d draw the foreplay out, tease her, say soft things, but he was none of that. Not now when he needed to be reminded that he was alive. That he was here. With her.

  “Stay right here.” He pulled his fingers from her and kissed her neck.

  His cousin, Mason, had thought it funny to shove a strip of condoms in his bag. Zain would have to remember to thank him.

  He stood and went straight to the closet. The condoms were right where he’d left them—at the bottom of the bag. A bit crumpled, but no worse for wear. He ripped off a single packet and turned to the bed.

  Andrea lay on her back, one leg over the side, the other drawn up. The panties on the floor.

  This was a moment he’d remember. One he’d recall later, as the second the nightmares turned to something better. More pleasurable.

  He forced himself to walk back to the bed instead of sprint and pounce. She watched his every step, the light catching in her eyes, shadows stretching over her body.

  She was beautiful.

  He should tell her that.

  But his lips couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak past the need driving him to be in her. To be with her, instead of the memories.

  Zain tossed the condom on the bed and hooked his thumb in the waistband of his shorts, drawing them down. Andrea grabbed the packet, tearing it open carefully, her gaze darting to him every few seconds. He kicked his clothes aside as she sat up.

  She pulled the condom out and reached for him, her intent clear. He fisted his hand at his side, fighting against the knee jerk reaction to take over. To allow her this.

  Andrea bit her lower lip as she carefully rolled the condom on. As though she weren’t sure of her actions.

  A fucking innocent.

  And his client. But he couldn’t think about that right now. If he did, he’d be out the door, buck ass naked because this was wrong on so many levels. Tomorrow could be for regrets, now was for pleasure. He’d make sure she came.

  He stroked his hand down his dick, satisfied the condom was in place. She looked up at him, her face hidden by his shadow.

  Zain bent, kissing her because he needed to drink her in, because he needed to feel that connection. To be alive. He urged her back onto the bed, until she lay down and he stood over her, nothing between them but air and latex.

  “I’m not good at the soft stuff,” he said.

  She nodded. Did she realize what he was saying?

  He couldn’t find the words to express himself any other way.

  He grasped his cock and guided it to her, notching the head against her. He hooked his arm under her knee, hoisting it up until he could plant his hand on the bed at her hip and leaned into her, flexing his hips. Inch by inch, he sank into the warm embrace of her body. Her mouth opened, lips working silently, the tendons on either side of her neck standing out in stark relief. He watched, enraptured by the minute way her facial expressions changed.

  Zain eased out, then in again, working his length into her body. She gripped his forearm with one hand, the other fisted the sheets, and her eyes stayed on his. When she stared at him it felt as though she saw more than he wanted her to. Like she could stare into his soul.

  He thrust again, sinking balls deep into her and stilled, catching his breath. Their bodies fit together perfectly. Her softness cradling his hardness. Two dissimilar forms caught in a single, unified act.

  He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

  She tipped her chin up, her wild hair spread out. Her lower lip was damp, swollen, probably from where she’d bitten it.

  Her internal muscles squeezed him, her tight body adjusting to him. Damn, but she felt good.

  Did she know how amazing she was?

  He needed to tell her, to say something, but words were beyond him in that moment.

  Zain ducked his head, stealing a kiss from her panting lips, licking his tongue across her swollen flesh. She curled her hand around the back of his neck and her lower body shifted, her hips lifting, grinding their sexes together. He groaned into her mouth, the urge to pound into her driving him.

  He reared up, back and thrust, the bed squeaking under the force of their joining. She gasped and her nails dug into his forearm. The light lay across her face, leaving nothing to the imagination. He held tight to that tether, staring deep into her eyes.

  Again and again, he thrust. The bedsprings protested the loudest, but nothing could break the invisible string binding them together, wrapping around this moment. It went deeper than penetration, more than just his cock in her pussy. He felt her inside of him on an elemental level. As if she belonged there, chasing away his demons.

  But that was silly. This was sex. It was a fucking good time. And it wasn’t. It was more, maybe just for him, but it was.

  Her breasts moved, bouncing in time, distracting him. Later, he’d spend hours between them, lavishing as much appreciation for her soft curves as he could. She arched her back and her eyelids lowered. Just looking at her like that—he had to stop or he’d come way too early.

  “Come on me,” he said.

  She shook her head, her lids drooping. She lifted up, meeting his thrust, stroking his dick in just the right way, setting off a chain reaction he couldn’t stop, no matter that he wanted to.

  “Andrea!”

