He wound her hair around his hand, jerked her head back, and proceeded to dominate her mouth. When she wrestled against him, and helpless sounds came from the back of her throat, he lifted his head a fraction.
One look into her big, stunned eyes and his anger warped into something painful and unstable. Six weeks ago they’d been as close as two people could be, known each other inside and out—or so he’d thought. Now all she wanted was a good, hard, anonymous fuck. She enjoyed the thrill of giving herself to a nameless, faceless stranger. Didn’t she miss him? Didn’t she think about him at all? Apparently not. He should get the hell out of here. Immediately. Before he did something they’d both regret.
She must have sensed his mood shift, because she wrapped her arms around his head, pulled him in close and said, “Help me forget. I’ve got this man stuck in my head…or my heart. I can’t take it anymore. Just for tonight, help me forget.”
His heart sped up, and the rest of him froze. She knew it was him. She had to. Maybe she was playing him—God knew she had a sadistic streak—but he let himself believe the words anyway, and his anger eroded like sand under a wave of hope. Maybe now…finally…they were getting somewhere?
“You love him?”
She pulled back, looked him straight in the eyes, and his earlier doubts disappeared. She wasn’t playing him. Not here. Not now. “It doesn’t matter. He and I—we’ll never work.”
Two seconds ago he would have bet his gun arm she couldn’t inflict any more damage on his battered heart, but he’d have lost the bet, because it broke a little more now. For whatever reason, she honestly believed what she said. “Why won’t it work?”
She stared at him. He could feel the answer forming in her mouth and wished for the power to pull it out of her. But she closed her eyes and shook her head, and her look of utter hopelessness tore his trampled heart right out of his chest.
“Why doesn’t matter. Please. This—” She writhed against him. “This will work.”
He wanted to argue, but the hopeless look haunted him, and he wasn’t sure he could face it again. Later. Ask her later, when her guard is down and her filters are off and she won’t hold anything back. He handed her the condom. “I’m here. Take what you need.”
Somehow he managed to hold himself together while she rolled the latex on. He kissed her throat, her breasts, skimmed a hand down her stomach and between her legs, just to make sure she was ready for him.
“Oh, sweet heaven.” She reached down and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t touch my clit. Please don’t…I’ll come.”
“I want you to come.”
“I want to come with you inside me.” She wriggled down onto him.
His eyes closed. She felt so good, so amazingly, incredibly right. The words “I love you” threatened to pour out of him. To stop himself from opening his mouth and screwing everything up, he leaned in and captured her lips.
Talk about coming home. He filled his hands with her gorgeous breasts. He plunged his tongue into her mouth at the same time he buried his grateful cock to the hilt in her unbearably hot, tight body. Her inner muscles clenched around him like a welcoming embrace.
This might be the last time he sat there, buried inside her. The unbidden thought floated through his pleasure-warped mind. No matter how good this was, afterward, she’d try to shut him out again. She’d walk.
The only connection he could count on was right here, right now. The only thing she’d willingly share with him was her body, and he intended to exploit it to the utmost one last time. Own every part of her. Claim her so completely that any time anyone else so much as brushed up against her, she thought of him. He ran his hand down her spine. She moaned and worked herself on him with renewed vigor while he gently circled the one part of her left to possess. “A good, hard fuck, I think you asked for?”
She shivered, broke the kiss, and mumbled something against his neck that sounded like “Yes.”
“A good, hard, anonymous fuck.” His next move was going to shatter that ruse, but he really didn’t care. He had to have her. All of her. In a way that was unquestionably theirs, back when they’d had trust, and some measure of honesty, and she’d wanted him and not some anonymous fuck. Using his index finger, he traced her lips, and then slipped past them and into the silky heat of her mouth. She knew exactly what to do. She swirled her tongue over the tip of his finger, down the length, past the knuckle and all the way to the base, and she sucked for all she was worth. Slowly, he withdrew, put his hand under her skirt, ran his wet finger along the tight seam of her ass, and then circled her again.
She arched her back and murmured, “Don’t make me sore.”
“I want you sore,” he said, and bit her earlobe as he pressed his way into the tight opening, barely penetrating her, “so every time you move, you remember this, and you remember me. I plan to be the first person you think about in the morning, and the last goddamn man you dream about at night. You are never, ever getting me out of your head. Understand?”
She shuddered against him and wrapped her arm around his neck. Before he could guess what she intended to do, she pulled the ski mask off. He returned her gaze for a long, tense moment, trying like hell to hold her in place with the sheer weight of his stare, because he didn’t want to think about what he’d do if she tried to break away now. Then she closed her eyes and, with a low, wrenching sob, surrendered. She cupped his face with both hands, and plunged into the kiss. His mind spun while she owned him, claimed him. He felt her shudders. Tasted her tears.
Determined to drive everything from her mind except what they did to each other, what they meant to each other, and how perfectly they fit together, he clasped his other hand under her, dug his fingers into her soft flesh and forced her hips up and down at a fast, furious pace. When she started to rock against him with the precise, rapid thrusts he knew meant she was about to come, he locked his arm around her waist, realigned their mouths, and plunged deeper. She attempted to break the kiss, even as the rest of her body clung to him. Textbook Stacy, trying to pull him in and push him away at the same time. He recognized the move as an attempt to hold some part of herself back, but he refused to allow her retreat. He cupped her jaw and kept her with him, sharing breath, sharing everything, until she stiffened in his arms, threw back her head, and released a long, keening cry.
