by Lora Leigh
He lowered his gaze again, drawn helplessly to the sight of those graceful fingers pressing beneath the band of her panties.
Hidden, silken fingers met what he knew had to be dew-saturated, slick and swollen, aching-to-be-tasted-by-him folds.
“Let me see.” He’d been pushing her to this, certain that behind her shy demeanor Amelia was hiding the sexual wildcat he’d sensed lurking.
“Do you deserve to see?” The husky, teasing whisper of her voice had his balls drawing tight to the base of his cock.
“Fuck no,” he groaned. “No man deserves to see that sweet, pretty pussy. But I’d die for it.”
He’d die for her.
He’d killed for her and he would do it again.
In a fucking heartbeat.
“So I saved myself for an undeserving lover?” She had him on the edge of his seat, his fingers stroking over his dick as need for her throbbed beneath the swollen stiffness.
His lips parted as he fought to draw in air, her fingers delving deeper. Pushing inside the silky, wet flames of her swollen inner heat.
“So undeserving,” he agreed. “But dying for just one sweet taste.”
Her fingers slid free. Stepping to him she laid two fingers, the fingers that had possessed the tight depths of her pussy, against his lips.
“Just a taste?” she suggested as his lips parted to taste her slender fingers. “Is a taste enough?” Her fingers paused as they tucked just inside the low band of the material hiding her intimate flesh from his gaze. Crowe licked his lower lips, the taste of her lingering against his tongue.
“I said I didn’t deserve it, not that I wouldn’t gorge myself once I shoved my tongue in your sugar, elf.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed, her fingers still resting beneath the band of her panties.
Yeah, he grinned back at her; that was where the nickname originated.
Then slowly, temptingly, she pushed the material of the boy shorts over her thighs, the dim light of the clock not nearly enough to fully appreciate the treasure she was revealing.
Reaching out, Crowe flicked on the low lamp next to the chair. The light wasn’t bright enough to shock her senses, but fully illuminated that stubborn little fairy tattooed beneath her hipbone.
The golden glow spilling across her creamy flesh painted her a tempting, exotic treat he was dying to experience.
“Sugar elf, huh?” she murmured, stepping between his spread thighs.
“And I have a hell of a sweet tooth.” He couldn’t take his eyes from the swollen, glistening folds of her pussy, the tempting, sweet dew lying along the swollen folds, heavy and slick, gathering in small droplets ready to spill to his tongue.
“So taste me,” she whispered, her breathing growing rougher, faster as she lifted her shapely leg and placed her small foot on the arm of the chair.
Crowe needed no further invitation.
Sliding from the chair, he did a quick turn, gripped her hips, and twirled her around, quickly setting her shapely rear on the chair cushion. Kneeling now between her thighs, he was entranced.
Rather than being thrown off balance or attempting shyness or confusion, she smiled that Lolita smile of hers, her thighs parting farther as her fingers slid over her thigh to stroke over the narrow, delicately pink slit revealed by the swollen folds that flared open at his touch.
He didn’t give her a chance to change her mind. Leaning forward, his tongue distending, he tasted in a long, slow lick that had the sweet feminine taste of silky heat exploding his taste buds.
She slid lower in the chair as he lifted her leg, bending it at the knee to set her delicate foot on the edge of the cushion she sat on.
Parting the folds farther with his thumbs he watched the glistening slide of her juices easing from the plump, clenched entrance of her pussy.
“Don’t tease me,” she demanded, staring back at him with gleaming sex-hungry eyes. “Let me feel your tongue tasting me, Crowe. Give me what you promised. Shove your tongue inside me.”
The words were barely past her lips when his head lowered and his tongue was suddenly tunneling inside the dew-rich, heated depths of her cunt.
Pushing her foot into the cushion, Amelia lifted her hips to the hungry penetration, her hands clenching on the chair arms as he set his hands beneath her hips to allow his tongue to penetrate her farther.
