Leon’s eyes were black as spilled ink in the dim light of the apartment and the fury in his expression had begun to morph into something else…a starving lion hunting a wounded gazelle that had just come within its reach…
She couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, her whole body clenching tight as his gaze dropped to her mouth and then down, over the tank top she wore, lingering on the curves of her breasts before dropping farther still.
He’d never looked at her that way before. Not ever.
His fingers locked around her wrists tightened, easing her forward so her hips were pressed to his and she could feel…Holy shit. This wasn’t the growing erection she’d felt when she’d had her hand on his balls earlier. He was rock hard and ready for action.
“Leon?” Her voice sounded weird and unsteady. “What the hell?”
His gaze had begun making its lazy way up her body, lingering on her breasts again. “Yeah?”
Jesus, she could feel her nipples hardening in response. This was just crazy. Once she’d wanted him so bad she thought—with typical teenage drama—she’d die if she didn’t have him. But wasn’t she over that? It had been a long time since she’d felt anything like that for him.
Since you felt it for anyone.
Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps she’d gone too long without sex. Ten years was a long time, and she’d steered clear of it after that one time with Ditch at the last of the Deacons parties after Leon had left. He’d wanted her and she’d let him, because with Leon gone and her father’s diagnosis, she’d felt so shitty. She’d wanted to be wanted by someone, wanted to forget her pain. But it had been her first time and he’d treated her like crap afterward, and she hadn’t been in any hurry to repeat the experience. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be feeling this now, though.
She pulled at the restraining grip on her wrists, trying to shake off the heaviness that was beginning to creep through her. “Fuck’s sake, Leon, let me go. I’m sick of this macho bullshit.”
But the fingers around her wrists were like iron chains. He increased the pressure, his hips now pushing hard against hers, the thick ridge of his cock along the zipper of her jeans distracting her. She was beginning to ache, to be aware of him in the way she remembered from years ago. His smell, his heat. The strong, tanned column of his throat. The darkness of his eyes and the way they were looking at her right now…
How many nights had she dreamt of him looking at her like that? How many hours had she spent imagining it? Wanting it?
Sometimes she used to watch him and the biker groupies that hung around The Priory. Noting the hunger in his eyes when he saw a girl he wanted and went after her. How he zeroed in on her like she was a target he was going to hit. She used to want to be that girl. She used to want to be the one he wanted so much that nothing else mattered.
Looked like she was that girl now.
A shiver crept down her spine and it wasn’t fear. It was…heat. Want. Desire. All the things she’d been keeping inside her for years.
“Macho bullshit?” The rough edge in his voice made that shiver ripple over her skin, raising goosebumps. “You pulled a fucking knife on me. And this is after you nearly twisted my balls off in the bar. What the hell do you expect me to do, Ally?”
Ally. Again. The old name he used to call her. Because she’d hated the clichéd “Red” nickname that the club had given her. The one that used to make him laugh because he was Blue. Red and Blue, the real club colors, he used to say…
Except he never said it in the voice he was using now, all roughened and dark and sensual as a caress.
Take him. Take what he denied you all these years.
Anger bubbled up inside her. Anger at herself for her weakness in wanting him, and at him for being here, for looking at her like that. For calling her what he used to call her, as though he had a right to it still. “Oh, no. I already told you. You don’t get to call me Ally. Not anymore.” She pulled again at his hold, trying to break free. “Now let me. The fuck. Go!”
But he didn’t. He held her with such effortless ease she felt like a kitten trying to push at a mountain. It infuriated her. Reminded her of how powerless she was and how vulnerable in comparison to him, and God how she hated that. Yet struggling against him made her hips twist, causing an aching friction between her thighs that had her shifting and squirming, unable to help herself.
“I’ll call you whatever the hell I damn well please,” he growled. “And I’m not letting you go. We’re here to take back what’s ours, and that includes you.”
