She opened her lips wide to the bold press of his tongue. But no matter how hard he pulled her against him or how strongly she grasped him to her, it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t close enough. He wanted to dissolve into her softness and warmth. Wanted to lose himself in her completely. And, holy crow, he couldn’t recall anything ever being this hot. This fast. This…crazy.
He knew the bargain she’d struck with him was doomed. Once wasn’t going to be enough. Not nearly enough. But he’d have to think about that, deal with that, later. For now? There was Delilah. Delilah with her warm, lush breasts. Delilah with her fast, feverish kisses. Delilah with her tempestuous, demanding hands…
She pulled his T-shirt over his head and flung it aside, her breath catching at the back of her throat as her eyes drank him in. And that look right there was enough to make a man think he could leap tall buildings in a single bound.
“Holy crap,” she whispered almost reverently as she ran her hands over his chest, gently tracing the Texas tattoo over his heart. Then her fingers slid down his belly, causing his muscles to quiver and clench beneath her fingers. Delilah didn’t have smooth, delicate hands. No. They were firm, slightly rough. The hands of a woman who’d spent her life twisting off bottle tops and washing pint glasses behind a bar. But the rest of her… Dear Lord, the rest of her was ungodly soft. “You’re beautiful, Mac.”
His lips quirked as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her pink, satin panties, the fabric silky against his fingers. He pulled back just enough to slide them down her long, lovely legs, past her delicate, red-tipped toes.
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” he asked.
Her eyes were impossibly green when she met and held his gaze. Then she grinned, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, and he was totally dunzo.
Because she was temptation personified. Everything female and wonderful all packaged up and presented in one darling woman. From the gentle slope of her shoulders to the plump thrust of her breasts, from her small waist to the dramatic flare of her hips, she was femininity. Even her goddamned bellybutton looked girlish. Small and oval and begging for the dip of a man’s tongue. His tongue.
“Does this hurt?” she whispered, pressing a soft finger to the fresh bandage over his stitches.
“Darlin’,” he said, rubbing a hand over her hip, moving it around so he could palm her ass and pull her against him. And now, oh, she was really hot. Her wet channel riding the distended ridge of his fly. “Right now, I don’t feel anything but you.”
“Mmm,” she said, bending forward to flick her wicked tongue over his Texas tattoo, then lower, to his nipple. “That’s a really good answer.”
Little Mac jumped with every dart of her tongue, every tug of her lips, and he couldn’t stand it a second longer. Bending to open the middle drawer on the dresser, just a bit, just enough to create a tiny ledge, he placed her heels atop it. Putting his hand on the insides of her knees, he moved back slightly so he could see her, watch her as he spread her thighs wide.
And talk about femininity. There was the heart of her. Right there. Right in front of his face. She was flushed and pink. Ripe and swollen. Her small patch of pubic hair was auburn, shaved into a tiny triangle just above the entrance to the wet, warm wonder of her center. He couldn’t see her clitoris, but he knew when he brushed his thumb up her silky channel, he’d find it distended, throbbing.
He dragged in a shuddering breath, and the smell of her, the smell of desire and sex and woman filled his nose, causing saliva to pool in his mouth, hot and heavy, causing his balls to pull tight against his body.
He glanced at her then, gauging her mood. Was she embarrassed by his blatant study? Some women didn’t understand or appreciate the beauty of their bodies, their sex in particular.
But he shouldn’t have worried. After all, it was Delilah. Bold, brazen, fearless Delilah. There was not one ounce of bashfulness in her expression, not one drop of chagrin. Just the opposite in fact, one elegant brow was arched, the light in her eyes nothing less than breathtakingly carnal.
“Jesus,” he breathed in awe, trailing his hand up from her ankle to her calf, standing when he reached the soft, white expanse of her thigh. She didn’t have thick thighs, no matter what she said. Like the rest of her, her thighs were soft and satiny and wonderfully, exotically feminine. “You’re absolutely perfect,” he told her, delighted by her low, husky chuckle.
