by Dee Tenorio
Because they’d final y gotten married last night?
Wait, wait a second, the ceremony had been set for morning—so why did she remember stars overhead? A gazebo? What the hel —
Blunt fingertips dragged over one side of her ass, obliterating her questions and leaving fading furrows in her skin heading inexorably for her sex.
She moaned as he repositioned her knees on top of some pil ows. Utterly lost in the feel of those cal used hands moving over her, stroking the pouting lips up one side and down the other. Slowly. Teasingly.
Parting them to dip inside, drawing the moisture he found into mind-bending circles around her opening… She arched higher, desperate to deepen the stroke for him.
Which only made him laugh.
Right before he sank two fingers deep into her.
Delilah shuddered, her legs nearly giving out in relief, her internal muscles rippling around his surging touch. Again and again he pumped his fingers, taking the relief and heightening her need with it until she felt like mass of desperation.
“So close already,” he crooned, laying his hard body over her so he could rumble in her ear. She blinked, his voice sending flickers of recognition through her. Craig’s body wasn’t soft, but it wasn’t the hot, rippling steel flexing against her bare back.
His fingers delved again, stroking her once, twice, before pul ing out and leaving her empty, but not for long.
Even as she moaned, he began to push inside her. Thick flesh, hot and rigid, moved through her folds with a carefulness that belied his earlier aggression. She took him in smoothly, her body already familiar with the feel of him.
She pushed back against him, so deliciously ful of him she couldn’t manage a deep breath. Panting, she closed her eyes, torn between the screaming passion threatening to burn her up or pushing past the cottony blocks of her memory. He seemed to understand the precipice she balanced on, remaining perfectly stil , perfectly buried within her.
If only it could stay like this forever. She didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to break this sensual spel .
Didn’t want to open her eyes and realize that the man behind her wasn’t her fiancé.
Or that she didn’t care.
Delilah cried out, lifting her head. The only truth that mattered right now was how much she needed him. Powerful thighs flexed against her own as he began to move. He reached for her, pul ing her up, against his chest, his hands clasping her breasts, mouth open on the back of her neck. He drew hard, pumping up into her relentlessly, meeting her rocking motion back to him. Her head fel back on his shoulder, her own hands latching over his. Their fingers wove together, their bodies moving as if they’d been lovers for years.
As if they’d been made for each other.
She opened her eyes, heavy though the lids were, when she felt him staring at her with that smoldering green gaze. A gaze that had always fol owed her, always made her feel like everyone around her could see the lies she told herself and everyone else to get through each day. That stare cut her open every time it caressed her face, demanding her honesty though the man himself never once uttered a word to ensure she gave it. In three years, that gaze never failed to make her cheeks flame and her body tingle in ways it shouldn’t.
It didn’t do any good to avoid him now, she already knew who he was.
Kane Wilkensen.
The best man at her wedding.
***
Kane stared into Delilah’s passion-laden blue eyes and felt that tightening in his chest again. The one he always felt when she managed to meet his stare. The soft weight of her breasts fil ed his hands as they had in so many other fantasies, the taut pink tips slotted between their twined fingers waiting to be teased. Even better, the wet glove of her pussy squeezed his cock with every rol of her hips, her ass sliding against his bel y like hot silk. He pistoned into her, over and over, each deep thrust wetter, tighter, flat-out fucking- better than the last.
As wet dreams went, this one had to be the best and he’d had years of them to compare to. He could actual y taste her this time, smel her and the musky heat of sex in the air. Her hair even fel over his shoulder to tickle his back. He had it bad for those inky black tresses that always seemed to catch light that wasn’t even in the room and gleam back at him.
Each bit of her was something he wanted to look at, study and apply to memory for al time. He wanted to see his cock driving in and out between the smooth lips of her pussy. Wanted to watch his hands plucking the candy-colored nipples until she begged him to lick them, suck them. He wanted to see if there was a mirror anywhere that would al ow him to see al the angles while he fucked her into screaming oblivion.
But he couldn’t tear himself from that steady, gem-colored gaze.
Her mouth opened, just a little, as she gasped with each thrust.
Her hand rose, sliding over his jaw, running through the bristles of his morning beard. She held him like that; a gentle, loving touch amidst the raw fucking he couldn’t begin to slow down. It didn’t fit somehow, despite feeling utterly amazing. As if she real y were there, no matter how impossible that was. Apart from her marrying Craig, his dreams of her were never gentle. They were fervent, unrestrained to the point of being damn near desperate. Only here was he free to take her over and over, never worrying about hurting her or scaring her with his overt sexuality. Never having to see that glint of attraction in her eyes get snuffed out by dismissal.
He slowed his thrusts, confused, until she whimpered, her nails adding bite to that gentle caress. “No, God, don’t stop.”
Like he could. His cock felt like it was about to burst already. But something wasn’t quite right…
“Please, Kane… Harder. I’m so close…” She closed her eyes, turning her face away and arching for a deeper penetration.
He groaned at the sensation, but confused or not, he wasn’t going to let her turn from him again.
