by Lora Leigh
“That’s what I figured,” Graham chuckled. “Look, let me put him with a deep-cover contact here in town. He’s working with another DHS agent that only Bryce knows about. He’s older and he’s damned good with younger agents. He’ll make sure whatever changes you make on the bike stay. Eli trusts him, Doogan, and Zoey does as well. Let’s give it a chance.”
“Who? It won’t work if I don’t know who he is.” He loved getting to know the black agents Bryce kept hidden on the books.
“Zoey’s landlord,” Graham admitted. “Lucas Mayes. He’s former SEAL and he’s been working with me ever since an injury sent him home. I’ll talk to him, apprise him of the situation. He knows how to keep his mouth shut with the Mackays too, but he’s damned protective of all of them.”
It could work. If Eli didn’t learn to contain his animosity toward Doogan and the director learned of it, the repercussions wouldn’t be pleasant.
“We’ll try it.” Doogan nodded. “Let Mayes know I’m aware of his status. And he has my contact info.” He grinned. “I’ve known of him for a few years now.”
“Figures,” Graham snorted. “Now, how ’bout dinner tomorrow?” An amused glint filled his friend’s eyes. “Come on, you have to meet the twins before they’re grown. You never stay long enough to see them. You’re going to be their godfather.”
Doogan just stared at him for a long moment.
Godfather? Hell, he could feel his guts burning with the onset of acid reflux already. Godfather to a Mackay? He just barely contained a shudder.
“I must have misunderstood you . . .”
“Nope. Godfather.” Graham rose to his feet. “Come on, Sam just arrived and Kye’s getting pissy. She’ll start a fight.”
“Uh, Graham, about that . . .” Doogan was a bit slower to rise.
Godfather? No, that simply wouldn’t work.
“Brom.” Graham turned, his look somber now. “They’re my kids. My soul. You’d protect them if the worst happened, I know you would.”
“But . . .”
“This just makes it official. Come on, you know I’m not going to change my mind. Stop protesting. Let’s go help Sam get Kye out of here.”
Godfather? Kye and her bar fights and Samantha Bryce all in one night?
He could feel karma’s teeth on his ass and it wasn’t pleasant.
Not in the least.
NINE
She was restless.
By the next evening, Doogan still hadn’t returned to the apartment, and though Eli had been there the night before, he was gone early the next morning.
Dreams had haunted her sleep, and they haunted her after she woke. Like flashbacks, the colors icy blue and emerald green, something scarred and something gold.
Working out in the gym didn’t alleviate the restlessness this time, nor did it ease the constriction in her chest; the certainty that there was something she had to remember, something imperative eluding her, was driving her crazy.
Her fists slammed into the punching bag; she kicked at it, pummeled it with all the fury and certain knowledge that time was running out.
The nightmares were becoming worse, but they were changing. How they were changing she couldn’t remember.
“You killed me, Zoey . . .”
But he wasn’t dead. He was glaring at her, emerald-green eyes so like Natches, filled with anger and hatred.
She couldn’t fight him because she was restrained. Her wrists and ankles were tied to her bed, panic and horror raced through her.
Slamming her fist into the bag, Zoey collapsed against it, her ragged breaths half sobs as pain exploded through her head, nearly taking her to her knees with the force of the agonizing strike of sensation.
She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t talk about the nightmares; the pain became worse and sometimes just thinking about it was enough to fill her with agony. She just wanted it to stop. The nightmares, the fear, the certainty that there was far more involved than just her overactive imagination playing with her were growing by the day.
But there were no answers.
Even her sisters believed it was just a nightmare.
Even Sam . . .
“Come on, Zoey, let’s get you inside before someone sees you . . .” Sam picked her up, the warmth of her body a shock against Zoey’s icy flesh.
“I’m so sorry . . . Tell Momma I’m so sorry, Sam . . .”
The other woman laid her in a bed.
“Here, you’re so cold, Zoey. Let me turn the heat on, honey. Let’s get you warm . . .”