She spasmed around him, clutching, tugging, tightening until every single cell in his oxygen-starved brain shut down and left his body in charge. He was off the chair and on his knees before fully realizing he’d put himself in motion. Stacy landed on her back on the low pile of the ugly Oriental rug. He flung her legs over his shoulders, braced himself on his arms, and drove into her, again and again, while a crippling orgasm tore through him, from the soles of his feet, to his burning thighs, to his drawn-up balls and viciously sensitive cock. His own agonized groan filled his ears as he emptied himself in a series of frenzied thrusts. Walk away from that, Stacy, he silently challenged before his vision hazed over.
Chapter Six
The two hundred pounds of hard-packed homicide cop sprawled over Stacy barely registered against the weight of despair crushing her heart. Congratulations. You really showed him.
What possessed her to think seducing Ian one last time would bring her closure? The plan had failed, miserably. How was she supposed to find the strength to walk away again? She raised a hand and wiped impatiently at her wet cheeks, then rested her forearm on her forehead.
Their reflection in the mirrored ceiling taunted her with the illusion of two people wrapped up in each other. Ian’s big frame mostly covered her smaller one. His tanned legs—damn man should have been a dancer, with all those long, lean muscles—intertwined with hers in a way that looked completely natural and shockingly intimate at the same time. The mirrors gave her a bird’s-eye view of his sculpted ass. The skin there was lighter, smoother, and she stifled an impulse to run a protective hand over it. She loved his strong back and broad shoulders, but they’d never gotte
n around to taking off his shirt, so she couldn’t feast her eyes on them. Her fingers—which clearly had a mind of their own—absently stroked his light, silky hair. She always liked it this way, a little on the long side, overdue for a trim.
He had his face buried in the curve of her neck. She could tell by his breathing and the slight tickle of his eyelashes on her skin that he hadn’t passed out from exhaustion. No, not Ian. As long as he had enough condoms and Gatorade, he could go all night. Even as the thought formed in her mind, his cock woke and stretched inside her. Her pelvic muscles apparently took directions from her heart rather than her brain, because they flexed and caught him in a fast, tight hug.
The move elicited a low groan from Ian. The sound rumbled up from his chest and vibrated through her entire body. Her erogenous zones responded instinctively. He groaned again, this time no doubt because he felt a rush of heat flowing to the spot where his erection twitched to life. His breath gusted against her neck, and she very nearly burst into tears.
This can’t happen again, her brain warned, but she couldn’t find the strength to tell him to get out. Instead, she said, “You know, when I mentioned I wanted a good, hard, anonymous fuck, I wasn’t looking for two out of three.”
“Bullshit,” he muttered. “You knew it was me as soon as you rubbed your ass over my lap on the dance floor.”
The insult stung. Did he really think he’d fooled her up until they’d danced? Like she only recognized him by the feel of his cock? “I knew it was you the minute I saw you. Letting you think otherwise was just”—she lifted her shoulder in a casual shrug—“an entertaining little game. But the game is over and, ultimately, doesn’t change what I want.”
Apparently she could sting him back, because his eyes narrowed. Then he ground his hips against hers until she bit her lip and moaned.
“You’re sending mixed signals, Stace. You don’t know what you want.”
Sadly, she did—she wanted far too much, more than he’d offered—but her stupid, traitorous hips lifted, seeking more from him.
“Careful. The condom…” He reached down between them and pinched the base of his erection, holding the latex in place. But when he started to pull out, she panicked.
“Don’t.” Her hands flew down to his hips, and her fingers dug in to hold him still. Don’t leave me empty. Not yet.
“Stacy…” He swore under his breath when she sank her fingernails into his skin and squirmed beneath him. “It’s going to leak. Or break.”
“I don’t care.” She didn’t. Not one bit. All she cared about was keeping him inside her for a few last, precious seconds.
Ian laughed, low and humorless. “You can’t handle a relationship with me, but you’re ready to have my baby?”
Yes. I love you. I’d love to have your baby. Instead, she said lamely, “It’s the wrong time of the month.”
“I could play that game when we were together, but not now.”
Knowing he wouldn’t change his mind, she forced herself to let go of him. She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill down her cheek. “Aren’t you the responsible one?”
“Yeah, and you’re the dangerous one.” Despite the temper in his voice, he moved slowly and gently, but she couldn’t hold back shivers of reaction as he pulled out. Normally he’d press his big, warm hand between her legs and massage her as he vacated, to make it nice for her, maybe get her off one more time. But tonight he eased out and left her there, knees bent, legs spread, body aching like a wound.
She sat up and glared a hole through the back of his head while he turned and disposed of the condom. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Christ, I should paddle your ass for real. Dancing around tonight in that outfit, teasing every cock in the place.” He faced forward again and raked her with his gaze, and the heat of it sent a wave of longing to her overstimulated clit.
