Ryan was apparently in no hurry. Now that he had me where he wanted me, he seemed content to keep me right where I was. He held me like that for a long while, turning in a slow circle. It seemed like hours but could only have been minutes. With my eyes locked on his, it seemed as if the room was turning around us. Between that and the passion of our kiss, it left me dizzy and breathless. I tore my lips away from his with a moan and leaned away from him to catch my breath.
He wrapped one arm around my waist to support me as I leaned away. His other hand released my ass and I had to squeeze him with my legs to keep from falling, pulling his cock hard against my hot center. He made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like a cross between a growl and a groan His free hand eased inside my shirt, hot on the smooth skin of my belly. My muscles tightened at the contact, and I pulled him closer with my arms around his neck. My face to the ceiling, I closed my eyes.
Ryan’s fingers found my nipples already hard, and he gave one a gentle squeeze. It was as if a bold of lightning shot through my body, white-hot pleasure jolting from my nipple down to my clit. I cried out and arched into his hand, grinding my hips against him. My senses were blind to everything but movement and the feel of his skin and the smell of his soap. His hand under my shirt traced my ribs, massaged the tender skin of my breasts, chaffed my nipples. He moved a callused palm in slow circles on my nipple, the barest pressure, almost not touching. The sensation was exquisite, maddening. I tried to press into him, but he pulled his hand away, keeping the pressure constant. I was panting, aching for him.
I longed to take off my shirt, to have his mouth on me, but if I let go of his neck I would fall.
“Put me down,” I whispered, my voice strained. If I had expected him to set me on my feet, I was mistaken. Now he turned without a word and tossed me on the bed. I squealed as I lost contact with him and felt only air beneath me, then giggled as I hit the mattress. It was very unladylike.
He stood beside the bed, my bare feet on either side of his legs, looking down at me. He had that look in his eyes I had seen before. That bare vulnerability I had noticed in him right away, and underneath that the shadow of a dangerous predator.
I knew which side of him I wanted right now.
“Honestly, Ryan Calder,” I said, my hands lifting my shirt above my midriff, “What kind of girl do you take me fo—”
I didn’t get the chance to finish, because he grabbed my calves and pulled me roughly toward him, leaning onto the bed, covering me with his torso, silencing my mouth with his. Then his searching hands pulled my shirt up over my head and tossed it aside. He straightened back up, standing at the edge of the bed with my legs wrapped around him again. His eyes strafed my body.
“My god, Miriam, you are beautiful.” His voice was rough and filled with need.
I wanted to tell him right then that my name wasn’t Miriam, but it wasn’t the right time. Soon.
I scooted back on the bed and he followed me, kneeling between my legs. He leaned down and wrapped his lips around my hard, pink nipple. My slow intake of breath became jagged as he began to suckle and pleasure pulsed in my body. I moaned, grabbing his head and holding him to me. As he worked his tongue around my pebbled nipple, his hand dipped down beneath the waist band of my yoga pants.
He drew in a breath, feigning surprise. “Miss Everett, I do believe you aren’t wearing any panties.”
“Mmm. It seemed like a waste to put them on just to have you take them off a few minutes later.”
I lifted my hips from the bed to meet his hand. His warm fingers traced the hollows of my hips, moving in a slow, repeating half-circle from one hollow to the other, arching up over my sex, driving me crazy. His mouth and teasing hand drove all thought from my mind other than quenching the molten ache that grew at the center of me.
“Ryan. God, please,” I groaned.
He responded by easing his fingers into the tangle of curly hair between my legs. The breath hissed out of me.
I nibbled his neck and he moaned, tilting his head to the side to expose more of himself. The flesh on his arms broke out in goosebumps.
“If you keep that up, I might not be able to control myself,” he whispered.
Lower down my body, my slick folds opened to his fingers and I tilted my hips to show him where I wanted him to touch.
“Maybe I don’t want you to control yourself,” I said.