“I killed Harley, Sam. I killed him. I have to tell you. I killed Harley.” She gripped Sam’s arm, trying to hold on to her as the agony in her head refused to dim.
Then the warmth was surrounding her. It didn’t touch the iciness inside her, but it eased the painful cold on the outside.
So cold . . .
She was going to throw up.
The pain was too much; it was blinding now, like needles piercing and ripping through her brain, cracking it open.
“. . . pop your little head like a grape . . .”
She went to her knees, her hands gripping her head, fighting the pain and the roiling in her stomach as ice seemed to encase her entire body.
She’d never relived those images outside her nightmares. Why now?
A punch of pain erupted in her skull again. She was cold. So cold that shudders began jerking through her, uncontrollable, violent tremors she couldn’t still.
Pouring with sweat, her breath heaving from her lungs, Zoey fought to catch her breath, to stop the ragged, broken sobs and terrifying shudders. What had happened that night?
A jagged scar . . .
Intense, white hot, the pain drove her to the floor, her shoulders meeting the mat. Curled into a fetal position, gasping cries falling from her lips, she fought to live now. The agony was ripping her brain to shreds, destroying her . . .
“Zoey!”
No.
Oh God, not Doogan . . .
“Zoey, baby. Come here.”
—
Son of a bitch. Whoever had done this to her was going to die! By his hand, they would die.
“I’m here,” he whispered softly, so softly he knew she’d have to concentrate to hear him. “I’m with you, baby. Right here.”
The suggestions he’d made while she’d been under the influence of that powerful mind-control drug were subtle but all the stronger for it.
He was there. The pain would go away.
“I’m right here, Zoey. You’re warm. You’re safe.”
The shudders began easing, the iciness of her flesh warming as he wrapped himself around her, holding her firmly to his chest, his head against hers.
“I have you, baby.”
He wanted to snarl in rage. He wanted to kill the bastard who’d done this to her.
“I’m so scared.” Her whimper sent rage clawing at his senses as his chest tightened with the pain of what he knew she was feeling.
“No fear, baby.” He kept his voice low. So low she had no choice but to concentrate on it to make out what he said. “No more pain, Zoey. No pain while I’m here.”
Her arms tightened around his neck. She burrowed closer to him, her hands sliding into his hair, holding him to her.
“You danced with me,” she whispered. “You didn’t stay. You didn’t come back.”
Six years. It had been six years, six brutal, guilt-soaked years since he’d danced with her.
“I know.” Brushing his lips over her temple, Doogan stroked his hands down her back, regret flaying his heart.
“Why?” The pain was easing from her voice, hunger edging into it instead of pain and fear. “Why didn’t you kiss me? You wanted to.”
He’d wanted to.
He’d wanted to eat her kiss, stroke and taste her sweet body before devouring her pussy. The fantasies he’d been helpless against the moment his eyes locked on her that night had destroyed him.
“I wanted to kiss you,�
� he agreed. “I wanted to consume you. To fill my senses with you.”
Her breathing was still hard, fast, but not from pain.
“I waited for you.” Breathy, filling with such intense hunger that it constricted his breathing, her voice held him almost spellbound.
“What were you waiting for?” Lowering his lips to her shoulder, he let his tongue taste the sheen of perspiration on her skin and groaned at the salt and sweet taste of her.
“I’m a very bad girl in my fantasies,” she whispered, as though it were a secret. “But you’re very, very bad. Always so hungry for me and determined to teach me how to please you.”
She was becoming lost to his touch now. No nightmares existed for her at this second. Only his touch, his lips, the pleasure he was building slowly within her.
Doogan nipped at her shoulder, then eased the little flash of heat with his tongue.
“How are you a bad girl?” He let the seductive hint of Irish into his voice then and felt the little shiver of pleasure that rippled up her back. “Come, love, tell me how you get bad with me in your fantasies. Tell me what you want me to teach you.”
The thought of the acts he could teach her had his back teeth clenching to hold back a groan.
“Teach me to take your cock deeper in my mouth,” she whispered. “I’ve read about it.” She nipped at his neck, low, sharp little teeth sending fire lashing at his senses.