“Sweet heaven, Crowe,” she moaned. Her head dug into the back of the chair as she thrust against his teasing tongue, her cries deepening while lust, hunger, and need rocked her senses. He pushed her, drove her, his tongue fucking inside the sensitive depths of her flexing inner flesh as she lifted to each ravenous lick.
“I dreamed of this.” The words were torn from her desperation. “Oh God, Crowe. Oh God, don’t let me be dreaming.” She had a sudden, horrifying fear that this was just a dream. She would wake up and he would be gone. Just as he had been gone so many nights before.
“Look at me.” The naked escalating fear overwhelmed her. Just as it had in her dreams. Until she let her gaze lock with his. Until she felt his lips surround the swollen, aching bud of her clit as his fingers thrust, hard and deep, rocking her, surging through her with sharp sizzling jolts of electric current.
“Oh God, yes,” she cried out, poised on release and aching to fly into the brilliant display of heat and light she could feel building inside her.
Turning his hand, he twisted his fingers inside her, reaching deep and high, filling her, rubbing—
His lips tightened on the savagely sensitive bundle of nerve endings, his tongue licking, stroking, rasping over and against the delicate nub until stars exploded, brilliant, filled with color and blazing heat as her orgasm rushed through her with such pleasure that there was no way this was a dream.
Rising fully to his knees, Crowe gripped the heavy weight of his cock, anticipation racing through his senses at the nearness of the snug heated flesh that brought so such pleasure.
“Wait!” Her palm flattened against the perspiration-damp flesh of his abs.
“Wait?” For what? Interruptions? Explosions?
Fuck, he’d kill the son of a bitch stupid enough to wake him. Stupid enough to disturb him. He’d kill.
“I want you.” Honest-to-God chill bumps raced up his fucking spine at the huskily whispered words.
“Then let me give you, me,” he groaned, the fully engorged crest of his cock throbbing furiously as she held him back.
A siren’s smile curled her lips.
His heart picked up speed, racing furiously as she slid slowly from the chair, sitting before him as he knelt in front of her staring into his eyes. She brushed his fingers aside.
He’d never asked this of her though God knew, he’d dreamed of it.
“The stupid fucker who wakes me up is going to regret it.” He groaned his earlier thought as she gripped the base in both hands, her eyes still on his as her lips parted, her head leaning forward. Her tongue peeked from between her lips, the damp warmth of it washing over the engorged head as he reached out, gripping the arms of the chair desperately.
Control. Ah fuck …
Her lips slid over the thick head, taking it slowly, enclosing it in the liquid warmth of her mouth, holding it captive with the exquisite, rubbing, ball-drawing licks of that wicked little tongue.
Her hands on the iron-hard shaft, her mouth worked over it, sucking it deep only to release him, lick, make him crazy with the way she tucked her tongue against the underside and rubbed. Enjoyed it. Hell, she was licking around the head of his cock, drawing it in, sucking him deep like she loved having him in her mouth. Like she loved the hard pulse of his dick at the back of her throat and loved the hint of the taste of his pre-cum against her tongue.
And all the while she looked up at him through her lashes, her turquoise eyes dark, more green than blue as her suckling mouth sent ribbons of sharp-edged sensation tightening around his balls.
God help him, a blow job had never been his fucking good.
&nb
sp; This intimate.
The way her gaze stayed locked with his, the way the colors shifted, the love he could see—feel—to his fucking soul as she sucked his cock.
There was no walking away from her again. He’d known that the moment he’d touched her the first time. He’d known the day would come when walking away from her ever again wouldn’t be possible.
Until tonight he might have possessed enough of his own heart and soul should the unthinkable happen.
Ah hell—her lips were bearing down on the thick width, taking the crest deeper, her tongue rubbing and stroking that oversensitive little spot just beneath the head as she sucked him tighter.
Incredible. “Amelia, baby, so good,” he groaned.
His hands tightened on the chair arm, his head bent as he stared down at her and her drunk-on-him gaze that grew more dazed with pleasure by the second. “Ah yeah, that sweet, hot mouth.”
