Using the moment he’d built, Donovan stepped over his bag.
Given the option of being pushed over by his chest or retreat, she chose to step back. Two steps of his and four on her part had her ass against the ledge. Startled, her eyes flew left and right, taking in the glittery skyline. Her head tilted down as she assessed the fall, and then her eyes scanned the rooftop looking for a way out.
He snagged her attention. “Paige, do you want to know why I want you under me?”
Again her eyes searched, but this examination was internal. While he waited for her response, his gaze scoured her head to toe. Her wet lips, heaving breasts, braced legs all begged for him.
After a time her glance locked with his. “Yes,” she said just above a whisper.
He took a step closer, his hips crowding her against the ledge. “Contrary to what you believe, I want you under me, with the SRT, because it will save lives. With the commander as a go-between for you, the negotiator, and me, the force team leader, there’s too much lag time in critical situations. It provides too much air and opportunity for things to go wrong. Miscommunication. Errors. Deaths of hostages, my men, you.
“You like to go face-to-face with these crazy fucks, which works most of the time. But what happens when it doesn’t? I’m not hooked in your ear. The commander is. I need to be in the room, in your ear, in your head.
“Come under me. We’ll work together. You’ll like it.” He emphasized his last point by grinding his hips against her.
A deep belly laugh rolled out her mouth and her lips curved high. “Men. You’re either threatened by us or in awe of us. The threatened ones want to control and the awed ones want to watch. You’re no different, soldier. You hate that I call the shots at a scene and see an opportunity to change that. Well, I have oodles more training in psych and for negotiations than you, and you won’t issue orders to me.”
Yes, he would, and she’d follow them.
Donovan planted a palm on either side of the ledge, pinning her in place. Her hands didn’t come up to shove him away, which he took as consent. Slowly, he leaned in, passing her lips by a whisper as he moved to her ear. Just below her lobe he bit lightly into her neck and felt the dull thud of her escalating heartbeats. The balaclava’s fabric created a protective barrier, and then friction, as he slowly scraped his teeth down her neck, over her collarbone, across her breast to her nipple.
When he bit down through the layers of fabric, she moaned and arched her slender torso against his mouth. Finding it already engorged, he slipped her nipple farther between his teeth, bit down and pulled, sliding the tender flesh through his bite from base to tip, time and again.
When she panted frantically, he stood. “Unbutton your shirt,” he ordered in a bark.
Her eyes searched his for the briefest of seconds. “I don’t know what you think this is going to prove.”
“Maybe nothing. But that doesn’t mean you don’t want it.” He jerked his chin toward her chest. “Unbutton it.”
Two petite, shaky hands moved to the top button of her shirt. One by one she unfastened the buttons, steadier hands moving faster at the end. Her lips pursed in a stubborn pout. “What now?”
“Less lip. Take it off.”
“You’re a sonovabitch, Wolfe.” But her shirt parted over a sheer blue bra, cupping small round breasts with aroused centers.
“And the bra,” he said more hoarsely this time than he would have liked.
Instantly, her hands went to the clasp at her back. Two breasts extended toward him from the effort, and he greeted them with his covered mouth.
Before long she moaned deep and the begging request slipped from her lips. “Please.”
“Please what?” he asked, pausing above her chafed breasts.
“More,” she breathed, the word a desperate plea.
He left her breasts and traveled up to her ear. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
She moaned and ground her pussy against his leg. She tried to hide her face in his neck when she whispered, “I want—”
He pulled back and pinned her with a steely gaze. “Go on.”
She swallowed hard, but met his hard gaze with one of her own, still defiant despite the fact he’d pushed her to bare herself. “I want you to fuck me. I want to be under you—here at least. Now.”
Now, he begged. “More.”
Her eyes closed for a moment, then flashed open, a hint of vulnerability in their moist depths. “I want your mouth on me. You, inside me. I want you to pound me with everything you’ve got and make me scream so loud when I come that all of Detroit hears my excitement.”
His breath came in short strained gusts. He’d asked for this. Dreamed of this, and she was giving him exactly what he wanted. With a quick move, he filled his hands with her buttcheeks, locked their cores together and laid her back on the ledge. Her legs wrapped tight around his torso and dug into his muscled back and cheeks. Before him, she lay bare-breasted, a marvelous painting set against the blackness of the sky and shimmer of city lights.
She rode him through the layers of his clothing as he slid his hands up her body. The first skin-to skin-contact, his hand to her belly, sent a thrill up his arms. Her smooth skin stretched under his calloused hand. He circled her chest, strumming over her erect tips again and again as her breathing became labored, and her legs clamped him harder in time with her undulating thrusts against his clothed erection.
A moaning cry pierced the night sky. “Oh yes!”
She rode it out, mewing and bucking against his throbbing penis. While she calmed, he traced her lips, the object of many fantasies, with his thumb. When her breathing quieted, she lapped her tongue at his finger. She caught it on the third lap between her teeth and sucked hard, pulling him in to the base and working it with her mouth.
When she released it, he demanded, voice rough as ground rock, “More.”
She nodded and dropped her legs from his waist. He stepped back while she edged off the ledge to drop to her knees.
