by Lora Leigh
Her eyes narrowed. Her nipples hardened beneath the thin cotton of the shirt.
“Nothing and no one terrifies me, Duke,” she drawled, the brittle amusement infuriating him as he sensed the need behind it. “Even you know better than that.”
Her emotions terrified her. That hungry need that existed in the very depths of her heart and refused to lie still terrified her and he understood why. He knew, because he often faced that demon himself.
“I terrify you,” he informed her, feeling her needs, his own tugging at the less-than-secure hold he had on his restraint. “Because I make you want. Because you can’t hide that fact from yourself or from me. You want me so bad your body aches with it. Because you’re wet and ready to fuck even though you know each time we touch it will make it harder to walk away from me.”
And he’d be damned if he’d let her do that.
“No . . .” Fists clenched, teeth grinding together, she fought the truth just as he’d fought it for five long, hungry years.
“Oh yes.” And he’d be damned if he’d let her deny it.
One step and he reached her, his fingers gripping her upper arm, pulling her to him as the fingers of his other hand buried in her hair to hold her against him, refusing to let her hide from this at least.
The first time he’d taken her he’d barely had enough control to take her gently. Enough restraint to give her the best of the man he was, rather than the full force of his lust. But now it was the lust that raged through him, hungry and desperate for the taste and feel of her.
He was lost when he wasn’t a part of her, wasn’t with her. When she hid her emotions and her needs, he realized the void that was left within him.
He’d been like a wounded animal for the eight months he’d been without her. Wounded and hungry . . .
He consumed her kiss now, consumed the heat and hunger, and found she consumed his in turn. Lips and tongues ate at each other, meshed and tangled as their moans escaped and mingled. Her hands burrowed in his hair, clenched at the strands, and held him to her as he lifted her, his lips slanting over hers, taking the kiss deeper, filling his senses with her.
Turning, barely able to remember to be gentle, not to jar her thigh, he fought to restrain himself. He couldn’t let go of her, even to lay her back on the bed, to take time to undress, to love her as she deserved. He pushed her against the wall, lifted her until those pretty legs wrapped around his hips, gripping him as mewling little cries escaped her lips.
Groaning into the kiss, his tongue thrusting against hers, he released the tortured length of his erection from his jeans. He was so damned hungry for her he couldn’t wait. Grasping the shaft, he tucked the bloated crest between the bare, juice-laden folds of her pussy and swore he felt sweat pop out on his forehead as the silken inner lips caressed his flesh.
Slick heat surrounded the throbbing crest and sent forks of incredible, blinding pleasure whipping through the ultra-sensitive head, along the engorged shaft, and straight to the taut sac of his balls.
“Ah, fuck!” he snarled, jerking his head back from their kiss as electric waves of sensation began building through his senses.
Thighs tight, a ragged groan left his throat as he began penetrating the lushly slick channel awaiting him. A sensual vise locked around his testicles, tightening erotically as he pushed deeper, withdrew, and thrust again. Each lunge dragged a groan from his chest and a cry from Angel’s lips.
He tried to ease inside her . . . tried to go slow, to go easy. Until her sweet, hot muscles clamped down on the crest, rippling over it like the most incredible little mouth.
“Oh God . . . Duke . . .” She moved against him, bore down on the thick flesh penetrating her, tightened on it. The feel of her juices spilling from her and traveling along the length of his cock nearly blew his mind. “I need you. . . . I need you so much. . . .”
The words, torn from her, slammed into his head and for a second stole the last thread of control he possessed. He pulled back and slammed his hips forward, buried his full length inside her, and fought the need to pound into her.
Stilling, he held her to him, fighting to drag in enough air to clear his senses and take her like a man instead of an animal with his first fuck.
“Move,” she said. Her hips undulated, the fist-tight grip of her sleek inner muscles rippling around his flesh, sucking at the head of his cock.
Duke tightened his hands on her ass, fighting to hold on to his control. Fuck, she was killing him. Pleasure tightened through his body until he swore his mind was going to explode along with his balls.
“Move now,” she demanded, her nails rasping against his scalp a second before she pulled his hair. Hard.
His lips slammed down over her hers, he pulled his hips back, slammed forward, and he was a goner. Hot silk tightened on him, rippled and stroked along his cock, and his head exploded with the sensations.
Her leg . . .
Fuck, had to be careful . . .
One hand slid beneath her wounded leg and his control snapped. He was pounding inside her, fucking her like a man possessed.
Hell, he was a man possessed.
He’d been possessed by this need for her since she was eighteen and it had only strengthened over the years. Each time he was around her, each time he gained a smile when he wanted a laugh, each time he’d seen the flash of awareness and growing hunger in her eyes.
God help him, but this woman was his weakness and rather than running as far and as fast as possible when he’d realized it, he’d stayed right in the line of fire.
He was possessed by this pleasure.
By the flames burning up his spine, and the woman holding tight to him, crying out his name, her sheath tightening, her breaths gasping, her nails digging into his scalp. Her snug channel clamped down on his dick, stroked along it as he felt the little spasms, the convulsive clench, and the orgasm that raced over her, through her, spilling her slick juices in a fiery rush of liquid heat.