He bit his lip at that, and shuddered. “Woman—”
Both his hands slipped beneath me and hooked into the band of my pants. I lifted my ass off the bed and he drew the pants down over my ass and legs in one smooth motion. Then his hand was between my legs again. I gasped as his fingers slipped inside me. I looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes.
“Is this what you’ve been waiting for?” I asked him.
He lowered himself onto me, kissing me. “I would have waited the rest of my life for this,” he said.
His fingers stroked slowly in and out of me. His mouth moving over my neck, my breasts, made me writhe beneath him. The slow fire in me grew, heating me up. I began to push my hips against his hand.
“Please,” I whispered.
He began to move down my body, his lips finding my navel. I put my hands on the sides of his head. “No. I want you.”
He looked at me intently, as if memorizing my face. Then he nodded. I twisted on the bed, unbuttoning his jeans. As I pulled them down, his beautiful erection sprang free. He finished taking off the jeans and tossed them aside. My hand wrapped around his shaft, and he groaned. When I looked up at his face, I saw his eyes were closed, savoring the sensation of my hand on him.
Although I wanted him inside me, I wanted to make him feel as crazy as he had made me. I touched my tongue to the base of his cock and began to slowly lick up toward the head. He trembled as I moved. “God, you feel good.”
“Mmm,” I said, opening my mouth to wrap around the head. I lowered my mouth onto his shaft, sliding down his length and taking in as much of him as I could.
Ryan made a strangled sound, all his muscles tensing.
Then I lifted my head off him, wrapped my arms around his back, and pulled him down on top of me.
The weight of his body between my legs, pressing me into the mattress, felt wonderful. I was in a different place. Nothing that had happened today was real. I was in no danger. All that existed in the world was Ryan and me.
He positioned himself at my opening. His weight rested on one elbow, and he slipped his other hand beneath my ass, massaging me and pulling me slowly toward him as he pushed into me. My sex opened for him, quivering, aching, but he moved slowly, deliberately. His eyes locked onto mine.
“More,” I said, but he didn’t alter his pace, just continued with his maddeningly slow thrust. I wrapped my legs around him and squeezed, pulling him into me. I gasped as he slid in, and he closed his eyes.
His cock in me was huge, filling me completely. I relaxed my grip on his hips and he withdrew, then pushed in again.
And again.
I cried out as we melted into a single being. My body was in agony for him to fill me, and to keep filling me. I twisted and arched beneath him, and he increased his tempo, driving into me faster, driving me faster toward the edge. My teeth sunk into his shoulder and he groaned and his body in mine became more insistent, almost painful.
I lost control, my cries becoming louder, my need undeniable and so great it seemed almost to exist outside myself, its own consuming entity.
When I came, my arms and legs locked around Ryan. His back was slick with sweat and my palms slipped on his skin. My heels dug into the backs of his thighs, pulling him as deep in me as I could. Pleasure rocketed through me. I screamed against his chest.
Ryan held me to him then, his cock moving within me with greater force. He clenched his teeth and strained against me.
“Don’t hold back,” I whispered.
He didn’t. His fingers tightened in my hair and his other hand anchored my hips in pla
ce, holding me still while he pounded into me. The muscles in his back surged and bunched. He roared as he came, a long, triumphant exclamation of pleasure and release. I felt his hot seed pool within me and I drew his head back down to kiss his lips and take the last bit of his ardor and passion on my mouth and tongue.
Gradually, our muscles relaxed. His kiss became softer, gentler. His hands caressed my body, stilling my trembling. When he shifted to roll off me, I held him tight.
“Not yet,” I whispered. “Just…stay right there.” I held him like that until his body softened within me and our mingled sweat cooled. He breathed against my neck, and it felt good.
I was sleepy, and felt my body wanting to drift off.
But not yet. First, I had to tell him.
* * *
All Made Up
Ryan
"My name isn’t Miriam Everett."
