Riding on Instinct

by Burton, Jaci

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. Her knees went weak and she laid her hand on the top of his head. His breath was hot against her sex, making her wonder if she’d be able to keep standing if he was going to continue doing this to her.

  “You smell good. Like a hot summer and wildflowers.” He pulled her panties aside and licked along the curve of her thigh. Her legs buckled and Spence reached up to hold her hand. She whimpered as his tongue trailed along the outside of her pussy lips, teasing, tantalizing, promising . . .

  “These panties are in my way, Shadoe.” He didn’t ask for permission, he wasn’t gentle, just gave a hard tug and they were gone, shredded and tossed aside, and she was bare. Spence tilted his head back, and she’d like to say it was a smile he gave her with the slight tilt of his lips, but that devilish gleam in his eyes didn’t really go with a smile. It was more of a threat—a “prepare yourself for this” kind of warning. Because then he leaned in and his mouth was on her sex, covering her clit, his tongue licking along her folds. Hot, wet, devastating. She moaned and quivered uncontrollably as he dominated her pussy. She bucked against his lips, but she had nowhere to go. He cupped her buttocks, held tight to her, licked her with the long, measured strokes of his soft tongue, lapping her up like a quickly melting ice-cream cone. She was dying from the sweet, hot pleasure, seared from the inside out, unable to stop the flood of sensation that hurtled at her at uncontrollable speed.

  Spence was relentless, his mouth everywhere, exploring, dipping, licking, and sucking. He bit the inside of her thigh, and the painful pleasure rocketed her. He licked her from one end to the other, and she wanted to cry out and beg for more. When he took hold of her clit and sucked, she wanted to scream.

  And then she did, because her orgasm rushed at her out of nowhere, blindsiding her with forceful heat and swirling sensation. She rocked against Spence’s mouth, craving contact with his tongue as she rode out the crest of the wave, then crashed over again, surprised that her climax went on seemingly forever. It had been such a long time since she’d been with a man, the drought had ended in a torrential downpour. When she was spent, when the contractions inside her had died down to tiny, pleasurable pulses, she looked down at Spence, embarrassed to see his head tilted back, a watchful expression on his face.

  Her cheeks flamed hot. She’d never had a man watch her come before. All her experiences with sex previously had been rather . . . benign and uneventful. Certainly nothing like this, and never in public. And never with a man so incredibly . . . male.

  She didn’t know what to say, or what to do. She’d always been in bed with other guys.

  Spence stood, licked his lips, that same expression on his face as he loomed over her.

  “You are so goddamn gorgeous when you come,” he said, drawing her against him. “You make my dick hard.” He grasped her wrist and placed it on his erection. She shuddered at the feel of his shaft pulsing against the palm of her hand. Her lips parted with her panting excitement when he held on to her wrist and rubbed her hand back and forth across the steely ridge of his cock. “I want to fuck you, Shadoe.”

  “Yes.” All embarrassment fled at the rough demand in his words, the promise of the actions to follow.

  He dropped down to the ground, pulling her on top of him. He laced his fingers through her hair and held on while his mouth found hers in another kiss that devastated her senses. How was she supposed to think straight when he kept plundering her into mindless oblivion? Did it even matter, when all she wanted to concentrate on was the feel of his lips against hers and his hard cock pressed between her legs?

  She gave no more thought at all other than to her senses. The way he smelled, the feel of his hard body against hers, the way he looked at her when she lifted up to catch her breath. For someone who seemed so light and easy and filled with humor, he could sure get intense at times—especially now, when his eyes turned a stormy blue, and he frowned at her like he was angry. But she knew it wasn’t really anger that fueled him; it was passion, the same driving need that compelled her to rock against him, the need to feel his cock rub against her pussy.

  He grabbed her hips and rolled her over so that he was on top of her now, the hard ridge of his erection angled right on her sweet spot. She gasped.

  “Like it there?”

  “Yes,” she managed, though she was panting pretty heavily now. Damn him, if he kept moving against her clit with his cock that way, she was going to come again. “Spence, please.”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “Fuck me. Hurry, I’m going to come again.”

  He arched a brow. “Are you?”

  Instead of giving her what she wanted, he rolled to the side and palmed her sex, dipping his fingers into her wet pussy and spreading her juices all over her clit. She tightened, and when he swept his hard, hot hand all over her sex, she splintered, holding tight to his wrist to keep him right there while she rocked against him, crying out as the sweetest pleasure imaginable sizzled through her.

  She felt wasted. Sweetly, perfectly wasted. But still, his hand lingered on her pussy, his gaze never wavering from her face. She bit down on her lower lip as he began to move his fingers around her clit, teasing her pussy lips. When he slid one finger inside her, she gasped.

  “Wet,” he said. “Hot.”

  He entered her with another finger, and she let out a low moan, the fire she thought was banked now growing again, gathering momentum.

  “I’m going to make you come again, Shadoe. And this time I’ll be inside you when you do.”