“Fuck. Baby.” Doogan cupped the back of her head, holding her in place. “Now ease the burn. Lick over your bite.”
She licked. Kittenish little flutters of her tongue stroked over the bite.
“Now tell me more,” he demanded, his fingers clenching in her hair and pulling her head back. “Tell me about all those hot little fantasies.” One hand went to the zipper securing her exercise bra. “And I’ll suck your hard little nipples until you cum for me.”
Pushing the bra over her shoulders, Doogan eased her back to the mat before coming over her. Inserting his knee between her thighs and pushing it firmly against her pussy, he watched that emerald ring darken around the paler green color of her eyes.
“Doogan.” Moaning his name, Zoey arched when he brushed his thumbs over her distended nipples.
“Tell me more, Zoey.” Crooning, teasing, he demanded to know what she wanted, what she dreamed of. “Do you touch yourself in these little fantasies?”
“Oh God, yes,” she groaned.
“Did you ever use any toys?”
He watched her face, watched the emerald color deepen.
“I wanted to be able to please you,” she moaned, crying out as he gripped her nipples lightly, tugged at them.
“What did you do, baby? You bought a toy?” he asked softly.
“Harder,” she panted, arching into the tug of her nipples. “Make them burn, Doogan. Grip them tighter.”
“Tell me.” He all but snarled with the need to know. “Tell me what you did with that toy you bought.”
Lowering his head, he took one swollen, sensitive nipple between his teeth and let his teeth tighten on it, tug at it.
“Oh God, yes,” she cried. “I read how to take you deep if I ever had the chance. I tried to learn. Taught myself how to a little bit . . . Doogan.” She tried to scream, nearly erupting in release when her words, the images they evoked, had him tightening his teeth on her nipple and raking it with his tongue.
As he released the tip, satisfaction surged through him at the ruby flush of the tight tip.
“You want my cock deeper in that tight little throat?” Moving his knee back, Doogan pushed one hand beneath the tiny shorts she wore to the saturated heat of her pussy.
“Deeper,” she panted, twisting beneath him when his fingers found the clenched, rippling entrance to her pussy.
Damn her. He was ready to blow any second. Never, not even once had another woman driven him so hard, so fast into a hunger he couldn’t control.
“I’ll cum in your throat again,” he groaned. “Is that what you want, baby?” He rimmed the entrance, feeling the silky slide of her juices against his fingertips.
“Yes. Oh, Doogan, I want that. I want to hear you cry out my name like you did the first time.”
His finger pushed inside the gripping heat of her inner body in one hard, bold thrust.
For a second, just a second, he was certain she would explode before he wanted her to.
“There, baby,” he whispered, licking her nipple as each breath she took ended in a lingering little whimper.
Retreating, dragging the slick dampness from inside her, he eased his finger lower, finding the tight puckered entrance he sought.
Hips lifting, she whimpered his name each time he dragged her body’s lubrication to the closed, extremely tight portal of her rear.
“I’ll buy you a toy, Zoey,” he promised, slickening her further, wishing he’d had the foresight to bring what he needed to teach her how to take the pleasure he could give her there.
“Then, while I’m fucking your tight little throat, I can fuck you right here as well.” He pushed his finger to the first knuckle inside the gripping entrance of her anus and nearly came in his jeans when she screamed his name and demanded more.
“Deeper,” she cried. “Oh God, Doogan . . .”
She writhed on the penetration, bearing down, taking him to the next knuckle.
Twisting his wrist Doogan sent a finger thrusting inside her pussy, his lips covering a nipple, consuming it, nipping and licking and growling with demented hunger.
He couldn’t take much more.
God, he had to get inside her.
Pulling back, he ignored her shattered cry, her demand to give her more. Loosening his jeans, he drew the engorged length of his shaft free before gripping her wrists and pulling her into a sitting position.
“On your knees,” he snarled.
He didn’t wait for her to move. Wrapping one arm around her hips, he lifted her, turning her. When she caught her weight on her hands and knees, he jerked the brief little shorts over her shapely ass to her knees, gripped his cock, and, as he watched, pressed it against the glistening, swollen curves of her pussy.