“Fuck. Angel.” His release took him by surprise.
Fireworks exploded from his balls up his spine then back again to the torturously hard length of his cock before exploding past his control.
“Sweet baby . . .” The groan was torn from him as he slammed his full length inside her, semen spilling inside the heated, rippling depths of her body as he held to her.
Relishing every powerful ejaculation, every flexing stroke of her sweet sheath, he knew somehow, someway, she’d slipped beneath his shields farther than he’d ever imagined.
She owned a part of him.
No one had ever owned any part of him until now, until Angel.
As the final pulses of his release shot inside her, he knew the fractures she’d somehow found in his defenses had to be repaired.
If they could be repaired.
Turning, all but stumbling inside to the bed, Duke eased her to the mattress, his lips buried in her neck, his cock still buried inside her, still encased by a pleasure he was loath to extract himself from.
Forcing himself back from her was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
Hell, he’d done no more than release his cock from his pants before taking her. He was still perfectly dressed other than the opening of his jeans and the belt he’d only barely managed to loosen before jerking the metal button free and unzipping the material.
“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He breathed out roughly as he lay back on the bed beside her.
He’d get up in a minute and fix his clothes. Or finish removing them, which would be a far better idea.
Looking over at her, he wasn’t surprised by the feeling of smug satisfaction that filled him.
Angel lay back on the bed, boneless, completely sated. Her hair lay tangled around her face, the vulnerability that she somehow managed to keep hidden from the world softening her face and revealing the delicate
femininity normally overshadowed by her incredible will.
“That was different.” Breathless, lazy, and incredibly sensual, her voice wrapped around his senses and reminded him that he hadn’t nearly had enough of her.
“Is that what you call it? Different?” He snorted, sitting up on the edge of the bed to pull his boots off.
“Want flowers and praise?” The edge of laughter in her voice caused his heart to constrict.
It was rare to hear her so relaxed, replete. Hell, he didn’t think he’d ever heard it.
Tossing his boots to the side, he turned back to her, his fingers curving over the flesh above her knee as he prepared to stroke his way up.
The surprised cry and painful flinch of her leg away from him had his gaze going to her in surprise. No less, though, was Angel’s.
Hurriedly gripping her below the knee to hold her in place, Duke stared down at the bandage covering the knife wound she’d taken two weeks before. The gauze beneath the waterproof adhesive was stained dark, the entire four-by-four square showing a seepage that would have occurred within only a few hours of her shower.
He knew Angel. She would have changed that bandage the second she dried the water from her skin.
The skin around the covering was red, and when he laid his hand over it, he could feel the added warmth of her flesh.
“What the hell?” He stared up at her, his temper slowly rising at the look of guilt in her gray eyes and the mutinous set of her lips.
“I was going to have you call Ethan tonight anyway,” she bit out, glaring at him as though it were his fault. “It wasn’t like this until today.”
“All day?” Yeah, he knew Angel.
“This morning,” she snapped back, jerking into a sitting position as he rose to his feet, reclosed his jeans, and stomped to the dresser where he’d laid the phone.
“Why didn’t you say anything then?” Duke turned back to her, barely able to believe she’d gone all day without mentioning the problem. “Ethan could have been here earlier.”
The muscle at his jaw jerked, tightening in response to the irritation she could see gleaming in his eyes.
His face was suddenly in hers, almost nose to nose, anger flaring in the mossy green eyes glaring back at her.
“I’ve been rather busy, Duke.” The mutinous look on her face only irritated him more.
She was going to drive him to an early grave, he decided, from sheer worry alone.
“I have a gray hair,” he snarled. “I know you’re the reason for it.”
Lifting her eyes Angel checked the deep black, thick strands of hair. Sure enough, right there on top.
“You’re welcome,” she assured him, a mocking smile curling her lips. “Give me a minute and I’ll give you another.”
“I have no doubt,” he snapped.
He had his cell phone at his ear and gave a clipped, “She’s done it again. Get here.”
“Ethan?” she asked as he tossed the phone back to the dresser. There was something about his expression, the concern in his eyes, that hint of anger, that warmed her, though. That made her feel not so alone.
“Ethan,” he assured her, though he didn’t sound in the least pleased by that fact. “Hell. Angel, what am I going to do about you?”
She had a feeling it wasn’t a rhetorical question, which was too bad, because she really didn’t have an answer for him.
TWELVE
Less than an hour later, a quick knock on the door of the suite heralded Ethan’s arrival. Without a word, Duke strode from the bedroom only to return moments later with not just his brother in tow but Natches and Chaya as well.
Angel glared at all of them. It was bad enough she had Duke watching her, but he just had to bring Chaya in with him, didn’t he?
Ethan stepped inside and unpacked the mobile surgical unit, as Tracker called the heavy, waterproof case he kept loaded with medical supplies.
Duke and his younger brother could be twins they looked so much alike. Tall, powerfully built, with thick black hair. The major difference was in their eye color. Duke’s eyes were a deep, dark moss green. Ethan’s were a mix of blue and green, the oddly colored orbs shifting in color with his moods or emotions.