I had been drifting off into a languorous half-sleep. But Miriam's statement snapped me right out of that.
I propped myself up on my elbow, looking down at her. She stared up at the ceiling.
"Come again," I said
She smiled at that. "I wouldn't necessarily mind."
I stroked my chin. "That can probably be arranged. I'm still young man." She giggled. "But first, about that other thing you said."
She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving the ceiling. "My name isn’t Miriam Everett. It's Emma Benelli."
“That can't be true," I said. "Your name tag at The Lazy Spoon says your name is Miriam. Diner name tags never lie."
She made a face and sighed. "Nevertheless, my name is Emma Benelli."
"Emma Benelli." I rolled the name around my tongue, trying out the feel of it. "I like it. Italian. Very exotic to a country boy like myself. So tell me, you know, what the fuck?"
She turned and looked at me. Her brown eyes were guarded, expecting something. I can guess at what. Anger. Rejection. Blame for…something.
No way was I going to do that, not after the day we’d had. Certainly not until I'd heard her story. I had had so many questions, and it seemed perhaps she was about to answer them.
Things were just getting good.
She put her hand on my arm. "This seems like the kind of thing that could make you mad. The kind of thing that could make you not like me.
I looked down at her very seriously. "Was it you that short-sheeted my bed when I was in boot camp?"
She looked confused. "Um, no. I don’t even know what that is."
I squinted at her, miming suspicion. "Was it you who filled my boots with Vaseline when I was stationed in Germany?"
That got a smile. For the moment she was tolerating my game. "Nope."
"Then I will probably not immediately become enraged. Try me."
"I'm in Witness Protection."
Now a lot of things made sense. The secrecy. The men chasing her. Her staunch refusal to see me after the first date. "Iknew you wanted a second date with me. I knew it."
She looked at me as if I was insane. "God, can you be serious for a minute?"
I shook my head. "I'm going to be plenty serious tomorrow. Right now, I'm in a pretty unshakable mood."
But I could tell she was feeling vulnerable, so I pulled the sheet up over us and wrapped my arms around her. "But you tell me what you want to tell me, and I’ll listen. And then," I kissed her neck, “I fully intend to make you scream some more.”
She shivered against me. “I’ll hold you to that.” Her breath hissed, a long inhalation. “Basically everything I have told you about myself—"
"Is all made up," I finished for.
"You said you were going to listen!"
"You're right,” I said. I put my hand on her thigh, gently stroking up to her hip and then back down to her knee. She slapped my hand away.
"No. This is important."
I heaved a great dramatic sigh. "Fine. I was just trying to reassure you that I'm not mad, Miriam-Emma."
She turned over on her side, facing me. "Thank you." She looked over my shoulder, her eyes going distant. "When I was a little girl, my dad taught me the difference between right and wrong. He told me, from the time I could understand words, that when you have a choice you always choose to do the right thing. Even if the wrong thing is easier. Even if the wrong thing will make you money."
"Oh my God," I said. "You're a drug dealer, aren't you? You got sideways with the cartels and that's why you're in Witness Protection now."
She closed her eyes. "No. Last year, I was in my dad's office in our house. We had a pretty nice house, nicer than most of my friends’, but I didn't think much about it. Well, I was in his office and I saw a book laying open on his desk. It was the kind of gorgeous book I’ve always found fascinating. All leather bound, with nice paper. So I went and looked at it. It was a list of people and dates and numbers. It didn't make much sense to me at first, but I saw that next to the list of people and dates and numbers was a second list of games and scores, fights and knockouts. And I knew, probably because I watched too many episodes of The Sopranos, I knew that this was my father's book. It was my father's italicize book. That he was a bookie. After all this talk of doing the right thing, even if doing the wrong thing was easier, that at some point he hadn't chosen the right thing."
I stroked her red hair. "That had to be hard for you."