He was becoming drunker by the moment himself, more addicted to the fiery, soul-deep pleasure she gave him.
With each deep stroke of her mouth over his cockhead his control disintegrated further. Pleasure whipped through his system, erotic and sizzling with heat. Then he felt the first uncontrollable flex of the engorged crest as his release tightened his balls.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come—” He couldn’t hold back much longer. “Amelia, baby.” Moving one hand, forcing himself to release his grip on the chair arm, he sank his fingers in the warmth of her hair, intending to pull her head back before he found his release in the snug, heated confines of her suckling mouth.
“Amelia, dammit.” He grimaced, realizing by the hunger in her eyes that she had no intentions of releasing him.
His cock throbbed, his balls tightening further as he began moving against her, fucking the reddened, cock-swollen lips surrounding him. His hand tightened in her hair, holding her in place. Electricity sizzled up his spine then back down, struck his balls, and sent his senses careening with pure, male ecstasy.
His dick pulsed violently, shooting a hard, heavy pulse of semen to her suckling mouth. Spasms of aching pleasure racked his balls, sent another wild surge of release spilling to her mouth, another as a shattered groan rasped from his throat and the final blinding pulse of release shot furiously between her tight, shuttling lips.
The grip of sexual intensity held him prisoner for long moments, racking his body as her lips slowed, easing him along the climactic ride until, with a final shudder, he pulled back, watching as she released him slowly.
Cupping her cheek, he used his thumb to wipe a creamy bead of semen from the corner of her mouth, grimacing in pleasure as she licked the final taste of him free of the pad of his thumb.
“What you do to me,” he whispered.
Easing back from her, he helped her slowly to her feet before pulling her into his arms for long moments.
Finally, it was Amelia that moved.
“We need to get dressed,” she whispered, her expression far too somber for his comfort. “We have to talk.”
She had just given him more pleasure than he’d had from any woman in his life. Crowe watched her for a long silent moment before doing as she asked, the warning tingle across his shoulder blades assuring him trouble was coming.
He pulled his boots up then lifted his brow questioningly.
Her lips parted.
“Unauthorized entrance requested,” the computerized voice announced as he watched Amelia’s lips tremble.
“It’s too late,” she breathed out roughly. She closed her eyes for a moment before rising and moving to the door.
Pausing, she waited until he caught up with her.
“What the hell’s going on?” he growled.
She opened the door as the computer announced the presence once again.
“Have your men let them in, Crowe. Two vehicles and eight occupants. I promise you, they’re not here to hurt anyone.
“Then you can tell me who it is first.” Command and an overwhelming gut instinct of perhaps not danger, but definitely a sense of chaos was arriving, gripped him.
She swallowed tightly. “My parents,” she said faintly. “My real parents. Please let them in.”
CHAPTER 21
Her parents?
Staring back at her, Crowe could see the pure fear in her eyes. A fear that went far beyond simply revealing her real parents.
“Is this a threat, Amelia?” he asked her softly.
She blinked back at him, at first confused, then her expression filling with wounded hurt. “You think I would threaten you? How could I threaten you, Crowe?”
He shook his head before raking his fingers through his hair.
“I don’t believe you’re threatening me. I need to know if the occupants of those vehicles are a threat to you?”
“I would have told you if they were.” The whisper was filled with hurt, uncertainty, and a shadow of betrayal.
Why would she feel betrayed?
He shook his head before raking his fingers through his hair. Yes, she would have told him; he’d been overwhelmed by his determination to protect her, his fear for her. He’d needed to know she was certain there was no danger in that vehicle. Before he could vocalize his fears his earbud communications set pinged, drawing his gaze to the table where he’d laid it.
Grimacing, he stalked to the table, flipped off the radio, and picked up the earbud, setting it in place before activating the link.
“Crowe here.”
“I hate to bother you, my friend.” Ivan’s voice came over the line. “But we have visitors demanding entrance, and you will not believe who they have been identified as.”
