Hell Hath No Fury

by RC Boldt

  Kate snickers. “Poor thing.” She sits up, tugging her sweater in place. Her hair is slightly mussed, but it doesn’t detract from her looks. Peering up at me from where she sits on the area rug, she tosses a glance around the place, and I know what she’s going to say even before the words are out.

  “You’ve really done a lot with this place.”

  I narrow my eyes on her. “Smart-ass.” Then I take a drink of my beer to mask my amusement. “Won’t be here for long, so it makes sense not to get too attached to it.”

  Even behind the glasses, those green eyes gleam with understanding. “I get it.” Her words are so softly spoken I have to strain to hear them.

  “I would say we could watch a movie, but…”

  “But you don’t have a TV,” she finishes for me.

  I’m grateful she doesn’t pursue the topic and suggest we watch something on my laptop.

  “Can I be honest with you?” Kate’s question catches me off guard. She picks at the edges of the frayed area rug, courtesy of Kujo’s nails that always seem to need trimming, and I get the sense she’s purposely avoiding my eyes.

  Every muscle in my body tenses as my instincts immediately go on high alert, and I carefully set my beer down on the small counter. My fingers tingle, preparing to draw my weapon. “Sure.” My voice is deceptively calm.

  Kate exhales slowly. “I wouldn’t mind…kissing you again.” Her eyes lock with mine, and the uncertainty lurking in the depths has the tension quickly ebbing from me.

  I hold her gaze. “Is that all you want?”

  I need to know, and not because I’ll be pissed if we only have a replay of the other night. It was hot as fuck having her come apart on my fingers. I want to know how far she sees this going so I don’t inadvertently push her past her comfort level.

  I might be a lot of things, but what I’m not, nor have I ever been, is a disrespectful asshole when it comes to women.

  Kate rises from the floor. Vulnerability cloaks her, and when she speaks, her words are delivered in a delicate, muted tone. “I haven’t done any of this in a long time.”

  “I’m good with only kissing.” I silently plead with her to believe me.

  She approaches, drawing to a stop in front of me, and goddamn, I love that she’s tall. About two inches shorter than my six feet. I recall how we fit together damn near perfectly that night in the alley.

  Her gaze is searching, but I’m not sure what she’s looking for. Settling a palm against the hard wall of my chest, she whispers, “I’d like to start with kissing and go from there.” Green eyes hold me captive when she adds, “Because I never got to finish what I started the other night.”

  My fingers encircle her wrist with a suddenness that catches her off guard, and her eyes go wide. Tugging her body flush with mine, I slip my other hand to the back of her head and steer her lips to mine.

  “Then let’s start now.”

  30

  Kate

  “Then let’s start now.”

  No sooner does he say those words in that gravelly tone of his than his mouth fuses to mine in a blistering-hot kiss that puts the ones from the other night to shame. It’s like he was holding himself back, and now I get all of him.

  I link my arms around his neck and slide my fingertips beneath the soft fabric of his beanie only to freeze at discovering smooth skin. Backing away a fraction, I find his dark eyes watching me intently.

  “Disappointed?”

  I gently remove it from his head and toss it on a nearby chair, my eyes drinking him in as I skim my fingertips along his head. “You shave it?”

  “Yeah.”

  My mouth curves up because he looks almost boyish, watching me the way he does. As if he’s worried I’ll change my mind based on his lack of hair. I lean forward and speak against his lips. “Guess this means I don’t need to worry about you offering up styling tips, huh?”

  It’s small, barely audible, and I feel it rather than hear it, but Hunter actually laughs. Smiling against his mouth, I draw his bottom lip between my teeth and tug gently before releasing it and soothing it with my tongue.

  Suddenly, I’m hoisted up, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist as he walks us over to his bedroom, where there’s a double bed with no headboard. Simple and no frills, like everything else.

  “Won’t be here for long, so it makes sense not to get too attached to it.”

  I didn’t press him for more because I can’t reciprocate. I can’t afford to divulge anything more about myself. Not only would it be a major risk to me, but it could also endanger him.