“Hardly,” she said. And then he couldn’t pay attention to her next words, because she reached for his zipper…
***
Delilah was on fire.
From head to toe, she burned, ached, throbbed. And she needed Mac. Needed him to take her, fill her…fuck her. She wanted to revel in the sensations. In the feel of his callused hand rubbing a slow trail up her inner thigh. In the smell of him, so hot and male and uniquely Mac. In the taste of him when he leaned forward to claim her lips…
Fumbling with his zipper, she cursed against his lips when it snagged. His big hands came up to help her, his fingers long and tan and deft. The scrrritch of the metal teeth sounded far away when he slowly unzipped his jeans, hard to hear over the rushing of blood between her ears.
Pulling his Glock from his waistband, he checked the safety before setting it aside. Then, with one deft move, he shoved his Levis and boxer shorts down his thighs. And there he was… Thick as her wrist, violently red, and heavily veined. The head of him was plump, weeping, twitching beneath her ravenous, startled gaze.
And he called her perfection.
She could hardly breathe, hardly think for the sheer, masculine beauty of him. And she wanted him. All of him. Inside her. Pumping, straining, coming. But…he was…big. And it’d been four years, and—
She stopped thinking altogether when he reached forward with one hand, gently spreading her labia, finding her clitoris in an instant and pressing it with his thumb. Sensation exploded through her, the ache skyrocketed to an intolerable level.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, taking him in her hand, wondering at the sheer heat of him, the sheer breadth of him that strained the capacity of her grip.
“So soft,” he murmured, stepping forward to seal their lips. His tongue slid into her mouth at the same time one thick finger slid into her body. She moaned. He answered in kind.
“Stroke me,” he growled, and she hastened to accommodate him. Rubbing her fist up his shaft and back down again. She rejoiced in the throb of his veins against her palm, in the silky wetness that seeped from his tip, in the satiny skin that moved over a core of hot, living steel.
A second finger teased at her opening, playing, petting.
“Open yourself to me,” he demanded, and she usually didn’t like anyone telling her what to do. But when it came to Mac and sex, she appreciated the caveman that came out in him. It only added to the pleasure, the excitement.
Repositioning her heels on the lip of the dresser drawer, she spread her thighs wider. He rewarded her obedience by slowly, so unbelievably slowly, working his second finger inside her. It was a struggle to accommodate him, but she loved the stretch, the burn. It both soothed the ache and simultaneously ratcheted it up another notch.
“So tight,” he said against her lips, nipping, laving, sucking. “So damned tight.”
And, God, it felt good. Felt good to be filled, to be brimming with warm, male flesh. But it wasn’t enough. The nerves inside her cried out for more stimulation.
“Mac,” she begged, “please. I need—”
“I know exactly what you need, darlin’,” he said, and he wasn’t lying. Because he began to pump his fingers in and out of her, slowly at first, and then more quickly, all while rubbing the rough pad of his thumb back and forth over the distended nub of her clit.
And that was it. Her climax slammed through her violently, arching her back, straining the tendons in her neck as she held back a scream of unimaginable pleasure. When her thighs tightened around his hand, she didn’t know if she was groaning, or if it was him, o
r the both of them together.
***
Delilah didn’t climax. She detonated. Squeezing his fingers so hard his knuckles rubbed together, screaming and melting and coming and coming and coming.
In the back of Mac’s mind, he did some quick calculations. Seven feet. Seven seconds. That’s how far it was to the nearest bed, and that’s how long it would take him to pick her up and cart her there.
They weren’t going to make it…
Not when she was so soft and wet. Not when she was throbbing around his fingers. Not when her hand was stroking him toward insanity, stroking him until he was so hard and hot he hurt. Sweet Jesus, he couldn’t seem to draw breath for what she was doing to him.
No. They were definitely not going to make it to the bed.
He needed to be inside her. Needed to feel her sultry walls closing around him. Now. Thirty seconds ago when she first exploded. He slowly withdrew his fingers from her body, glancing down to find her labia quivering, pulsing slightly with the aftershocks of her monumental orgasm.