He left her breast to cup her chin, turning it back his way. “Look at me, Delilah,” he ground out, when her eyes widened in surprise. “Watch me while I make you come.”
He didn’t wait for her to agree, mating their mouths together with almost primal force, pushing his tongue into her mouth to gorge on the taste of her. She groaned into him, returning the marauding with strokes of her own. He sat back onto his heels, bringing her with him until the kiss broke, but she kept those sleepy eyes fixed on his face as he’d commanded. His hands coursed down hers, over every inch of that creamy skin until he fit them over the curves of her hips. Her hands came down on his outer thighs, desperate for a balance he wouldn’t al ow her. He commanded her rise and descent on him, a fact that gave him a kind of brutal satisfaction.
“Kane, please,” she whispered.
That was al it took to snap his control.
Lifting her until only the very tip of him nestled at her opening, he thrust his hips upward, slamming home. She cried out, a gasp so excited he could feel the pleasure of it against his skin. Fol owed quickly by a second and a third. Each push had her tightening, her cream flowing steadily down his length while her hands stretched out wildly for purchase. He helped her find his forearms, which she gripped so tight al he could feel was her pul ing him up for more.
“Kane, yes, yes,” she said, bouncing against his hold as best she could, her voice rising until she was simply gasping his name over and over. Giving in, he pounded into her without thought or mercy, his body jackhammering while her cries turned into a keening scream and her pussy rippled around him, milking his cock relentlessly. Final y, fucking finally, the pressure within him burst and he yanked her down to grind into her as deep as he could reach, joining her orgasm, almost as if it were his own. She clenched around him, her ass stil moving against him, lighting stars in the back of his head and leaving him wrung out like an old rag.
Wel , that wasn’t new. Delilah had been making him see stars since he met her. KO’d, down for the count.
W ha t was new, though, was that the dream wasn’t over.
Usual y, when he came in these dreams he woke up stil thrusting into ruined sheets, his face pressed into a pil ow.
This time, he was most assuredly stil bal s deep inside Deliliah McGavin, his face pressed into the mass of silken black hair now that they’d fal en to their sides on a bed far too nice to be his. Like him, she was gasping, trying to catch her breath. She was also bonelessly limp, her sweat slick body slathered over his, their legs tangled, their sexes stil throbbing against each other, fitted together like a lock and a key.
“Delilah?” he asked after a few more silent seconds passed and he stil didn’t wake up.
“Mmmm?” More of a purr than a reply.
“This isn’t a dream, is it?”
He thought she might have stiffened, but her body didn’t have the energy to hold it. Instead, long seconds later, she sighed, turning her head to look up at him with an altogether too hard to decipher shadow in her eyes.
He knew the answer before her kiss-swol en lips pursed to form the word, but he held his breath anyway. Waiting for himself to be wrong.
Please, God, let him be wrong.
“No.”
Shit.
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Convicted
Chapter One
The pounding on the door damn near knocked Cade out of bed. He must have been more run down than he thought, because he had completely slept through the beeping blue light blinking madly on the digital clock next to his lamp, which glowed an obscene time at him. He dragged his hand down half his face, answering the knock with some obscenities of his own.
“Someone better be fucking dead,” he snarled as he dragged on a pair of sweats, then headed for the front door of his cabin. He’d come here to leave town and al its bul shit frustrations—one frustration in particular—behind. He was supposed to get two weeks of fishing in a hidden cabin on a hidden lake where the only thing not hidden were the goddamn fish. But here it was, three a.m. on his first night and somehow, someone had already tracked him down.
He threw open the heavy wooden door and stopped his mental bitching in its tracks.
“Not quite dead,” the woman with the beginnings of a hel of a shiner and a smeared bloody lip managed to say with a crooked grin. Tal by most standards, her ebony crown usual y fit perfectly under his chin. Tonight, the top of her head barely made it to the middle of his chest. She wasn’t so much leaning on the lintel as she was slipping down it. Leaving a streak of blood on the wood as she went. “For a minute there, I gotta admit, it was kinda close.”
Cade caught her before she landed ass first on the porch. Complaints obliterated, he lifted her, kicking the front door shut before gingerly setting her on his couch. She groaned as she settled on the rough but serviceable cushions.
“How bad are you busted up this time, Trina?”
Old training kicked in and he went straight to the zipper on the chest of her white and blue leather jacket, pul ing it down quickly but careful y. This had to be the third time he’d patched her up since they’d met—probably because he’d made the colossal mistake of tel ing her that in his Marine days, he’d been a medic. Left it behind after his last stint in Afghanistan without a second glance, too. He’d washed too much blood off his hands to ever want to do it again, but here he was, already checking her for broken bones and any serious injuries as if he were back on the battlefield. Al the while, his gaze kept coming back to the long slash in her white shirt and the dark red stain spreading under her breast and across her bel y. “Any trouble breathing?”
“No. Can’t be too bad if I made it al the way up here, right? The ribs are tender, but I don’t think anything’s broken. You don’t have to worry about anyone fol owing me, either. I left the bike at that truck stop a few miles back at the highway junction.