  Tonight. Only for tonight will I let myself indulge in the man who’s made my body feel alive for the first time in years.

  He stops at the side of the bed and sets me on my feet. His hands move to the hem of my turtleneck sweater, but they linger, an unspoken question in the non-action. In response, I raise my arms, and he lifts the fabric up and over my head, tossing it to the floor. My bra soon follows, and I freeze when one of his hands glides along the side of my neck where a part of my tattoo extends.

  “It’s beautiful.” His voice is low and silky. Sincere. The appreciation is evident in the way his eyes slowly trace over my inked skin. “I’ve never seen one quite like this before,” he murmurs, his dark eyes lifting to mine, questions brimming in the depths.

  I swallow hard because, in truth, I’d wanted to cover up the area where I’d been shot years ago. To have something beautiful mask the marring of my flesh. The flower petals, vibrant hues of red and purple, spread along the curve of my neck and shoulder, over top what served as an ugly reminder of the day my entire world had imploded, and I’d lost everything I’d ever loved.

  As if detecting my discomfort, he tears his gaze from my tattoo, eyes drifting over my breasts with more appreciation than I expect since I’ve always been smaller-chested. For a split second, I inwardly cringe because he’s probably used to women with much bigger breasts and—

  “Don’t.” The short, lethally stern delivery of the word has my eyes snapping up to his. “You’re fucking perfect.”

  His large hands cup my breasts, and I instinctively arch, pressing my nipples into his palms. Those dark eyes churn with laden heat, and he grazes his thumbs over each hardened peak. “So fucking perfect.” His words are gravelly as he swipes them again with the calloused pads. It’s as though he’s addressing himself when he adds in a softer tone, “Better than I imagined.”

  Then his eyes drift lower to focus on the one area I can’t afford him to ask me about.

  Tensing, I clench my fingers tight, barely restraining a tremor that threatens to wrack my body as he drops one hand to smooth a finger over my most recently healed wound that Doc had helped me patch up. His eyes lock with mine, and curiosity swirls in the depths. “That looks like it hurt.”

  “It did,” I manage to say softly. Averting my gaze to his lips, I cover his hand with my own, desperate for that not to be his sole focus, and guide it to join the other palm still cupping my breast.

  His eyes drift back to the scar along my side, his features clouding slightly, and I tense. “I’m pissed as hell at whatever caused it.”

  Please don’t ask. Please. Just kiss me and help me forget.

  Thankfully, he heeds my internal pleading, lowering his head and capturing my lips in a kiss so tender that my breath lodges in my chest. His thumb and forefinger tug my nipples with the exact amount of pressure that has wetness pooling between my thighs.

  When Hunter’s mouth trails across my cheek and along the column of my neck leading to my breasts, I fist the fabric of his shirt. An overwhelming ache radiates between my thighs, and I desperately need his mouth on me.

  “Hunter,” I whisper, unable to translate the staggering carnal hunger I’m experiencing into words. Frantic need courses through me, rendering me desperate for more of his touch.

  He speaks against the upper slope of my breast. “I know.”

  His hot breath fans against my ski
n seconds before he captures one nipple between his soft lips, sucking it deep into the hot, wet confines of his mouth. I gasp his name, impatiently tugging at his shirt. When he releases my nipple to flick his tongue against the hardened peak, it sends a surge of wetness to my core. My fingers fumble with his shirt buttons before giving up and dropping down to his pants.

  With a disgruntled sound, he leans back from me. “Wait.” Straightening, he unfastens his belt before removing his concealed holster on one hip. Setting it on the small table beside the bed that holds only a pad of paper and a pen, he then removes another holstered gun from the back of his belt.

  Once those are on the table, his fingers move with impressively nimble speed along the front of the button-down shirt, and once he unfastens the buttons at his wrists and parts the fabric to reveal his upper body, I’m rendered speechless.