Donovan’s head lolled back at the jerk of his zipper, and he grinned like the fucking Cheshire cat. Perfection. She knew to leave his buckle fastened so his sidearm, knife and ammo stayed put.
Paige’s hands were warm as she released him from his pants, and her mouth was hotter still. Slick wet suction welcomed his cock from tip to damn near base as she immediately relaxed her throat and allowed him in deep. With the same enthusiasm with which she’d ridden home her orgasm, she pumped the length and girth of him. The sounds of slurping and moist suction filled his ears. Her hands cupped the sensitive skin of his testicles, massaged and pulled, while her head bobbed.
Tension soon tingled heavy in his balls, rushed up his shaft and released his own climax. Moaning while he groaned, she coveted all he tried to deny her with greedy pulls and gulps.
She stood, gaze raised, but not submitting, and smiled like a devil triumphing over a tempted sinner. Slowly, she licked her smiling lips.
Incited by her smirk, he wound a hand in her blonde locks, and with his body shoved her back against the building’s edge. His mouth teased hers, and she licked at him through the balaclava. She bit down on his lip and pulled until she had only material between clamped pearlies, and then yanked aside the material, revealing his mouth.
His eyes clamped shut in ecstasy when their tongues mated. Sweeter than ice cream; with a bite of his own on her lips, he was lost. Spiraled out of control. Driven to the edge. His hands moved to her pants and yanked them down with a frantic movement. Her boots sailed off with a flick of his wrist, and then her gauzy panties and jeans followed. Spreading her ankles wide, he dove down for her core, dying to taste her, to lap up her wetness and invade her with some part of him. Any and every part of him.
Donovan hitched her thighs over his wide shoulders and speared her silken channel with his tongue. Her wetness coated him and filled his mouth with the taste of her. The need for more drove him to withdraw and stroke inward again. His hair was pu
lled as her hands grasped the covering on his head, but he refused the distraction. Instead, he used his lips to pull on her rosy, swollen clit.
In response, she worked her hips against his face, using her heels against his back for leverage.
Rising, he gripped her asscheeks, arranged her wide open and rubbed his dick from puckered bottom to pointed top, over and over, leaving no part of her intimate skin untouched.
The length of his cock became solid as a rock when she yelled across the city again, calling out to him. “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.”
He repositioned her legs around his hips. Their sexes met. Slick on slick, and there was no waiting. Donovan’s hips pushed forward. He slid into her, head to base in a single thrust that left him gasping for air. She fit him like a second skin. A hotter, wetter skin. He pulled out to the tip and rammed home again allowing his balls to smack the damp skin of her ass. Twice more he repeated the ritual, watching as their bodies separated and came together. On the third thrust, he stayed planted deep, enjoying the full contact. He leaned over the ledge, twined his hands in her hair and kissed her hard. Their lips collided, and their tongues curled together in a seductive battle.
When he rose, she used her arms to crawl up his body. She latched on with small yet solid arms and legs and began to ride him wildly. Her breasts brushed against his vest. Her sex pumped up and down the length of his straining erection. Widening his stance, he joined in the rhythmic beating of their flesh, his arms throwing her hips into the air, and his cock enjoying gravity’s response.
Her clit must have enjoyed the rough ride too, because soon she let loose a series of screams at the sky and a rush of moisture coated his dick. As she spasmed around him, contracting hard, he joined her in orgasm, shouting his triumph at the night.
Though slower, he pumped her still, refusing to leave the pleasure their bodies created. He laid her back on the ledge and rocked inside her while his hands molded her breasts. Every part of her was swollen, moist and red from their efforts. The corners of his mouth went wide in appreciation.
“You know,” she said lazily, “you have a killer smile.”
“Is that all?”
She shrugged. “Since that’s all I’ve seen, I’ll plead the Fifth.”
“Fuck many men whose face you’ve never seen?”
Her eyes widened, like she’d forgotten that little fact.
He almost relented and pulled the covering from his face to reassure her he wasn’t an ugly ogre, but her quickly narrowing gaze amused him too much.
Before she had a chance to respond, he flicked her nipples and rolled them between his thumb and forefinger, and then her hips jerked of their own accord. Donovan had just settled into a rooted grind, when two high-pitched beeps breeched their world.
In unison they barked, “Fuck!”
Moving forward, he gave her lips a biting kiss and disengaged their bodies. Quickly, they both retrieved their phones.
Her resplendently naked. Him fully covered, except for his mouth, dick and balls. While accessing the urgent message, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small towel and tossed it to her. With sure reflexes, she caught it and began cleaning while checking her own message.
“Hostage situation four miles from here. You want a ride?”
She laughed hard, doubling over a little. “Didn’t I just get one from you?”
“You only want one?” he asked, tone wry.
She gave him that devil’s triumphant expression. “No. I want more.”
“Good.”
“But,” she added, “I’m not taking orders from you on scene.”
He planted his hands on his hips and leered over her. “You will.”
“Only when I’m naked or you’re trying to get me that way,” she said, fastening the pants she’d pulled up her lean legs.
“We’ll see.”
With a pouty smirk, she said, “Yes, we will.”