Didn’t want to lead anyone back to you. Hoofed it the rest of the way up your mountain so I’m pretty sure I’m gonna live.” Her arms sank to her sides, one hanging off the edge of the couch, while she let him run his hands over her body.
His mind cut away to the last time they’d done this. The situation had been completely different. His hands were shaking then too, but because she’d been smiling, waiting for him to push her shirt up over her breasts, to take what she was offering…
“I’m most concerned about the cut Frank gave me. It might need stitches.” She groaned, oblivious to his memories. “Asshole shredded my favorite jacket.”
He peeled the fabric of her T-shirt over her ribs, baring a four-inch slice in her perfect, golden skin.
Skin that should never have been abused like this.
Given the arc, she must have just barely gotten out of the way of Carter’s blade. Not out of the way enough.
“I have to get my kit.” He kept the cabin stocked for just about any emergency. There’d be a suture kit in there. He’d know if she needed it once he got the wound clean.
Trina’s hand clasped his, dragging his attention from her body and back to those deep blue eyes.
“I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Cade.” Her voice had dropped to that husky, raspy tone. The one that always felt like a slow lick from the base of his cock to the aching, sensitive tip. “You’re the only one I can trust.”
Just like that, she had him tied up in knots al over again.
Cade grunted. It’s what she’d expect from him.
Inwardly, he was having a hel of a time not jumping up to get a gun and hunt down the son of a bitch who’d done this to her. He knew Frank Carter wel .
Had dragged him into the Sheriff’s Department often enough, not that anything ever stuck. The sadistic bastard headed Wheels Of Pain, a biker crew that based itself in the usual y quiet rural California town of Marketta. Carter’s offenses ran from domestic violence to drug running to suspicion of murder, and he had the record elsewhere to support al of it.
Everywhere, in fact, except Marketta. As soon as he hit the town limits, suddenly Carter was so clean you’d think he’d been shat right out of an angel’s ass. Him and every ex-con who ran with him…
Including the impossible to resist Katrina Kil ian.
Tamping down a gurgling rage, Cade pul ed his hand free and went to gather his supplies. First things first, he grabbed his T-shirt from the chair and dragged it on. Being half-dressed around Trina was an invitation to trouble. Next, the kit was easy to get.
As big as a fishing tackle box, he kept it under the bottom shelf in the pantry. He stopped at the cabinet beside the spartan dinner table and pul ed out a bottle of whiskey. Catching his own reflection in the mirror over the cabinet, he took another precious second to pour himself a shot in one of the many glasses stacked there. He threw it back, the fire spreading down his throat for long seconds before final y fading into a warm, smooth aftertaste. Blinking his stinging eyes, he grabbed the bottle by the neck and went back to the couch. More importantly, to the wounded woman waiting there for him.
“Tel me I get a swig of that.” Trina sighed. “After the day I’ve had, I could use some.” She raised a hand for the bottle and, given he didn’t have much else to numb her pain, he handed it to her readily. It had nothing to do with his appreciation of the way she gripped the neck and slid her ful pink lips over the rim to drink it down.
He knew exactly how it felt to be that bottle.
Or at least, he did. Once.
It hadn’t lasted long enough.
And it could never happen again.
He lifted the heavy-duty latches on the case and flipped open the lid to reveal the supplies within.
First things first, gloves. Then he’d clean her up and get a better look at the field. “How about you tel me what happened this time while I fix you up?”
“You say that like I’m always bleeding around you.”
“You are a woman who likes attention.”
“I like your attention,” she groused. “There’s a difference
.”
His hands stil ed, but when he looked at her face, her eyes were closed, her brow furrowed into deep, shuddering grooves. “Whose attention did you have today?”
“Everyone’s.” Trina’s thick lashes rose, her mouth quirking as she brushed unwanted moisture from the corner of her eye.
Would she slap his hand away if he tried to do it for her?
Without question.
Didn’t stop him from wanting to, though.
“Tel me something, Evigan,” she demanded, clearing her throat and shifting restlessly against the couch. Moment of weakness over, apparently. “You ever pul a train in a dirty bar?”
That raised his eyebrows. “Not that I remember, no.”
“Wel , I haven’t either and today wasn’t going to be my first time.” Her body went taut beneath the swipes of the towelette he used to clean the blood, before relaxing with decided effort. Which sucked because that was the easy part. “Carter doesn’t kil people that piss him off, not right away. He’s a big believer in making them pay three times over first.
His plans for me involved ambushing the shit out of me and throwing me like a chew toy to his men.”
He daubed the wound with a gauze pad, forcing himself to keep his hands steady. Strangely enough, being so angry he could strangle someone went a long way toward derailing his usual reaction to the smel of blood and antiseptic. “How’d you get out of it?”
“Wel , it turns out that when two guys are holding you in place by your arms, your legs are free to kick other people in the face and bal s.”
He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but she managed to draw a grudging grin from him.
Something about her always seemed to pul the humor out of him, even when he’d thought it long gone. “I’m guessing you’ve known that for a while.”
Her
answering