by Kris Norris
“Fuck. Hold on.”
Arms wrapped around her, then she was against Russel’s chest, moving through the house. She didn’t see where he was taking her—the walls a dull wash of the images still playing inside her head—when something sounded in the background. Tinkling sounds that penetrated the hazy blur. She blinked as Russel removed the last of her clothes and lifted her into the shower.
Hot water splashed across her skin, finally cutting through the nightmare. Russel had her on his lap, sitting on a small ledge at the back of the large enclosure, his arms like steel bands around her. Holding her tight. Keeping her safe. She took a few gasping breaths, then leaned into him, gripping his forearms with both her hands. He couldn’t let go. If he did, she’d fly apart.
He nuzzled her neck, dropping a kiss on the shell of her ear. “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. You’re safe, and I’ll keep you that way. So, let it go.”
To her horror, tears welled in her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks, mixing with the water cascading down his arms. She didn’t try to stop herself, just laid against him, letting the past slowly fade. The water was starting to cool by the time he finally eased up on his hold. But he didn’t let go, managing to stand with her in his arms.
She wrapped her hands around his neck, still leaning into his chest as he exited the shower, turned off the taps, grabbed some towels then took them back to the room they’d shared the night before. He settled her on the bed, wrapping a huge length of terry around her. She shivered, not sure why she was cold, when the bed dipped from his weight. He shuffled against the headboard then bodily lifted her and placed her between his thighs, again.
She burrowed against him, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her hands over his as he held her tight. Not as firmly as in the shower, but enough it soothed the jumpy feeling in her stomach. The one that threatened to toss what little food she’d eaten across the bed.
He brought his cheek next to hers. “Just keep breathing.”
Breathing. He said it as if it was easy. Natural. Not the labored effort it took her to draw air in then push it out. But, slowly, the burning sensation in her lungs faded, each breath a bit easier than the last. Russel didn’t move, didn’t talk. Just sat there, wrapped around her, listening to her gasping pants.
When she’d finally regained some modicum of composure, he released one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.
“Feeling better? Chest still tight?”
She shook her head.
“Words, Quinn. I’d like you to tell me you’re okay.”
She swallowed, nearly gagged, then twisted enough to look at him. “Better.”
There. She’d managed a word without puking. Without passing out. Surely, that was enough? A Herculean effort.
He smiled, and her stomach fluttered. Not the nauseous feeling like before. This was warm and tingling. The way she felt when she realized she was about to capture the perfect shot. Only this made that feel colorless. Two-dimensional.
“Not quite the declaration I was hoping for, but it’s better than nothing. Do you need to rest? Or have some more food? Maybe a shot of whiskey?”
“You.”
He frowned. “Me?”
“It’s what I want. What I need. Just you.”
His eyes narrowed, the green color slowly darkening as the skin over his cheekbones tightened. “Quinn—”
“Are you always going to try and talk me out of making love to you?”
“Are you always going to want sex when you’re on the edge?”
“You’re describing every moment of every day of my life for the past ten years. I’m always looking over my shoulder. Wondering if someone’s watching me. Following me. If I’m putting friends or co-workers at risk simply by agreeing to meet them for a drink or collaborate on a project. It’s never a perfect time, and I’ve never been safe. So, if you’re waiting for that moment—it doesn’t exist.”
“Not yet. But it will. We’ll figure this out. But even if we don’t. If Thomas is untouchable. If there isn’t a way to bring him down, no one is ever going to hurt you, again. Not as long as I’m breathing. That’s not a promise. It’s a fact.”