  There was no stopping the orgasm. It swept through him, up from his toes, taking everything he had. He thrust, his motions rougher. Her eyes widened and her grip on his arm tightened. The pleasure was raw, drawing from deep within himself, leaving him ragged and gasping.

  Zain eased her leg down and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He wrapped his arm around her waist, half dragging them both farther onto the bed before letting the momentary exhaustion win and hanging onto her.

  “You didn’t come.”

  “It’s okay.” She pillowed her head on his shoulder, still breathing hard.

  No, it really wasn’t. It was the one thing he’d promised himself, the one good thing
he could give her. And he hadn’t delivered.

  8.

  Andrea pressed a hand to her head, partially to ensure it was still there.

  Talk about more than she’d bargained for.

  She didn’t even care that she hadn’t come. This—with him—was still the best sex of her life, hands down. Who knew doing it with the lights on made it better? And here she’d been super proud of herself just for putting a condom on the right way.

  “What are you doing?” She pried one eye open.

  Zain was wrestling with the sheet, tossing the blanket onto the floor. She was too spent to care what went where, really, and she hadn’t even had to do anything. How the hell was he still moving after that? He really was superhuman.

  Her whole body buzzed. A sensual warmth suffused her every pore. She’d never felt this—sexy. Maybe it was because Zain was hot as hell, and a bit of it rubbed off on her. Whatever it was, she could do with more of it.

  “Will you stop?” She reached for him, exhausted by his constant movement.

  He grabbed her knee and pulled her to the edge of the bed. She squawked, a totally unsexy sound, and gripped the sheets under her so he wouldn’t pull her off into the floor.

  “Zain!”

  He grinned, kneeling on the carpet next to the bed.

  What the hell was he up to?

  She couldn’t brain. Her think wasn’t turned on.

  Why was he on the ground?

  Zain wedged her legs apart with her shoulders. She didn’t have a moment to be conscious of her nudity. It was one thing, after all, to be exposed thanks to fliers, and another thing to have sex with someone and still something else to be up close and pussy with a person.

  Wait, was he—?

  Her gasp turned into a groan as Zain plunged his fingers into her sex. His tongue licked her most sensitive spot. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she tipped her chin up, her hands searching for something warm and masculine to hold onto.

  “OhMyGod. OhMyGod!” She’d never uttered a word during sex before, but suddenly she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

  He did a thing with his fingers. She didn’t know what to call it or the spot. Her vocabulary was sorely lacking the necessary verbiage. He rubbed a spot deep inside her, causing her to shudder from head to toe. She clenched her thighs on his shoulders and shifted her hips, seeking more of that kind of touch.

  “Oh. Oooh!”

  She reached down and grabbed hold of his hair, grasping the short strands to anchor herself to something tangible. He’d shrugged her thigh over his shoulder at some point. She lifted, pressing closer to him in a completely hedonistic act, a devotee to his mouth and those fingers.

  “OhMyGod. Ooooh my...”

  Andrea felt the rush of blood, the near crazy explosion of pleasure cresting, carrying her over some never-explored precipice. She’d had orgasms before, but never whole-body, toe-curling, make-me-scream orgasms. Of course, she didn’t actually have the breath to scream. Instead, she clung to Zain as bursts of light went off behind her eyelids, her toes curled, and magic happened.

  Her body was tingly and spent. Her limbs weighed too much for her weak muscles to move. She shivered as aftershocks shook her body. Zain kissed her thigh, her hip. He was...tender, which was unexpected. There was a lot about him that surprised her, not that she was complaining.

  Zain pushed to his feet, a rather pleased-with-himself grin on his face. He hooked his arm under her legs and tucked her back onto the bed. He kissed her brow and said something to her she interpreted only as, words more words and words.

  He stared at her, as if she should respond or something.

  “What?” She blinked at him. Didn’t the man know he’d just performed a miracle? Couldn’t he lie down and be a normal man for a moment while she pulled herself together?

  “The bathroom?” He tilted his head to the side, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

  “What about it?”

  “Do you want to use it first?”

  “I can’t move.”

  “I’ll go first then.” He chuckled.

  She let gravity help her in turning her head so she could appreciate the sight of his tight, toned ass walking away from her.

  Holy Hand Grenades of Antioch. Could they do that again tomorrow?

  Kevin rolled over and groped blindly for his phone. The damn alarm was screaming at him loud enough to split his skull. At least today the phone was charged and ready to go.

  Yesterday, the wall socket closest to the bed had shorted out, leaving him scrambling to get up and make it to the convention in time. It was a huge hassle to stay almost fifteen miles from the comic con hotel in this dump. He totally agreed that staying out of sight and off the hotel’s radar was important, but this rat trap was pushing it on the disgusting meter. Unfortunately, vacancy was an issue all over the city. There just wasn’t room anywhere.