She nodded, biting her lip. "It was. But it was hard for him, too. I confronted him about it. That night, at the dinner table. I'll never forget the look on his face. He looked like I had slapped him. As if he would throw up. My mom started crying."
She looked at me. "I've never been so angry. The things I said–" she took in a deep, shuddering breath. "There were terrible things."
"I'm sure he forgives you," I said. Her eyes were shiny with tears. "I know I'd forgive my daughter if something like that happened. Especially if I was in the wrong. And he was in the wrong."
"Yeah?"
"Of course."
She nodded. "He must have. He must've forgiven me, or something, because the next day he turned himself in. But that wasn't all. The man he worked for was Bernardo Marconi."
That rung a bell. "Hang on. You mean Bernardo Marconi, the big New York crime boss?"
She nodded. "Yeah. That Bernardo Marconi. And dad turned state’s evidence against him."
I let loose a low whistle. "Jesus Christ. That took balls."
She started twisting the sheet in her hands. "That's what I keep telling myself. That even though he was doing the wrong thing, he decided to do the right thing and it took courage." Her lips twisted then. "But goddammit! It turned my fucking life upside down. Two weeks later Marshals came to the house to put me on a plane to Texas. For my own safety." She grinned ruefully. "You know how all that turned out. Safety my ass. They took me away from my home, turned me into someone that wasn't, and then didn't do what they said they were going to do." She threw the sheet off and stood, starting to pace around the room. I have to admit, part of me like watching her stalk around naked, her red hair falling around her tan shoulders.
"It's just not fair," she said.
I sat up and propped my elbows on my knees. "No, it's not. It's not fair at all."
She stopped pacing and faced me. Her fingers found a lock of her hair and twisted it absently next to her ear. "What do I do?" she asked plaintively.
I raise my eyebrows. "About your dad? No idea. About the guys Marconi sent after you? I have some ideas about that."
Miriam-Emma seemed to be chewing the inside of her cheek. "You do?"
It was my turn to nod. “I’ve got some plans for those fellas."
She shook her head, came back and sat on the bed. She looked down at me. "You've already done too much. You're too involved. Just leave it alone. If they don't find me in a couple of days they’ll go home and tell Marconi they lost me." She sounded so hopeful. Part of me hated shattering that hope, but I knew I had to.
"I know men like that. Like the ones that are chasing you." I paused. "Th
ey're not going to stop."
She looked away from me.
I put my hand on the smooth skin between her shoulder blades, and she flinched. "Those guys are military intelligence — at least, they used to be. They're not going home empty-handed. They’ll keep looking for you. And they will find you. It's what they do. They have resources you can only imagine. Somehow, someway, they got to your Marshal and hacked into him, or turned him entirely. There is every possibility that he's working for them now."
Her shoulders started to shake, and I knew that she was crying.
“If that's the case, then they are a problem that needs to be taken care of." I put my hands on her shoulders and drew her close to me so her back was against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, feeling her tremble. "I know how to take care of problems like this."
She leaned her head back so it rested on my chest. "You do?"
I tightened my arms around her protectively. "Yes. Taking out bad guys is my sworn duty."
"Okay," she whispered.
"You trust me?"
"Yes."
I let my hands drift down to cup her breasts, and I nipped the skin of her neck between my teeth. "In that case, we have some time to kill before morning." She turned to me. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but she giggled.
"I can think of some ways to pass the time."
* * *
Had This Handled
Emma
When I woke the next morning, light streamed in through the windows. I was momentarily disoriented, thinking myself back in my condo and wondering who had changed the decor. Then I remembered.
My recollection of the day before should have thrown me, filled me with terror, or at least anxiety. That would have been a natural reaction to an attempted kidnapping, betrayal by my protectors, and frantic run around the city. But that wasn’t the part of the day I thought about. I thought about the night before, and Ryan, and his sexy body on top of mine.
The Next Thing: Bareknuckles Brotherhood Page 6