“The hell it does!” She stared into those hauntingly familiar dark eyes, saw her own rage reflected back. And heat, oh yeah, she saw that too. It made her even angrier, if that was possible. Only now, when she’d gotten over him, was he looking at her the way she’d wanted him to for so long. No damn way. “I’m not your fucking property, Leon.”
“No, you’re Deacons property.” His grip on her wrists tightened. “And that’s what you’re gonna stay.”
The heat of him, the scent of him clouded her brain, adding a sensual counterpoint to her anger. She tried to shake it off, squirming in his hold in another desperate attempt to free herself.
Leon cursed, his other hand locking around her wrists, both arms around her like steel bars, holding her hard against him. “Stop it. I’m not in the mood for this shit.”
They were nose to nose, and he was so close she could see how the light in the room caught a gleam of gold in his thick, dark lashes. How his pupils were dilated, the blackness swallowing up the deep brown of his iris. How angry he was. And…God, yes, how turned on, too. But it was obvious that he didn’t want it. Was fighting it.
Which only made her even angrier.
Afterward she couldn’t think why she did it, what had possessed her in that moment. Perhaps it was the streak of wildness that had always lived inside her, a recklessness he’d brought out in her whenever they’d gotten together. That combined with her fury and her frustration. Her need to prove her strength and independence.
Whatever it was, Alice didn’t pause to think about it. She retaliated the only way she could. Rising up suddenly on her toes, she bit his lower lip. Hard.
Leon jerked his head back with a curse, his eyes black with fury. A spot of red gleamed on his mouth.
Adrenaline surged inside her, making her feel dizzy. She gave him a feral grin. “First blood’s mine, asshole.”
“That,” he said quietly, roughly, “was a goddamn stupid thing to do.”
Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her whole body gathering itself in anticipation for what she didn’t know. She held his gaze. “Why? Someone’s got to put you in your place.”
“Why?” One of his hands released her wrists. “I’ll fucking show you why.” His fingers tangled in her hair, dragging her head back, his grip so tight little prickles of pain erupted all over her scalp.
Then his mouth came down on hers.
The last person to kiss her had been Ditch, ten years earlier. He’d tasted of stale beer, cigarettes, and disappointment, and she’d wanted to close her eyes, pretend it wasn’t him kissing her. That it was someone else. But she’d made herself keep her eyes open because those fantasies she’d had were over and done with.
Except they weren’t. Those fantasies were real and they were happening right now.
This was no polite, tentative kiss or a lazy, sensual one. It wasn’t even like Ditch’s pretense at passion. This was straight-out invasion with an aim to conquer completely.
Leon’s tongue pushed into her mouth, taking, devouring. No taste of beer or cigarettes this time, just the raw, alcoholic kick of rough whiskey, exploding her senses with heat and hunger. He gave no quarter, his hand on the back of her head ensuring she couldn’t retreat or pull away. Holding her completely and utterly still as he ravaged her.
Heat. Darkness. The metallic, coppery taste of blood. Desire surged in her veins, a wild burst of it that had her leaning into him, her mouth open and blind
ly seeking, trying to kiss him back just as furiously as he was kissing her.
But he wouldn’t let her, taking and taking and taking as the kiss, fueled by anger and lust, became impossibly fiercer, impossibly more demanding.
She shuddered, straining against his imprisoning arms, her body suddenly on fire and her anger turning into desperation.
He growled, deep in his throat, and she found herself pushed down onto the couch, his mouth still devouring her, lean hips shoving between her legs as he pulled at the buttons of her jeans, jerking the zipper down. Her hands were free now and she tried to reach for his zipper in turn, but he pulled her hand away and held it down on the arm of the couch. Then his fingers pushed down beneath the black lace of her panties, his thumb finding her clit.
She gasped, intense pleasure exploding through her as his thumb circled, his fingers sliding down through the slick folds of her sex, exploring, teasing. His mouth was hard on hers, his kiss ruthless, and she lost herself in it, her hips lifting into his hand, seeking more friction, more intensity.
