Closer

by Leigh, Jo

  She reached for the soap, but he stopped her with his teeth on her neck. It was a very effective move, stilling her instantly. He growled as he held her there, his left hand moving down her stomach, between her legs.

  He didn’t need the shower or the soap to make her wet and slick down there. His finger was large, blunt but practiced, as he explored her. First finding her clit, then sliding back until he pushed in, filling her so well she rose on her toes.

  Now he held her with that finger, which was powerful motivation not to move. When he looked at her, she could barely see the green of his eyes, they were so dark with his excitement.

  She wanted more than his finger. To let him know, she squeezed him, enough to make his eyebrows raise in surprise.

  She gave him her most wicked look. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to wait.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so.”

  She coughed at his audacity. “And if I don’t want to?”

  “I’ll enjoy the show.”

  She snuck her hand between them and tweaked the hell out of his nipple.

  “Hey, that hurt.”

  “And there’s more where that came from, so watch your step, buddy.”

  “You think you can take me?”

  “I can try.”

  The grin came slowly, as did the delight in his eyes. “You’re right. Let’s get clean and get the hell out of here. I want you on your back.”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?”

  She tweaked his other nipple. “’Cause I like to be on top.”

  Boone grabbed her wrist. There was no possibility of her getting loose if he didn’t want her that way. Not that she minded. She might be hell on wheels when it came to business, but in the bedroom? She liked to be dominated. In the right way, of course. So far, Boone had the perfect balance.

  She thought about the difference, last night to now. A lot had happened, and she’d been on an emotional roller coaster. He hadn’t missed a beat. Last night, he’d called it so right it was spooky. Tonight…Oh, yeah.

  “What was that again?” he asked.

  “I said, I like to be on top. If you can’t handle that, well, then I guess I won’t get clean at all.”

  He spun her around and brought her back up against his body. She could feel how the game excited him. How he liked feeling his own strength. “If you won’t wash yourself, I guess I’ll have to.”

  He reached behind her to the basket where she kept her sponges and bath soaps. He took the biggest of the sponges in his free hand and, still holding her, she knew he faced a dilemma. His solution was pretty ingenious, actually. He pulled his body away from hers far enough to put the sponge in the space. Then he got the soap, opened the top with his teeth, and squeezed enough for three baths onto the sponge.

  She laughed, which made him grin, but he didn’t give an inch. She wasn’t going anywhere, which was a good thing. Because as soon as he put back the soap, he got the sponge and started washing her.

  Being a man, he chose the good parts first.

  She used the sponge all the time, but it never felt like it did as he washed her breasts in slow circles, first one and then the other, avoiding the brush across her nipples she craved. When she tried to maneuver herself into the right path, he stopped the sponge altogether, until she relaxed and let him have his way. “Tease,” she whispered.

  He leaned in close to her ear. “Count on it.” He moved the sponge down, the soap dripping over her stomach, down her thighs. Using his foot, he pushed her legs apart.

  Even though she knew it was useless to fight it, she did. She had to. But he got her feet planted more than shoulder-width apart, and with her wrist still captive, held her steady.

  In order to reach his next objective, he had to bend over her, his chest slippery with soap, his cock pressed up and slightly into the cleft of her ass. It was incredibly difficult not to squirm, to just let him have this power.

  To make things worse, or maybe better, he gripped her earlobe between his teeth, just hard enough. His breath, ragged now, sounded practically feral.

  She closed her eyes, feeling everything. The size of his hands, the way his broad shoulders dwarfed her own, the slippery cock so close and yet not nearly close enough.

  He brought the sponge between her legs, rubbing back and forth, keeping it light, making her insane.

  She struggled to break his hold, but he wouldn’t let up, not an inch. The struggle itself brought her a little relief; it made him rub harder with the sponge. Just not hard enough. “Boone, please.”

  “Please what?”

  “Let me go.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  He did as she asked. One second she was enveloped in his strength, then next she was adrift. Turning slowly, the water hitting her sensitive skin, but not bringing her any pleasure, she looked up into his eyes.

  “Take me to bed,” she said. “Any way you want me.”

  He took hold of her again, by her shoulders, and crushed her mouth in a bone-melting kiss. Her surrender was complete, and she’d never felt more taken care of in her life.

  Boone came up for air, but it took him longer to come back to his senses. All he wanted was to lift her up against the wall and make love to her until they both melted down the drain. But that wasn’t gonna happen. Not like that. His first priority was her safety. He was just having a hard time convincing his dick.

  “Come on. Let’s go,” he said, turning off the water. “You get dry. I’m going to go out, check the house. I’ll bring you back something clean to wear.”

  Christie blinked at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. “What?”

  He stepped out of the shower and grabbed the first big bath sheet off the rack. Then back in, where he wrapped her up. “Christie?”

  “You’re leaving without me?”

  “Just for a minute. I have to check the house. With all the precautions we took, I’m sure everything’s fine. But I’m not taking any chances, okay?”

  “Can’t I go with you?”