“I’m going to come inside you again,” he breathed out in anticipation. “Like I did before. Damn, Zoey, it’s incredible how good it feels to pump my release in your snug little pussy. To feel you surrounding me . . .” He pressed forward. “Ah baby, so hot and wet. So tight and sweet.”
Her inner muscles bit down on him, tightening, rippling around the advancing intruder, milking him deeper, sucking at his flesh with such incredible pleasure that holding back was killing him.
Sweat trailed from his temple, beaded the rest of his face. Teeth clenched, a groan pulling from his chest, he pushed inside her further. His balls tightened, his cock throbbing. And the sweet heat enclosing him was like a silken vise tightening around his cock.
Still, he pushed in with slow, measured thrusts, watching her flesh stretch around him, seeing her juices clinging to his shaft as he pulled back. Then in again, groaning, his thighs bunching to hold back his release as her inner muscles sucked at the too-sensitive head of his cock.
She was killing him. She was ripping his soul open, tearing down the defenses he’d spent years building, and reminded him, with each look, each second he spent with her, why he’d nearly broken a sacred vow one hot summer night, just to have her.
“Ah Zoey, I love how you take me,” Doogan groaned behind her. “So hot and tight, sucking my dick in . . .” His hips jerking, driving him deeper, harder.
A desperate cry spilled from her lips.
She needed harder, deeper. He was killing her with the exquisitely slow thrusts and retreats. Sensitizing her to the point that the pleasure was an ecstatic agony.
Excitement raged through her, making breathing harder, each breath becoming a moan as he stroked inside her. The callused fingers gripping her hips kneaded her flesh; she felt beads of his sweat drip to her back, felt his cock throbbing inside her, the heavy, ro
py veins rasping against her inner flesh, the broad, mushroomed head driving her crazy with each thrust before the heavy shaft lodged inside her, pounding with each beat of his blood racing through the throbbing veins.
“You’re killing me,” she cried, her shoulders collapsing to the mat, her nails digging into the tough canvas. “Stop torturing me, Doogan . . . Oh God . . . Doogan, please . . .”
Slow, so slow she could feel every heated stretch of her inner muscles as the broad crest eased inside her. Flexing, rippling in need, her pussy clenched on the invader, milked it, fought to hold him inside her.
It wasn’t enough.
Each slow impalement only built the need higher, increased the storm beginning to rage through her senses. Lazy, steadily tightening spirals of sensations lashed through her while each slow thrust, each retreat, had her crying out the need for more, for harder, for relief from the steadily building intensity that was driving her crazy.
“Sweet Zoey,” he crooned behind her, that hint of the Irish accent so damned sexy it just made her wetter. “Ah babe, how I love the feel of you.”
“Doogan, I need you. Now,” she groaned, her fingers fisting, perspiration dampening her hair now. He was burning her alive, the flames searing her senses, racing through her body like wildfire. “Please let me cum. Please . . . Fuck me, Doogan.”
A sudden, slamming thrust nearly triggered the explosion she was begging for. As though his control merely slipped for an instant. He stilled as the hard, fast thrust buried him to the hilt, his hands clenching on her hips, a rough groan tearing from his chest.
“I love you fucking me,” she whispered brokenly as he eased back, retreating by slow degrees. “So thick and hard inside me, so hot . . .”
Hard, shocking, white-hot pleasure suddenly snapped through her as he thrust inside her hard and deep, not just one, twice, three times . . . Oh God, she was so close, and he stilled.
“Fuck me. You little witch. You’ll pay for that, love,” he groaned, his breathing harsh, heavy.
“Willingly.” Clenching on the flesh stretching her with such brutal pleasure, Zoey whimpered, stretched on a rack of such pleasure she didn’t know if she’d survive the release. “What pay . . . oh God, what payment?” She groaned as he moved against her, stroking her internally. “Fuck me, Doogan. Deep and hard and the next time you get your dick in my throat—” She screamed.