  My palms hover between us, inches away from touching his bare torso, but I hold back because of what I see. Not because I’m horrified but because maybe, just maybe, this man knows what it’s like to feel indescribable agony.

  “It’s not pretty, I know.” Hunter’s words sound forced.

  Those dark eyes hold mine, searching, and I hope he detects nothing close to pity, because that’s not what this is. He’s a man whose body has been through hell. Riddled with bullet wounds and other painful-looking scars, his body is a testament to what he’s endured.

  Most of all, I don’t dare ask what kind of life he’s led to leave his body ravaged with the remnants of trials he’s faced. Just as he granted me a reprieve from explaining my scar, I offer him the same in return.

  I lift my eyes to his. “Can I…” I bite my bottom lip nervously. “Touch you?”

  When he doesn’t respond, I curl my fingers into my palms, ready to drop them at my sides. His hands dart out to snag my wrists, eyes holding mine captive as he slowly places my palms flat against his battered flesh. As soon as my hands settle over his hard pectorals, the heel of one palm grazing over a nipple that looks like a knife dragged across the areola, gouging a ragged path in the skin, his eyes fall closed.

  I take advantage of the moment to smooth my palms gently, carefully, along the cuts and curves of his skin, along the indentations from old wounds, but my gaze is drawn to his face. Now, with his eyes closed, I’m given the opportunity to look my fill, to trace over his features in the soft light of the room. I’m able to study the tense way he holds himself, the clenching of his jaw, and the thinness of his lips as he appears to brace himself for whatever may come next.

  With my palms never breaking contact with his torso, I lift to my toes and press my mouth to his. His hands instantly frame my face, and he angles my head, deepening the kiss.

  When his mouth drifts to feather kisses along my jawline, I reach for his pants, but he stops me, cinching my wrists in his hold. He eases away a fraction, eyes glittering with lust. His voice is husky, low, and holds a tinge of self-deprecation when he admits, “Barely holding on here. If you put your hands on me now…”

  Releasing his hold of me, he takes a step back, discarding his pants and working on shedding his boxer briefs, socks, and shoes. My body already aching from being deprived of his touch, I quickly remove my boots before peeling off the remainder of my clothing in one fell swoop. My body is on fire for this man, and I can’t bear for anything to deter me from what’s to come.

  Leaving my clothing in a heap, I deposit my glasses on the bedside table beside his weapons. Hunter’s palms lightly grip my hips to guide me back on the bed. Easing on top of me, he braces his forearms on either side of my head, and his expression sends something foreign slinking deep inside a long-forgotten crevice of my heart.

  “Kate.” It’s only one simple word—a shortened version of my name—yet it holds a wealth of meaning. He’s asking for my permission. Though I may have completely lost my mind to allow myself a reprieve from my own rules, I want him. I want him inside me, setting me free, even if it’s only briefly.

  I don’t respond. Instead, I reach between us and boldly grasp his cock, dragging the broad head through my wet folds. His shoulders tense, his eyes close briefly, and it’s clear to see the power I have over him. When I use the flared head to nudge my folds aside and circle my clit, my gasp mingles with his sharp intake of breath.

  “Fuck, Kate.” His eyes flash open, and the heated lust in the depths nearly singes me. But there’s something else lingering there that gives me pause.

  Hesitation.

  I still my movements, his cock hovering right at my entrance. “What’s wrong?”

  Every muscle in my body tenses. He’s married. Or engaged. That’s what he’s about to tell me. Goddammit, I knew this was a mistake.

  “I don’t have any condoms.”

  My lips part, only to snap shut. That was...not what I was expecting.

  His brows furrow, a fierce crease forming between them. “What’d you think I was going to say?”

  “Nothing.” I say the word quickly.

  Some of the fierceness ebbs from his features. “You’re a shit liar.”

  I can’t help but think, God, I hope not.

  “I’m clean, and I can show you the—”

  “I am, too,” I rush out. “I have an IUD, but I haven’t been with anyone in…” I trail off, averting my gaze, before finishing in a whisper as a flush spreads across my cheeks. “Years.”