  “Not yet. Soon.” He stepped to the carpet again, getting a towel for himself and doing a crappy job of drying off. It was hell pulling up his jeans. He hadn’t lost his erection, and that’s the way he wanted it, but damn, the zipper. He left the top button undone, grabbed his gun, took the safety off, and headed for the door. Just as he reached for the knob, he changed his mind, went back and kissed Christie one more time, deep hard and fast. Then he got out of there before he lost his mind.

  The second he was in the hallway, he was all business. If the geek had gotten in the house, Boone would know it quickly, just by checking one panel in his bag. There was no entry and no exit from this house that wouldn’t trip a silent alarm, and give him ample opportunity to deal with the situation. At least that was the plan.

  Gun up, Spidey sense on full alert, he went down the hallway so silently Milo didn’t even look up. “Good dog,” Boone whispered as he got next to the animal, who had his big paw over Boone’s bag.

  Milo didn’t seem to mind being moved. Boone flipped back the bag flap and there was the panel, all green, all clear. He relaxed, but not by much. While he trusted Seth with his life, he wasn’t quite that sure about electronics. So he went room to room, into closets, checking under furniture, behind cabinets.

  It took a while, and he hoped Christie wasn’t too cold or impatient. He hadn’t lost his hard-on, which made him wonder if he was a little too fond of his job. He knew he was too fond of her.

  Coward that he was, he chose not to think about that tonight. Maybe tomorrow he’d face the fact that he should never have kissed her. But tonight? He was going to get that woman on her back. For starters.

  The house was clear. Nothing had been disturbed, no one was even interested. Seth had set up a camera in the backyard, on both sides of the house, and across the street. Good man, that Seth.

  Boone put the sa
fety back on as he headed to the bathroom. He tapped the door so he wouldn’t startle her, then he walked in.

  Christie was sitting on the edge of the tub, still wrapped in the towel. She’d combed her hair away from her face. When she looked up at him, he stopped dead still. Her eyes were wide with a trust that made him want to slay dragons. Her lips, sweet and ripe, were parted, showing a hint of her even, white teeth. She stood, pale shoulders trembling. And as he stared at her with his heart in fifth, she dropped the towel.

  “Oh, shit,” he said, surprised that he could form the words.

  “Come on, soldier boy. Show me what you got.”

  He was at her side before she could blink. He picked her up, careful not to hurt her in his panic. They were out the door and down the hallway, and he was raging for her, hoping like hell Milo cleared the room before he got hurt.

  Then they were at the edge of the mattress, and he went to his knees. But he couldn’t let her go. While she was still cradled in his arms, he kissed her again. His tongue thrust into her hard, a preview of what was to come.

  He felt nails on his back, swallowed her moan. There was no choice, he had to let her go so he could rip his goddamn jeans off.

  Christie had the same idea. The moment she was on the bed, her fingers were at his zipper. He had to stop her though because this wasn’t going to be easy. He was so hard, he’d have to watch it or become a soprano.

  He didn’t even mind her laughter as he carefully unzipped. Once he was free, he was out of those Levi’s in two hot seconds. That’s what he wanted. To be next to her, on her, in her.

  She welcomed him with another moan, spreading her legs so he could climb between them. Every touch was torture as his cock wanted only one thing.

  When her hand circled him, he groaned, it was that intense. “Come on, Boone. Come home.”

  He felt the soft wetness between her legs and he thrust so hard she screamed. He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her breath, her passion, and he reached down and lifted her legs. Right there, that was it. He used his knees to balance and every muscle in his body to take it home, hard.

  Her hands were on his back, her nails sharp and exactly right. He liked the pain, loved knowing he could do this to her, stretch her like this, make her cry out over and over. There was nothing but her slick heat, nothing but the taste of her cries. He knew he was hurting her shoulders, pressing too hard, but he couldn’t stop. It wasn’t just his cock, it was every part of him, his legs, his chest, his mind, and he was in her, in her, harder, deeper.

  She bit his lip, she tore at his flesh and her heels beat on his back. All of it was perfect.

  There was no more time, no control at all. “I can’t,” he growled, knowing he wasn’t making sense.

  “Do it,” she said. Then she grabbed his head between her hands and she kissed him, assaulting his mouth, tearing at his lips.

  He shouted as he came, as hard as he had ever in his life.

  She never let up, milking him beyond the point of pain all the way to insanity.

  He reared back, gritting his teeth, his whole chest pounding with his heart. His cock pulsing at the same beat.

  She pushed him. Her hands weren’t on his back anymore, but on his chest. And she was pushing him, struggling, and he must be hurting her, but he didn’t know how.

  He pulled out, checked where his elbows were, his knees. He couldn’t be pulling her hair, so what the hell?

  “Move, goddammit!” she yelled, shoving him harder than he would have thought possible.

  He sat up on his knees, and she was staring at his chest, kicking at him, pushing him, and then he looked down and he saw it. The red dot. Right over his heart.

  He rolled just as the shot shattered the window.

  Chapter 11

  “GET DRESSED.”

  Christie stared at the hole in her wall. One second later, and Boone would have been dead. One second.