She was sucking in great gulps of air, whispering his name over and over again. He couldn’t help himself. He lifted his fingers to his lips, licking away the evidence of her passion, savoring the earthy smell of her, the salty-sweet flavor of her, until he couldn’t take it a second more.
“Wrap your legs around me, darlin’,” he growled.
She did as he instructed, angling the head of him toward her entrance. He watched, mesmerized, muscles tensed, breath bated as she placed his swollen tip against her most tender flesh. Watched as she rubbed the length of him up her silken channel, pressing the head of him against the throbbing bundles of nerves at the top of her sex, moaning. And then she changed the angle of her hips and he was suddenly pressing into her.
And there, there were the brakes he couldn’t apply earlier. Because in that instant, as he watched his hard length disappear into her, as her watched her body give, watched himself take, everything slowed. Way. Down.
The sensations… Good God, they were incredible, so intensely…something. Sweet, maybe? Decadent, certainly.
“Christ.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re tight.”
“F-four years,” she rasped, then squeaked and bit her lip when he slid an inch further.
Four years? What did that mean? And then it hit him. “You haven’t been with a man in four years?” he asked, his entire body going bowstring tight. His breath caught in his lungs.
She shook her head. “There was the b-bar.” He slid in a bit more. “And then getting my side job as an FA started. Ahhhh.” There was another inch. “And, th-then I met you. Oh, God! Mac!”
Something wonderful and terrifying burst inside him, in the region usually relegated to his heart. She’d waited…for him? He couldn’t fathom it. Didn’t want to acknowledge it, but the truth was shining in her emerald eyes. And then she wiggled, just a little, just enough to elicit a gasp from both of them.
“Am I hurting you?” he managed to ask.
She shook her head, her silky hair brushing against her shoulders, rasping over the red, ripe tips of her up-thrust breasts. “God, no,” she whispered, grabbing him and pulling him to her so she could plant a kiss on his chin. He felt the tip of her tongue dart out to tickle the dimple there. His balls tightened in response. “You feel amazing,” she whispered in his ear, nipping the lobe. “Please don’t stop.”
And just like back in Sander’s bedroom, stopping was the absolute last thing on his mind.
He trailed kisses along her neck, sucking lavishly on her pulse point, rewarded for the effort by her silky walls convulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him. Everything about her, about this, about what they were doing together, was amazing. The sound of her sighs, the feel of her heels hooked together above his ass, the swollen delectation that was her hot, hungry mouth…
When he grabbed her hips to push forward the last two inches, seating himself to the hilt with one final, forceful jab, and his tip pressed tight against the hard entrance to her womb, she speared her fingers into his hair. Sealing their lips, her satiny tongue darted deep. And he was completely awash in the smells and sounds and sensations of sex.
It’d never been this good. Never, never. And that’s when it occurred to him.
“Condom,” he croaked.
“Mary and Joseph,” Delilah groaned, resting her forehead against his.
When her inner walls squeezed around him again, he gasped, “Stop that.”
“Can’t help it,” she husked, biting her lip, each of them holding still. Holding perfectly still. Because one small move, one slick slide, might be all it took to send both of them careening over the edge.
“I-I don’t have—” he began, lamenting the fact that he didn’t carry a spare condom or two in his wallet like the rest of the Knights. What was the point? He wasn’t a horndog like Ozzie or Steady. He didn’t bed everything on two legs. When he had a woman—and he did have a woman on fairly regular occasions despite what some of the boys at BKI might say to the contrary—it was always planned ahead of time. A nice dinner. A movie. And the inevitable fall into bed. Then he came packing. A true-blue Boy Scout to the core. But now? Nada. Zippo. Zilch. How the hell could he have let it go this far? Where was his head?
Oh, right, offline right now because Little Mac was doing all his thinking for him.