ONCE UPON A TIME IN MUKDAHAN
Sidney Bristol
She was going to die. If Emery could have chosen where she would kick the bucket, it wouldn’t have been in a muddy pit in the middle of nowhere.
Emery shivered and pressed her back against the side of the soggy pit. There was little shelter from the drizzling rain. Bamboo bars crisscrossed overhead, and a piece of plywood had been thrown over one end. The side of her head throbbed from meeting the butt of a rifle. She was exhausted, tired and hungry. She’d stopped praying that her team back in Thailand would come looking for her. The things she’d seen around the campfire before being tossed in her prison were atrocities she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy.
The top of her prison rose, shaking loose a shower of water droplets. She shivered and hugged herself tighter. One of her kidnappers sneered at her and said something she couldn’t translate. She didn’t need words to understand what he wanted from her.
Two more men appeared, a large bundle clutched between them. As they shoved it over the edge, she realized it wasn’t a thing. The bundle was a person.
She yelped and scrambled sideways as the body splattered mud and water everywhere. The men laughed and yelled more incoherent words. The lid slammed back down, plunging them into semidarkness.
Emery peered over her shoulder. Was he dead? Bile rose up in her throat. Was this the man they’d had strapped between two trees? She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memory to the darkest recesses of her mind.
The body groaned and mud slurped around limbs as he shifted.
Emery groped around for something, anything to use as a weapon, and grabbed a slippery rock the size of her fist. It wasn’t much, but her best friend’s brother had shown her a thing or two about making do with what she had in a pinch.
The man sat up, holding one arm to his chest while the other cradled his head. He was big, really big. The pit was only six feet across and he took up more than half.
“Don’t come near me. I’m warning you,” she blurted. She could hear the fear in her voice, high pitched and frantic.
He pushed to his knees. The clouds must have thickened because she couldn’t make out his features, not that there was much to see except for mud. His arm snaked out, and he grabbed her wrist.
Emery jerked, trying to break his hold, but he might as well have been forged from iron. She swung with her right and cracked the rock against the side of his head.
“Fuck all,” he grit out between his teeth.
That was English.
She understood English.
“Oh my god,” she gasped. Was this another American prisoner? Some other poor soul they’d snatched off the streets of Mukdahan?
“Emery, fuck all.”
“Matt?”
“Who else is stupid enough to come after you?” He shoved her hand away and lifted his one good hand to touch the side of his head.
Matt was there. Everything would be okay. It was an unrealistic notion but she clung to it. Emery scooted to his side, trying to keep her hands out of the mud and rotting vegetation.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was you.” She hadn’t cried yet, but her nerves were breaking. She sniffled and felt the first, hot tear coast down her cheek. She swiped her hand on the last clean spot of clothing and reached for him. “You’ve got mud all over your hand. Let me.”
He froze, and for a moment she thought he would push her away. Matt was good at that, putting distance between himself and the people who loved him. Like her. Not that he knew. She’d had a grand plan to tell him on this trip. Or try to.
Instead, he held completely still. This close she could see the faint shine of light in his eyes. He’d always had great eyes, the color of the bluest water, clearest sky, so blue they hurt. With his silent permission, she gently probed the lump with her fingers.
“Skin’s not broken. I’m sorry.”
“Not too bad.” He blinked and glanced away from her.
“What are you doing here? Where’s everyone else?” She bit her lip to keep a hundred other qu
estions inside. Another tear stole down her cheek. She was not meant for situations like these.
“What do you think I’m doing?” He turned back to her. “Aw hell, don’t cry.”
She sniffled again. “I’m so sorry.”
The rain began in earnest. One moment they were dusted with light droplets, the next the skies dumped gallons on them. Matt urged her back against the wall and crawled next to her under the overhang.
“If they don’t kill us, the water will,” he grumbled.
She shivered and scooted closer. He was warm and she was cold. Even when the sun had been up for a few hours, she hadn’t really thawed out. Matt shifted, no doubt uncomfortable with her sitting on his left side, but she didn’t care. She was scared and he was there.
“Come here.” He sounded resigned as he looped his arm over her shoulder.
Emery burrowed under his jacket. How often had she dreamt of doing exactly this? She didn’t know him anymore. Not since he’d been discharged. But she wanted to. His arm tightened against her, but something was missing.
“Matt?”
“Hm?”
“What happened to your arm?”
His fucking arm.
Why the hell did it always come back to that one damn thing?
“They didn’t much care for a man with a hook for a hand.”
The prosthetic was gone, leaving him with a stump just below his elbow that was abso-fucking-lutely useless. About as much good as he was to her now, but when one of the kids at the orphanage came running in screaming about two men pushing Emery into a boat, he’d gone ballistic.
“What are they going to do to us?” Emery’s voice was so small, so broken it hurt him. His sister, Sarah, and Emery were the literal definition of joy and happiness. People like them needed protecting, but a whole platoon of men might not be enough.
“They’re traffickers, and not the good kind. We’re Americans, near the border. They probably know they won’t be able to sell us, so they’ll kill me if I’m lucky and…” He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t put Emery and brutality in the same sentence.
High Octane Heroes Page 11