  She felt a warm drip down the inside of her thigh, and she realized that they hadn’t discussed birth control. That she hadn’t even thought about him wearing a rubber. She took the pill, had for years, but she always insisted that the guy be safe. Always. But not with Boone, and Boone had almost been killed. If she hadn’t looked down. If she hadn’t seen all those TV shows with the laser sights, she wouldn’t have known. She wouldn’t have warned him.

  “Christie.”

  She looked up. Boone, sweat making his face shiny, stared at her. He had his gun out.

  “Christie, I’m okay. You need to get dressed. Right now.”

  She moved on the bed, sore from the most incredible orgasm she could ever remember. “I’ll go turn on the shower.”

  “No. There’s no time. Just get your clothes on. Just hurry.”

  She nodded. Turned on her elbow to get up. But his hand on her shoulder stopped her.

  “Stay low. I don’t know where he’s shooting from, I don’t know what he can see. So stay low, grab your clothes and get to the hallway.”

  She moved in slow motion, finding her shirt, jeans, bra, panties, shoes. Then she crawled on her own carpet to the hallway, expecting a bullet in her back the whole way.

  She bumped into Milo and nearly screamed, but he just licked her face, huddling close, his tail wagging. She hugged him tight, then struggled into her clothes, watching as Boone made his way to the window.

  How could the bastard have seen them? The blinds were drawn, so how could he see? Was his timing on purpose? Was he watching them make love, just waiting until they came to shoot Boone? If she hadn’t seen the red dot, then Boone would have fallen on her body. He would have still been inside her.

  She was shaking, so damn hard she couldn’t hook her bra. There was no way she was going to cry. Not while he could see her. Not while that asshole was outside, looking in.

  “Where’s your purse?”

  “What?”

  Boone didn’t look at her. He was almost to the window, and she could make out the muscles in his back, in his thighs. He didn’t touch the blinds, but she saw where the bullet had broken through. She could see the glint of glass on the carpet.

  Even the blood on the bed hadn’t felt like this. Hadn’t ripped the last shred of safety from the edges of her mind. Finally, she got the bra on and then she put her shirt over her head. The moment of blackness nearly made her pass out, but she didn’t cry.

  “Your purse. Where’s your purse?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Are you dressed?”

  “I don’t have my shoes on.”

  “That’s okay. Can you get to your purse without standing up? Can you keep clear of the windows?”

  “I think—Yeah. I can.”

  “Do that. Carefully. Then get your keys out, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He looked at her. “Keep it together, Christie. I’ve got you.”

  She nodded, thought about putting on her sneakers, but she headed for the kitchen on hands and knees. Milo trotted along with her, trying to get her attention, but she ignored him. Inch by inch she crawled until she saw her purse next to her chair. She’d put it there so casually, not ever thinking that it was out of the line of sight of a sniper.

  There was no sound at all from the other room. All she wanted to do was turn, see Boone, just for a second. Make sure he was still there. Still alive. But she kept moving until she could touch the edge of her purse, feel the leather strap in her hand.

  If her heart would just stop pounding, she’d catch her breath and it would be okay. It wouldn’t hurt so much. She brought her purse up to her chest, and crawled back to the hallway, instantly better when she saw that Boone was fine.

  He wasn’t naked anymore. He had on jeans and he was pulling on a pair of socks.

  Socks. She hadn’t gotten socks, and she hated to wear her sneakers without socks, but she couldn’t get them now. The tears she’d been fighting broke through. She swiped them away, pissed that she was crying over stupid socks.

  “Christ
ie?”

  She sniffed, swiped. “Yeah.”

  “You have the purse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get out your car keys.”

  “Okay.” She opened her purse and found her keys, but she had to hold them in her fist because they made so much noise.

  “Now make sure Milo follows, and head for the garage door, okay? Keep low. Take your purse, and go to the door, but don’t open it, you understand?”

  “Yeah. Okay. You’re coming, right?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  She didn’t have to encourage Milo. He’d caught on that things weren’t good, and he was sticking close to the pack, his tail between his legs, his nose low to the ground. She knew just how he felt.

  When they got to the door that led into the garage, Christie realized she hadn’t taken her shoes, which made weeping over socks seem pretty ridiculous.

  She put her back against the wall, her purse on her chest, her arms over her purse. Her bare feet were flat on the cold floor. Milo sat in front of her, his head on his paws, his eyes staring up at her.

  There was no noise, no sound at all. Boone would come in a second. Any second. She started counting, keeping the rhythm steady. Ten, eleven, twelve…

  When she got to eighty, she realized she’d left her gun in the living room. So when the bastard broke in, she’d be here, barefoot and helpless. All that training for nothing. What did it matter? She couldn’t hit the target. She’d have missed him anyway.

  “You okay?”

  She jumped against the door, then realized it was Boone, and he was still with her. “Can we go now?”

  “We can. Let’s just do this by the book, okay?” He was coming toward her, crouched but not crawling, wearing his shirt, a leather jacket, holding his duffel under his left arm, his gun in his right hand. “You need to carry my bag and give me the keys.”

  She nodded.

  “Christie, honey? The keys?”

  She passed them over, and took his duffel, which was incredibly heavy.

  “Can you do it?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. No lights. Just let Milo in the backseat, then you get into the passenger seat. Put your seat belt on the second you close the door.