To cover the reaction, she tossed her hair back and laughed. “Are you jealous, Ian?” Hopefully nothing in her expression gave away how deeply she wanted him to say Hell yes.
She must have fooled him because he grabbed her jaw and brought her face close to his. “I’m wondering if you’ve lost your mind, coming out tonight without any security, dancing with total strangers. Letting them put their hands on you. Especially now, with some freak sending you threats and ultimatums, possibly stalking you. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Feeling miserable and mean, and more than a little humiliated by her own actions, she said the first thing that sprang to mind. “The only stalker I see tonight is a jealous ex who can’t stand to let me have some fun.”
He released her face as if she’d burned him. “Why do you always do this? Why do you have to take genuine emotion—genuine concern—and twist it into something ugly?”
“It’s my special gift. Thank God you’re rid of me—”
He slammed his mouth down on hers. Whatever else she might have uttered flew right out of her head. Good. She didn’t want to think anyway, and she definitely didn’t want to talk. She speared her fingers into his hair and kissed him back, reveling in his rough, barely controlled response. Time spun away, and she let it go without a backward glance, until the sweet, hot tension between them turned urgent. Something had to give.
Unshed tears burned behind her eyelids because she knew that something couldn’t be her. She tore her mouth free. “Admit it. The letter is the only reason you’re here.”
On a strangled oath, he abruptly rolled off her and rubbed his hand over his face. She recognized the bone-deep fatigue and pent-up frustration in the gesture and tamped down on the impulse to gather him into her arms and tell him it was okay. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, even though he’d ripped her heart to shreds without even trying. Instead, she stood and concentrated on putting her costume back in order.
When the silence stretched to the point she thought her nerves would snap, she broke down like the masochist she was, and pressed for a confirmation she really couldn’t bear to hear. “Nailed it on the first guess, right? You’re here because Kylie told you about the letter. Well, you can take yourself off bodyguard duty. I’ve got my shit handled.”
Ian sat with his head tipped back against the seat of the chair, staring at the ceiling. “I’m here because I’m in love with you. I couldn’t stay away.”
She fumbled the wings. They slipped from her shaking hands and fell to the floor. This was starting to sound like a grand gesture. But for all the wrong reasons, an unsentimental inner voice insisted. Look at the timing. He did a fast, easy fade until the stalker cropped up. Now he’s worried about you, and you just fucked his brains out. His protective instincts are driving this, not his head or his heart.
“Ian—”
“And you love me.” He raised his head, his eyes full of challenge. “Don’t deny it. God forbid you ever say the words out loud, to me or anybody else, but don’t look me in the face and deny it.”
Panic started in her stomach and rolled into her chest, creating a sudden tightness. “I-I don’t—”
He simply shook his head. “You’re a good actress, Stace, but not that good. Why are you doing this to us?”
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but there was nothing she could do about them. “It’s not you. It’s me.” God, did she really just say that?
“Did you take off because I asked you to move in with me? Because that’s negotiable, in terms of timing, and location, and—”
“No.” So much for grand gestures. “Ian, it’s nothing you did, or said.”
“Was it—” He stopped, drew in an unsteady breath, and she knew, she just knew, whatever he said next was going to break her heart into a thousand pieces. “Was it…meeting my parents?”
Confessions, apologies, insecurities…the whole ugly mess…lodged in her throat like a cold, hard ball. She had to get out of there now, before she dropped to her knees, spilled her guts, and made a fool of herself.
“Your parents are wonderful,” she whispered. “They’re perfect. And I’m…I’m sorry.”
With that she ran out the door.
…
Ian took a step toward the door before he remembered he didn’t have any pants on. Shit… He had to get out there, in case her letter writer had any plans for tonight. Thankfully, there were a couple hundred eyewitnesses just outside the door. Only a magician would be able to make a move without a few dozen people in the vicinity noticing a gorgeous blond angel pitching a fit and screaming her lungs out. Plus Trevor was out there. And Kylie. Stacy wouldn’t get far.
He flopped down in the chair, took a deep breath, and coughed up a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan. His chest ached like he’d taken a bullet at close range. He sat there for a moment, rubbing his sternum with the heel of his hand and sucking in air. Move, for Christ’s sake. Look at him, sitting half-naked on some fugly chair where God knows what had taken place, while his heart slowly bled out of his chest.
Shoving the pain aside, he got up and pulled on his clothes. It was his parents. He’d wondered, but dismissed the notion because the day of the barbecue had gone so well. His mom and dad knew all about Stacy. They’d been listening to him ramble on about her for months, and they’d been both excited and nervous to meet her. They’d loved her, of course, just as he did. But not in an obligatory, “If you love her, we love her” kind of way. No, he thought as he secured the Velcro strap of his ankle holster and tucked his gun in. They’d genuinely appreciated her humor, her sense of fun, and, according to his mom, “The way she smiles at you with her heart in her eyes when she thinks nobody’s looking.”
She did love him. True, she’d never said so, but even tonight, she hadn’t denied it. She thought his parents were “wonderful,” and they were…so what about them had her running for the door?
He honestly didn’t know.
Wicked Games (McCade Brothers novella) Page 6