“Tell me,” Crowe demanded, his gaze going to where Amelia stood watching him, her expression forlorn, her gaze shadowed with hurt and fear.
“None other than Commander Ethan Roberts, his brother, Jack, and the four men of Ready Team One. They are refusing to identify the two smaller heat sources though.”
Ethan and Jack Roberts, owners and co-commanders of the independent military response team Ready Team One. There were four permanent members of their team, all accounted for. One of the smaller heat sources might be Amelia’s mother.
“I believe the smallest heat source could be a child,” Ivan mused.
A child?
Amelia’s mother, Thea, had been rather young when she supposedly died, Crowe admitted. But he could have sworn he’d heard she hadn’t been able to have any more children after Amelia.
“What would you have us do, Crowe?” Ivan continued.
“Patch me through to the gate,” he ordered, his gaze still locked on Amelia’s when he saw her flash of uncertainty and the strengthening of the shadowed fear.
She wasn’t showing any sign of lying, though. Rather than gripping her hands in front of her, signaling evasiveness or deception, she stood with her arms relaxed at her sides.
The comm device clicked several times as the link was routed to the gate.
“Ethan,” Crowe greeted the other man, thinking of the past years and the jobs that had brought them into contact with each other.
What did he have to do with Amelia?
The eyes. Amelia’s were turquoise; Ethan’s were the same color.
The color of her hair. The same as Ethan’s.
Surely God’s sense of humor couldn’t be so cruel?
“Hello, Crowe,” Ethan answered. “May I see my daughter?”
Realization was slashing through Crowe even as Ethan spoke.
“Identify the two heat signatures you’re hiding first,” he demanded of the Ready Team One commander. “And I’ll consider it.”
He wasn’t prepared for Amelia’s response.
“No!” Terror filled her expression as well as her voice. Tears flooded her eyes and she rushed to him, her fingers gripping his arm desperately as a sob jerked from her chest.
Amelia was crying?
Sobbing? Amelia never sobbed.
“Please, Crowe, I’m begging you.” The tears were running
down her face in heavy rivulets now as she began trembling so hard she was almost shuddering, pulling at his arm, her breathing harsh. “Please don’t. Let them come in. Anyone can pick up the conversation from the gate. I’m begging you not to let that happen.”
“Crowe.” Ethan’s voice was heavy and somber. “Do as she asks. I swear to you, there’s no danger coming to your door from either heat signature.”
Crowe’s gaze remained locked with Amelia’s as a ghostly air of warning skated across his shoulders.
“Ivan, let them in,” he answered, still watching Amelia’s eyes, his chest tightening painfully as she laid her head against his arm, silent sobs still shaking her shoulders for several seconds.
“Are you certain?” the other man questioned, obviously having heard Amelia’s pleas through the link.
“Let them in,” he repeated. “Come to the front door and have John, Rory, and three other agents with you.”
“Coming now.” The link disconnected.
Amelia’s head lifted from his arm, her face wet with the tears she had shed, her breathing still erratic.
“I can’t risk Wayne hearing…” A sob jerked through her before she could control it. “I’m so sorry, Crowe,” she cried, lifting her hand to cover her lips as more tears began falling down her face. “I’m so sorry. I should have told you … I should have told you…”
He wouldn’t let himself think. He couldn’t.
There was too much rushing through his head, too many suspicions and too many implications. Her reaction, the sobs, and the terror that Wayne would hear something. The times Amelia had gone missing over the years, a few days here, a few days there. Clyde’s call, three months after Crowe had left her, to tell him Amelia had come to the ranch, begging to get in touch with him. But she wouldn’t tell Clyde what she wanted. She just wanted to talk to him.
She had needed to talk to him.
She hadn’t said it was important. She hadn’t said life or death was involved. Just that she had to talk to him.
Reaching out, he touched her face, using his thumb to brush a lingering tear from her cheek.
“What have you done, Amelia?” he asked her quietly, knowing and refusing to admit to what he knew.