She twisted in his arms, losing the towel in the process. “Then, here’s another fact. I want you. No, need you. On the edge. After the fallout. Doesn’t matter what’s happening around me, I can’t get you off of my mind. Can’t focus. I’ve never felt like this. Like I’m careening out of control. Stuck on a Ferris wheel that won’t stop turning. But what’s crazier is that I don’t want to get off. I want to stay on it. With you. So, unless we’re back to you not being interested…”
Russel’s mouth twitched a moment before his hand slipped to the back of her neck and his mouth crushed down hard on hers. A brief meeting of flesh, then he twisted her mouth open and licked his way inside. He tasted like coffee. Like spicy man and strength. A potent combination that was somehow linked to her DNA. One taste, and she was ready. As if he’d inserted a code and unlocked her defenses. No need to scale her walls or knock them down, he just opened the door and walked inside.
She gave him control, wrapping herself around him, trying to climb onto his lap without letting go. She couldn’t let go. Couldn’t get her fingers to release their death grip on his neck. They were glued to his skin. Stuck in place as she returned his kiss, eating at his mouth when he paused for a quick breath.
Russel chuckled, lifted her up as he straightened his legs, then set her back down—directly above his erection. The head was hot and wet, pulsing with every brush of her skin against it. She balanced her weight, hands still digging into his flesh, her tongue still tangling with his, and rubbed the flared crown the length of her cleft.
A guttural moan rumbled through Russel’s chest. Low. Throaty. Like the growl of a wild animal just before it struck. She grinned and repeated the motion, teasing him with a hint of penetration.
An actual growl surfaced, this time. It was deeper. More of a warning, now. He was declaring his dominance. Giving her time to accept it before he lost control.
Good. She wanted him to lose control. Wanted to see him sweat. Shake. She didn’t want Ice, the calm, cool soldier who faced death and didn’t blink. She wanted Russel. The man who’d swept her off her feet. Who was willing to stand by her, despite the fact she came from poisonous stock. The apples that fell from her family’s trees were like the ones in Eden. Tempting but deadly.
He nipped at her bottom lip, licking the small hurt as he grasped her hips and held her still. She wiggled, gasping when he tightened his hold then thrust up, plunging inside her in one forceful stroke.
Colors danced across her vision, dimming the edges as the coil inside her core whirled inward, tightening painfully then shattering. She arched back, bending over one of his arms as he stayed still inside her, her walls contracting around his length.
Heat poured off her body, coating it with sweat as her orgasm pounded through her. Her head fell backwards, her neck muscles cording until the searing pleasure receded, and she collapsed forward, her forehead on his, her hands now gripping his shoulders.
“Fuck, yeah, sweetheart. Again.”
He pulled out then pushed back in. Harder. Deeper. He didn’t stop, each punishing stroke more forceful than the last. The bed squeaked, the headboard banged, joined by their joint grunts. It was primal. Raw. And she didn’t want it to stop.
Russel quickened his pace, shafting her hard, holding her captive as he claimed her. His mouth, his hands, his cock. Over and over, kissing, touching, thrusting. Every inch felt possessed. Every breath shared as he pushed to the edge, again.
She held on. Clung to him in desperation, wanting to go over but not wanting it to stop. She’d never been taken before. That was the only way to describe it. Even during their rambunctious play last night, she hadn’t felt this owned. But not in a suffocating way. He was cherishing her. Showing her how much she mattered. That she was special.
Her clima
x hit her hard, stealing her breath, dragging her under while shattering her into a thousand pieces. Russel shouted her name, drove up into her and came—emptying in a series of jerking half thrusts. Quinn floated in a numbing haze, finally coming back to herself—minutes, hours, days—later.
Russel held her close, his breath hot and spicy across her cheek. He gave her a squeeze, moving one hand to pinch her chin—raise her gaze to his. She lifted heavy eyelids, smiling up at him as he stared down at her.
He nuzzled her nose. “You okay?”
“Mmm.”
“You are a woman of many words.”
She laughed. “Perfect. Tired.”
“How tired?”
And just like that, her muscled flexed. Gathered back strength she swore was gone. Drained out of her like her tears in the shower. Even her sex heated, clamping down around Russel’s semi-erect shaft. God, how was he still even remotely hard?