God, this was so good. So fucking intense. But no. She didn’t want to be at his mercy like this. She wanted him to be at hers. She wanted him burning the way she’d burned for so many years.
Lifting her free hand, Alice wrapped her fingers around his wrist, trying to pull away the maddening touch between her legs, but it was like shifting steel. Bastard. She would never be a match for his brute strength. Instead she bit his lower lip again, attempting to twist her hips away.
“Fuck, you little bitch,” he said savagely. “I told you pushing me was a bad idea.” Two fingers slid deep into her as he lifted his mouth from hers, bending his head, his teeth closing around the delicate cords of her neck.
“Oh…Jesus. You bastard…” The words escaped on a cry as pleasure sizzled along her nerve endings like a flash fire, his teeth against her skin a fine edge of pain that somehow made everything that much more intense.
“You want me to fuck you, Ally?” His breath whispered along her skin as his fingers pushed deeper, withdrew, then slid in again. “Right now? Right here?”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
No. She didn’t want that. She wanted him on his back, her fingers around his cock. She wanted him begging. She wanted to fuck him.
Groaning, she shoved hard at his shoulder, but moving him was impossible. His body was immovable, rock hard and hot as a furnace, pressing against her in a way that made her want to melt all over him like chocolate held over an open flame. “No,” she said raggedly. “No, I don’t want that. I want to be the one fucking you, asshole.”
His fingers twisted inside her, his thumb brushing her clit again, his tongue at the base of her throat. “Doesn’t work that way, baby.” His voice was a growl. “I’m the one in charge right now and that’s how it’s going to stay.”
The pleasure was blinding, annihilating. “No,” she repeated, panting, trying to stop her back from arching, her hips from moving. “And I’m not your fucking baby.”
“Sure you are.” His thumb pressed down on her clit. “Come, baby. Come right now. For me.”
It was the ten years of abstinence that did it, she was sure. Nothing to do with the rough heat in his voice or the sure way he touched her. Like he knew her body as well as he knew his own. Nothing to do with the dominance in his tone, either, as if he was giving her an order she couldn’t help but obey.
Because her body obeyed as if it had been waiting for that command all her life. The orgasm crashed hard over her and although she tried hard to bite it back, a desperate wail escaped, her head falling against the back of the couch, her eyes tightly shut.
Unfair. So goddamn unfair. She’d wanted to do this to him, not have it be the other way around.
Something tugged on her feet, and she cracked her eyes open in time to see Leon methodically taking her boots off one by one and dropping them to the floor.
“Wait…” she croaked.
But he didn’t. He reached for her jeans and jerked them down, taking her panties along with them. Then he pushed her legs wide apart, staring down at her exposed sex, the look on his face stealing her breath. The classical lines of his high cheekbones, strong jaw, and sensual mouth were taut with hunger, the expression in his dark eyes ferocious with need. A predator gone too long without food.
She shivered and tried to close her legs, but his grip on her thighs was iron.
“Jesus Christ.” His voice was thick and guttural. “I want to eat that pretty pussy of yours right up. But it’s been too fucking long…” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Stay like that. Don’t move.”
Like hell she was going to take more of his orders.
She tried to push herself up, but his hands shifted to her hips and she was shoved into the corner between the arm and the back of the couch. Then he slid one hand beneath her right thigh and lifted her leg up, crooking her knee over one massive shoulder while he pushed her other leg out. Holding her wide open.
She groaned, the position exposing, stretching her. The feeling of the rough denim of his jeans against already sensitized flesh was almost too much, but there was nowhere to retreat to. He had her pinned. Caged.
Getting his wallet from his back pocket, he got a condom out before throwing the wallet carelessly on the floor. As he ripped open the packet, she tried reaching for the condom, wanting to snatch it from him and roll it on him herself, but he knocked away her hands before she could. “Do that again and I won’t let you fucking come this time.”
She shivered, that weird excitement at the rough order beginning to rise again, pushing against the inside of her skin. A desperate need to test, to challenge. “Then how about you get on with it,” she said thickly. “Unless you’re having problems getting it up.”