Delilah drew back. “I’m on the pill. If you want—”
That’s all she managed because, in the next instant, he pulled himself from the decadent warmth of her body only to slam back home on a stroke that rocked her against the top of the dresser. The pill? That’s all he needed to know. Because the monthly physicals and blood work he was required to undergo working for BKI told him he was clean and free of disease. And four years for her? Yeah. No worries. She squeaked at the force of his thrust. But one look at her face told him everything he needed to know. It wasn’t a squeak of pain; it was a squeak of pleasure. So he repeated the move, over and over. Slipping, sliding, impaling. She met him stroke for stroke. Her hands on his ass, her nails digging into his flesh.
“Yes, Mac!” she moaned against his lips, her breath hot and sweet. “Yes!”
He felt it then. That fist sharp edge of release building in his balls, racing along his shaft. He wanted to stop it. Wanted to keep on taking her forever. It was so good. Too good. But he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t have the strength or willpower. Not this time. Maybe later. But this first time his hips pistoned wildly. This first time, his mouth greedily devoured her lips and tongue, her cries of pleasure.
And then she did it. She threw her head back and screamed his name right before she detonated. Her back arched. Her breasts thrust up at him, the hard, wet tips a temptation for his eyes. The walls of her vagina squeezed him like a hot fist. Lord have mercy! His orgasm answered in kind, bursting through him. And it was the most explosive, heartrending, gut-twisting, delicious, melting, decadent sensation he’d ever experienced.
He had no idea how long his body spasmed as he held himself deep, as he poured himself inside her. It seemed like forever. And all that time she clasped him to her, kissed him, her mouth so unbelievably sexy, so unmistakably greedy.
“Delilah,” he finally groaned, pushing himself deep inside her one last time, reveling in the little tremors of residual pleasure that shot up his shaft.
She squeaked again when he wound an arm under her butt, lifting her from the dresser. Making it to the bed took some doing, what with his jeans bunched down around his ankles, but he managed it. When he separated himself from her body to toss her atop the bed, the sudden feeling of loss shocked him with its strength. But he quickly pushed the sensation aside, reaching down to drag off his boots, his ankle holster, his jeans.
She lay on the bed like the incarnation of provocation. Eyes heavy lidded and sparkling. Lips red and swollen. She drove him crazy when she lazily ran a finger back and forth over the tip of one violently puckered breast. Her right knee propped up, allowing him a small p
eek at the plump, wet flesh between her legs.
“I thought this was a one-shot deal,” she said when he crawled up to her, over her, her eyes darting down to his dick. Little Mac, the boy wonder, had already begun to harden with new life.
“That first one had to be done to take the edge off,” he told her. “Now we’re ready to start the real show.”
Chapter Twenty
Shawnee National Forest
Southern Illinois
“Did you make it to the second location safely?” Haroun asked, and Qasim glanced around the walls of the cave. The kerosene lanterns danced their light, creating shadows that writhed and moved like living entities.
A cave. Qasim had seen his fair share. The difference was that the caves he was used to were arid and dusty. This one…well, this one was cold and damp. The walls glistened with water and moss, the chirp of bats echoed from deep inside. He was unbelievably happy to hear from his second-in-command, and when he pulled in a relieved breath, the smell of damp earth and minerals tunneled up his nose.
“We are here,” he told Haroun. “We had to carry the Marine. I think Jabbar might have broken one of his legs. It made the hike difficult. But, we are here.”
“You did not stop?” Haroun demanded, something in his voice causing Qasim to frown. “You did not refuel? You were not caught on any cameras entering the park?”
“No. Everything went as we planned. What is it?” he asked. That feeling of foreboding was back, settling like a poisoned stone in the pit of his stomach. “Is it your wound? Are you hurt worse than you led me to believe?”
“No, no,” Haroun insisted. “It is not that.”
“Then what is it, brother? What is wrong?”
The poisoned stone of foreboding grew to the size of a boulder as his second-in-command told him of the helicopters, of being forced to abandon the rental vehicle, of the men in black suits with machine guns who sounded less like local law enforcement officials and more like well-trained government agents.
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