She tilted her head a bit, giving him a playful smile. “With you? Never that tired.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Her words took a few moments to penetrate Russel’s skull—most of the blood quickly rerouting to his dick. He’d just come inside her. Had felt as if he’d drained himself dry. Wondered if he’d even be able to come, again, sometime in the next few months. Surely, between last night and this encounter, he’d ejaculated a year’s worth of sperm. Maybe two.
But, as her voice replayed in his head—with you, never that tired—his body reacted. Blood poured into his shaft, and his sac felt heavy. Nearly busting with need.
He didn’t understand it. They were still essentially strangers. Or were they? That first morning, she’d said she knew him, and he’d doubted it, but her observations had been spot on. As if she’d climbed inside her head, watched his memories in fast forward, then given him the abridged version of his personality.
And he definitely knew her. Not the regular stuff. He didn’t know her favorite color or if she liked Italian food. Had no idea when her real birthday was or if she wanted to travel. But he knew she was brave. Was willing to face a life on the run—a life in jail, if need be—to stop some very dangerous men from continuing their spread of evil. She’d begged him and his buddies numerous times to leave—to save themselves—because she couldn’t stomach someone getting hurt because of her. She’d isolated herself, lived in a virtual prison, all in an effort to keep trouble away from anyone she cared about.
And he knew she’d never been in love.
That’s what she’d meant when she’d said she’d never felt this way. She’d used different terminology, but it meant the same thing. She was out of her element. But so was he.
He wasn’t used to letting his emotions dictate his behavior. He controlled them, not the other way ‘round. He’d spent fifteen years alone—content. Focused. Dedicated to his job. To the service. And all it had taken was one night watching her sleep, and he’d fallen off the deep end. Had tossed out his old rule book and allowed a new one to take its place. One whose only purpose was to keep her safe. Find ways to make her smile.
He didn’t have a lot of experience with love. His mother had loved him, but she’d spent most of her time working three jobs just to put food on the table, a roof over their heads. His teammates loved him, in a brotherly way that transcended blood. But romantic love—the kind that grabbed him by something far more sensitive than his balls—that grabbed his heart… He didn’t have a clue what that was.
Was it this unrelenting need to hold her? Touch her? Feel her safe and warm in his arms? Or the cold slither of fear that curled around his spine whenever he thought about her getting hurt? Running off alone and ending up dead on the side of some two-bit country road?
Whatever it was, he had it. Bad. And he didn’t see it letting up in the near future. Maybe in fifty years. Seventy. But not now. He didn’t care that her father led a questionable life. She wasn’t her family, and not wanting to turn her father in, to put him in jail, didn’t make her guilty of sin. It made her compassionate. Loyal. Both of which he understood. He’d had his honor questioned, too. But he’d had friends who had been willing to overlook it. To have his back. Who had she had?
No one.
Well, she did, now. He wasn’t going anywhere unless she physically kicked his ass out. Until then, he’d watch over her. Be her first line of defense.
Quinn inhaled as he gathered her in his arms then spun them around, laying her down on the bed. He usually wasn’t a fan of missionary. Sure, it had its place, generally the first time. A quick one-off to take off the edge then on to more interesting positions. On their knees, against the wall. Any way that made it feel less—personal. Intimate.
But not with Quinn. He wanted to savor her. Watch her. Breathe through her. Quinn welcomed him down, sliding her arms beneath his and across his back as her legs wrapped around her thighs. She was wet. Sticky from their combined releases. But he didn’t care. He’d bathe her, again, after. But, first, he needed to make her his. Bind her to him. Make it impossible for her to see her future without him in it. At her side. Teammates.
He went to his elbows, brushing as much of his skin against hers as he nudged her sex. She smiled, and he slid home, slowly inching inside her until his sac slapped her flesh. God, it was heaven. Hot. Wet. So tight it prickled tears along his eyes. He couldn’t remember ever being inside a woman that had felt this right.