It was a deliberate goad, the excitement clogging in her throat as a flame licked up in the darkness of his eyes.
“Oh, I have no problems getting it up, baby. But you might have some problems taking it.”
“I can take you, bastard. I can take anything you throw at me.”
He laughed, low and rough, and she shivered again at the sound. Christ, what was wrong with her? Why was she finding all of this so hot?
She fought for breath, her heart beating so fast it felt like it was going to explode out of her chest. Staring at him as he unzipped his jeans. And holy hell, he wasn’t wearing boxers, going totally commando. She swallowed, unable to take her eyes off him as he gripped the long, thick length of his cock in one hand, rolling down the condom with the other.
There was something so incredibly hot about the sight, his fingers long and strong, blunt tipped and capable, rolling the latex down with ruthless efficiency. God, she wanted to touch him. The need burned so sharp it was nearly pain.
But he gave her no chance. He shifted, leaning forward, one hand on the back of the couch above her head, the other on the arm. The movement forced her leg higher, spreading her wider. She gasped, her hips already lifting, the head of his cock pushing against the entrance to her body. A moan escaped. Christ, he was big. Bigger than Ditch.
Leon pressed forward and she could feel herself stretching, trying to accommodate him. The sensation was intense, drawing a sob from her throat, her body shaking as he slid deeper, relentless.
“Jesus…so tight.” His dark eyes were on hers, watching her, looking into her, the lines of his face fierce with hunger. “Take me, Ally. Fucking take me.”
It was a straight-up challenge and there was no way she was going to refuse. She panted, looking back at him, unflinching. Then she tilted her hips and arched upward, feeling him slide deep inside her, the burn of stretched tissues making her hiss.
“Ah…fuck…That’s it…” He rose up over her, gripping the back of the couch tightly, her leg over his shoulder forced up even higher.
She groaned again. He was as deep inside her as it was possible to get and it felt so good. So intense. Perhaps too intense. The breath escaped her, a long, ragged sound, but she set her teeth against
it. No stopping now. She would take him, she just fucking would.
His hips flexed, the slide of his cock inside her making her shake. Out, then in again, a slow, deep thrust.
“L-Leon…” His name sounded cracked and she couldn’t think why she’d said it.
He looked down at her, his eyes pools of hot darkness, threatening to drag her under.
So good. Too much.
He moved faster, harder, their breathing accelerating, harsh in the silence of the room. She couldn’t seem to keep still, moving in time with him, rising to meet him. Pleasure was a sharp whip across her skin, scoring her as he thrust deeper and with more force, pinning her back hard against the couch. Her hands were pressed against the seat, needing the leverage to help her push against him, because she’d be damned if she’d let him fuck her the way he wanted to.
She’d taken him; now it was his turn to take her.
Alice lifted one hand and gripped the back of his neck, feeling the tension in the strong muscles beneath his skin, his dark gaze never leaving hers. Then gripped tighter still as he began to thrust faster, slamming hard into her, raw, primal pleasure building like a hurricane.
“Mine,” he said, his voice full of sand and rough gravel. “You’re fucking mine, Ally. Understand?”
Her heart turned over at that, but she ignored it because she wasn’t his and she never would be, no matter what he said. She’d never be anyone’s ever again.
She increased the pressure on the back of his neck, pulling his head down so his mouth covered hers, biting him, kissing him, and when finally the intensity of the pleasure became too much, screaming into him as it took her.
As she lost herself to the hurricane.
Chapter 4
Alice screamed into his mouth, her pussy convulsing around his aching cock, and he let himself go, the orgasm crashing through him, deep and dark as a bayou storm on a hot summer night. Tearing his mouth from hers, he buried his head in her neck, a low, harsh moan escaping as it ripped through him. Unable to help himself, he bit her and her body arched like he’d plugged her straight into an electrical socket.
Hold Me Down (The Deacons of Bourbon Street #3) Page 4