  The truth was, this hell hole reminded him far too much of the one bedroom purgatory he’d lived in when he was younger and his parents were alive. Before he’d killed them. His mother used to lock him in the postage stamp sized closets and—no.

  That was then.

  They were gone.

  He’d ensured that a long time ago, and if he needed to remind himself, he could go dig up their bones. He hadn’t done that in a couple years. Maybe it was time for an up close and personal hello.

  Kevin rolled to his back and stared up at the popcorn ceiling.

  For all its grime and dirt, there were no water stains, no leaks.

  This wasn’t purgatory.

  He’d fought his way out of there and taken his life back. Thanks to Speckles. He owed his friend so much more than this job. Kevin owed Speckles his life.

  Rain splattered against the window. He turned his head toward the curtains and let the memories wash over him.

  He’d been out of juvie. His mother was on a bender, his dad was high. There was nothing to eat, the toilets were stopped up and he’d gone to hang with Speckles. He’d taken one look at the homemade sling binding Kevin’s arm and blew up. Speckles might have been a small kid, but he’d had a temper.

  That night, Speckles had uttered the words that would change Kevin’s life.

  They should die.

  And they had.

  Just not that night.

  Speckles had freed him, and for that, Kevin would always be in his debt.

  He checked the time.

  Four new messages icons waited for him, each from different accounts. A quick glance showed him that everything was running smoothly. Their plans were in operation. Now, all he had to do was get to the church on time.

  This job was almost too easy.

  “I’m late!”

  Zain opened his eyes just in time to get the comforter tossed over his face and a knee in his thigh. He grunted and shifted out of the way to avoid being trampled. The bed bounced and footsteps thumped the floor.

  He peered out at the clock from under the pile and caught a glimpse of Andrea’s naked backside before she darted into the bathroom.

  How the hell had he slept past eight? It was after nine, for Christ’s sakes.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t remember what Andrea might be late to, but judging by the notes of high alarm, he figured there wasn’t time for a shower or anything else before she had to report somewhere for something. He checked his phone briefly, noting there was nothing that appeared urgent or relevant to his day, and pushed to his feet.

  He stepped on something soft and foreign.

  Zain glanced down at Andrea’s panties, still where she’d dropped them.

  Last night was a blur. A dream. An aberration, at the very least.

  He picked up the underwear, running his thumb over the pale lace edge. If he concentrated, he could still remember the sound of her voice, the way her body had gripped him, how it’d been to be inside her.

  There was no question whether or not he’d stepped over a line. He had. But he didn’t feel any gu
ilt about it. And that was a problem. He was in the wrong. Period. End of story.

  Zain tapped on the bathroom door.

  “You might want these,” he said.

  The door opened a crack, Andrea snatched the panties and closed the door with a thud. He thought he heard a mumbled, “Thanks,” in there, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Right. He needed to get his act together, figure out where the hell she—they—were going this morning and when he’d have time to make a call. Luke should be coming off a gig any day now. The Idris Elba look-a-like was a smooth operator, and good at protective detail work. Not who Zain wanted to guard Andrea, but he was someone who’d follow orders to the letter. Zain could at least trust Luke to keep it in his pants if told to.

  In short order, Zain was dressed in plain clothes, going for subtle and inconspicuous over the more thematic cosplay outfit he’d brought for the day. Who’d have thought he’d show up at a comic con and wind up working instead? It was a strange, weird world but in a way, it made sense. Some cosmic force had to have been watching out for Andrea to put them on a collision course.

  “Andrea, you about ready?” he tilted his head to the side. Nine-twenty. Wherever they were supposed to be, chances were they were really late now.

  “Yes.” Her voice was too high, too thin. She opened the door and stepped out in the same clothes from last night, her hair up in a loose knot on top of her head. She looked...good enough to eat. Again.

  “I don’t have anything else to wear and I look like shit.” She pulled the hem of the tank top down, then when her breasts attempted to escape, she yanked it back up.

  “You don’t look like shit.” Granted, he was biased.

  Andrea rolled her eyes.

  “I have no make-up. I’m wearing the same clothes from last night. I’m a mess and everyone is going to know it.”

  He could argue with her...or he could offer solutions.

  “Can Miranda bring you something else to wear?”

  “Yeah, but she’s not answering her phone. Do you—can I borrow a hoodie or something?” She fidgeted and spoke in a rush.

  Was there something to be embarrassed about? He couldn’t parse out what there was to be awkward over. Unless she had regrets about last night.