He paused, fully seated, sweat beading his skin, his breath short and rough. “See what you reduce me to? You touch me or smile, and all I can think about is holding you. Loving you. Feeling you unravel in my arms.”
Her eyes softened, her mouth lifting into a smile. The same kind as in the bar that first night. The one where a spotlight had shone down on her from above. Just like it was shining on her, now. “You’re shaking.”
He froze. He never shook. Not under fire and never with a woman. Yet, she was right. His hands rested across her collarbones, his fingers lightly brushing her skin, the slight tremble in them impossible to miss.
He should be scared at how much power she held over him. She was half his size. No match for him. And yet, she broke through his usual barriers, reducing him to bedrock.
Her small hand cupped his jaw. “It’s okay. I’m scared, too. You…” She levered up—touched her lips to his. “Love me.”
His mouth settled on hers, kissing, lifting, repositioning then settling, again. Long, wet kisses that matched the gentle way he moved inside her. Full strokes instead of the short jabs he’d made as he’d emptied inside her. She was hot. Incredibly wet, and it took his years of training to keep his pace steady. Loving. Because that’s what she needed.
He prided himself at reading women. Speaking their body language. She’d been right there with him last night. Hot. Rough. Dispelling some tension. Some fear. Even their previous encounter had been tailored to her needs. But now… Every inch of her begged to be cherished. Worshipped. The way she slid her hands over his back, kneading his muscles. How her heels pressed against his ass. The needy moans she made as he kissed her neck, tilting it to give him better access. She didn’t want him to pound her into the bed, this time.
She wanted his love. And fuck if he didn’t want to give it to her.
Time blurred into the background, nothing more than passing shadows across the floor. He didn’t rush, didn’t do anything other than feel every second of every pass inside her. Slowly building her up until her fingers dug into his skin as her legs tightened around him. Small fleeting contractions prickled his shaft, and he knew she was close.
He leaned down. “You’re not alone, anymore, sweetheart. So, let go.”
Her eyes widened, the glassy depths holding his gaze before they rolled, and she broke. He watched her climax, still slowly pumping her until her head lolled to one side as her grip loosened.
Russel gave her one more kiss then followed her lead. Thrusting into her until the fire burning just behind his balls shot forward, taking him with it.
Strong pulses moved along his cock, once again, emptying his seed inside her.
He hung his head, resting it on her collarbone until he realized he was probably crushing her into the bed. He shifted, but she tightened her hold.
“Not ready, yet.” Her voice was raspy and low. As if she hadn’t been sure she’d be able to speak.
“Not going anywhere. But I’d rather not have to deal with any crushing injuries.”
She laughed. God, it sounded like heaven. “You’re not crushing me. In fact, it makes me feel…safe.”
Safe. When he knew she hadn’t felt that way since leaving her home. Escaping.
He shuffled back, braced a bit more of his weight on his elbows and waited until she was ready for him to move. He didn’t care how long it took. If his damn arms went numb in the process. He’d lie there the rest of the day if she needed. Eternity seemed reasonable.
Because she was his mission. And he wasn’t failing this one.
* * * *
“Ice.”
Russel bolted awake. After spending the afternoon in bed with Quinn, they’d gotten up, showered, again, and made dinner. Rigs had texted, informing Russel that he was doing some more recon. That something felt…off. That’s all Russel had needed to know. He’d ended the call then gathered together anything he thought they’d need for the trip to Montana and stacked it beside the door where they’d be accessible in a moment’s notice. Supplies he’d bought. Weapons from Rigs’ arsenal. The man could have fought off a small country with the amount of firepower he’d stashed away in a locked vault.
Soldiers weren’t supposed to keep their equipment. But most ended up with a smattering of what had kept them alive. And what they didn’t bring home, they usually reacquired. Which Rigs had done and then some. And that wasn’t including the charges he’d set up around his place.