  And, if I’m being honest, it doesn’t matter if he’s clean or not. I’m not delusional enough to believe I’ll survive the end of my mission once it’s all said and done. I’ve been prepared for death all along.

  But this, right here, with Hunter is my single full-fledged indulgence.

  One of his fingers nudges my chin up, urging me to meet his eyes. “Neither have I.”

  A humorless smirk tugs at my lips, a hint of sadness edging its way into my words. “We’re kind of an anomaly, you know.”

  “Yeah,” he whispers. Ducking his head, he dusts a kiss to my lips that’s far more tender than I expect. “But I think I’m beginning to like anomalies.”

  Tension ebbs from my body, and when he guides the head of his cock to my entrance, nudging ever so gently inside the barest fraction before retreating, something drags the softly spoken words from me. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  I nearly cringe once they’re out, hanging awkwardly between us, but I can’t deny the reason behind them. There’s something niggling my subconscious that tells me Hunter has the capability of hurting me. Not physically—although his body is proof that he keeps himself in top shape—but emotionally.

  That connection that’s drawn me to him from the start seems to grow exponentially stronger by the minute, and it’s as terrifying as it is undeniable.

  Thankfully, he interprets my words at face value. “I’d never hurt you.” He presses a gentle kiss to my lips. When I nip at his bottom lip and a faint shudder rolls through him, it urges me on, and I deepen the kiss. The way his tongue seeks my own sends decadent shivers skittering throughout my body. I spread my legs wider in silent encouragement and wrap my fingers around the thickness of his arousal.

  His hand wraps around mine as we guide his cock inside, my breaths turning to harsh pants. Inch by inch, his thickness sinks in, and I suck in a sharp breath at the sensation of his bare flesh pushing inside, sending a shiver rippling through me. His eyes snap up from where he was watching our hands, watching as he eases in deeper, and he freezes.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No.” My breathless answer isn’t very convincing, so I reach up with my other hand to trace my fingertips along his jaw. “It’s so good it took my breath away.”

  He studies me for a beat, eyes canvassing my features before his expression softens and an almost boyish smugness edges its way in. “Yeah?”

  I nod. “Oh, yeah.”

  “So, maybe I should do this?” He nudges in deeper, his expression tightening, jaw tensing as he takes control. “Watch us.” He waits until I lower my eyes to where w
e’re joined. He’s not all the way inside me yet, but our hands are still together, wrapped around the base of his thick shaft. Something about that sends another surge of arousal directly to my core.

  His eyes pinch closed briefly, and he looks like he’s in pain. “Kate.”

  “What did I do?”

  He exhales slowly before telling me with hooded eyes, “You got so fucking wet just then.” His jaw tics. “I can’t wait to sink all the way inside you, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

  I relinquish my hold on him to grip his firm ass instead, urging him deeper. “Please. I need you to fuck me, Hunter.”

  His nostrils flare a split second before he takes my mouth in a near-punishing kiss. Then he presses in deeper, stretching me until he’s fully seated.

  Tearing my lips from his, I hiss, “You need to move.”

  “Don’t want to hurt you.” The way he forces the words out shows me that he’s barely hanging on to control.

  “Hunter.” He peers down at me in question a second before I hook my leg around his and push my palms against his chest, guiding him onto his back with me astride him.

  His eyes flare with heat, and a faint flicker of something else lingers in the depths, but it vanishes a second before his fingers dig into my flesh, gripping my hips. Dark gaze tracing over my breasts and down my flat stomach, it draws to a stop at where I’m spread with his hard shaft buried inside me.

  “I don’t want you to hold back.” My eyes beg him to give in. To let go and give me what I want—what I need from him.

  His fingers tighten their hold on me before he rolls his hips on an upward thrust. The cords along the side of his neck strain, and a few thick veins stand out in his arms as he grips me tight. With my palms splayed flat against his chest, I barely restrain my moan with each of his driving thrusts.

  “You don’t get to hold back either.” His raspy voice sounds like it’s being torn from him.