“You didn’t mention being wounded,” Chaya stated, her tone coolly disapproving.
The frown on Chaya’s face was meant to be imposing, Angel was sure.
“Didn’t I?” She widened her eyes as though surprised with herself. “Now wasn’t that so bad of me? Perhaps I’ll remember next time.”
Natches’s brows lowered broodingly at her response while Chaya’s brow lifted mockingly.
“Perhaps you will,” Chaya drawled, the slow curve of her lips devoid of amusement. “Otherwise, we’ll see how well you enjoy dealing with me once you’ve pissed me off. I wouldn’t—” The sudden order came as Angel considered rolling her eyes.
She turned her gaze to where Ethan had knelt beside her, his pack opened at the end of the bed.
Duke stood behind his brother, his arms crossed over his chest, and he just stared at her. He didn’t speak, just watched her. That brooding, half-angry expression he wore when displeased with her made her feel highly uncomfortable.
Angel brushed the front of her hair back nervously, wishing she’d braided it after her shower. She scratched at her temple a second later, not because it itched, but because that steady regard of his just made her nervous.
He made her nervous all the damned time.
“Get them out of here,” she hissed at Ethan as he reached for her leg. “Or you’ll lose that hand before you ever have a chance to touch me.”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Chaya muttered. “Natches, Duke, let’s leave the little princess to Ethan’s care while I have a word with the two of you.”
She could stay pissed, Angel thought as they crossed the room to the patio.
“The wound is still bleeding, princess. What did you do to it?” Ethan asked, turning back to her.
Princess. She should shoot Chaya for that one herself.
“Aspirin.” She breathed out heavily. “I’ve been taking them for a week or so now. They increase the bleeding. The antibiotics should have healed the wound enough, though, that they wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Well then, let’s see what you’ve done to yourself,” he suggested. “Or was done to you. How did it happen?”
“Misjudged a bastard with a knife, I guess.” She sighed as he began peeling the adhesive from her leg. “Tracker cleaned it thoroughly before stitching it closed. It should be healing, not getting worse,” she admitted.
A low murmur of agreement met her statement as Angel looked to the door Duke, Natches, and Chaya had disappeared through.
“Let’s see what’s happened then, Shorty,” Ethan breathed out, his voice somber despite the nickname he’d given her years ago.
She slid him a resentful look. “Stop with the ‘Shorty’ stuff, Ethan. I’m going to hurt you if you don’t stop with the cute little names.”
He snorted at the threat.
Angel caught herself staring toward the door.
She didn’t want to look at her leg anyway, she thought dismally as Ethan peeled the bandage away from the skin. She’d looked at it earlier; that had been enough for her.
“Fuck, Angel, are you trying to get Tracker killed?” Ethan’s curse was low, his tone amazed as he began checking the wound. “Duke would skin him for leaving you here alone, if he saw this.”
Yeah, it looked pretty bad. The wound itself was becoming reddened rather than the healing pink it should have been by now. The flesh around it was warmer than it should be and she was certain it was infected despite the alcohol she’d been dousing it with and the antibiotics she’d been taking.
“Just fix it and stop with the doomsday crap,” she muttered, brushing her hair back again. “An
d hurry before he comes back in here. I don’t want to deal with his attitude.”
Duke acted like a damned father with a five-year-old where she was concerned. She didn’t need a father. Her biological father hadn’t given a damn and she didn’t need Duke attempting to take his place.
“He worries about you.” Ethan sighed, turning back to the open case at her feet. “He just about drove himself crazy searching for you.”
“He was already crazy,” she informed him flippantly. “And I doubt he did it because he was worried. He did it to attempt to rack brownie points with those cousins of his. Too bad it was a wasted effort.”
“Hmm,” he murmured, probing at the stitches and causing her to wince at the sensitivity. “I’m going to have to clean this and replace these stitches.”
“Like hell.” Her gaze snapped to her leg as she tried to move her thigh from his grip and she got a good look at the reddened flesh.
Yeah, those stitches had torn quite a bit. Enough that the pressure she’d put on her leg and the aspirin had caused it to seep blood for most of the day.
“Just patch it up, and hurry before he gets back in here.” She so did not want to fight with Duke. “The stitches will be fine.”
“I’ll reclean this wound and replace those stitches or call Duke back in here right now and see if he can’t convince you.” His voice firmed, turning from tolerant and nice to that arrogance she was beginning to associate with Mackays alone.
“I’ll kick your ass if you don’t hurry and bandage it.” She leaned closer and inserted her best “do it now” tone.
Ethan’s smile was a little too patronizing to suit her as he glanced back at her from surveying the med kit and lifting several sterilized pouches free.
Needle and thread, several prefilled syringes, and various bandages.
“I said now. . . .” she growled.
“I said Duke,” he reminded her and he meant business.
“Did I mention I hate you, too?” she snarled, narrowing her eyes on him. “I was prepared to forgive you for letting him lie to me, but I’ve just changed my mind.”