  She’d never been overly sexual. Yes, she enjoyed sex. She liked getting off when she was with a man. But never . . . never . . . three times in such a short period of time.

  “I don’t know if—”

  “You will. Look how fast you got off those two times. I’ll make you come again.”

  He was so sure of himself, of his ability to get her there. She believed him. God, did she ever believe him. The way his fingers moved inside her, made her believe. He was magic, seemed to know exactly how to touch her, with his palm pressing down over her clit at the same time he finger fucked her with deep, measured strokes. Her pussy tightened around his fingers as he dragged a response out of her she thought was impossible. She lifted against him, craving more.

  “I want to get you naked and lick you all over,” he whispered against her ear, with each word sliding his fingers deep inside her, only to pull them out ever so slowly. “But not out here, not in the grass. I want to be able to see you bathed in the light, to take my time. And my dick is rock hard and I want to bury it balls deep inside you until I come hard. You ready for that?”

  “Yes. Fuck me.” By the time he pulled away from her she was shaking. He settled between her outstretched legs and got on his knees, pulled a condom packet from his pocket, and unzipped his pants, drawing his jeans down just enough to pull out his cock.

  Damn, it was beautiful. The head was wide, a deep, angry purple, his shaft steely thick just like the rest of him. She wanted to touch it, to slide her fingers and her mouth all over it, but instead he slid the condom over his cock and settled between her legs.

  “We’ll play later.”

  She was counting on it. She spread her legs wider and lifted while he placed the head of his cock at the entrance to her pussy, slid one hand under her butt, and eased inside her.

  Shadoe tilted her head back and absorbed the sensation of Spence filling her, the way her pussy squeezed his shaft as he drove all the way in, the way she pulsed around him in welcome. He fit her perfectly. Hot and hard and oh, God, he was an expert at fucking, going slow at first, letting her feel every glorious inch of his shaft, then driving in hard, quick thrusts that made her delirious with pleasure.

  And his hands—the man had incredible hands, and he used them to touch her everywhere. She wasn’t even naked, yet he lifted up her shirt to skim his hand over her breasts.

  “When I get your clothes off I’m going to suck your nipples.” He tweaked
the bud, flicked it with his finger. She felt that all the way to her clit, and it made her pussy clench around his cock.

  “Ah, Shadoe, your pussy squeezes me.” He rocked against her, grasping her hip in a tight grip, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. He instantly let go.

  “Don’t.”

  “Can’t bruise you. You’re on tomorrow night.”

  Dammit. She wanted him to take her hard, to leave marks on her, to make her his. She couldn’t explain this primal need; she only knew she wanted it, had to have it. She lifted against him, wrapped her legs around him. “Touch me, Spence. Be rough. I don’t bruise easy.”

  With a low growl he took her mouth, sliding his tongue in to wrap around hers. He kissed her deeply, tucking his arm around her and using his hand to arch her upward. And then he began to dig hard, driving his shaft against her with deep, rhythmic strokes.

  The sensations were so intense she couldn’t hold back, didn’t want to hold back. She raked her nails along his upper arms as she shook with uncontrollable spasms and splintered around him, her pussy gripping him in intense, quick bursts as she came.

  “Ah, Christ,” he murmured against her lips, then she felt his own control shred, reveled in it as he pumped hard and fast, then shuddered, sliding his mouth down her neck to bite against her shoulder while he rocked out a loud, intense orgasm of his own.

  She held him, smoothing her hand along his arms, wishing they were both naked so she could feel his sweat-soaked skin against her own, but loving this anyway as he came apart and held her in his strong embrace.

  It took a while before she became aware of the wet grass underneath her. Spence rolled her over on top of him and swept his hands over her back, smoothed her skirt down over her naked butt. He looked at her like she was a stranger, his brows winged in a deep frown.

  Not exactly the kind of expression you want on a man’s face after he’s made love to you.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said, holding on to her as he sat them up, then helping her stand. He cleaned himself up and zipped his pants. “We should get back. It’s a long ride.”

  Interesting. Did he have regrets about this? She didn’t. It had been . . . amazing. But she felt his withdrawal; it was more than physical. There was an emotional wall between them that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago.

  “Spence.”

  He picked up her boots, handed them to her, a smile on his face replacing the frown from earlier. “Fucking is fun, Shadoe. Don’t make it more than that.”

  She slid into her boots, refusing to be irked by his careless dismissal of what had happened between them. “I wasn’t going to.”

  She should have known better, should have realized that a man like Spence didn’t look at a woman as anything more than an object to fuck. He wasn’t in it for the emotional or the sharing, just the physical pleasure.

  Well, just fine. That wasn’t going to happen again.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She gave a short nod, not trusting her own emotions enough to even speak to him right now.

  They climbed on the bike and headed back to the hotel. Shadoe couldn’t wait to get back to the room, to take a shower and wash the night away. How stupid could she be?

  Though as she sat on the bike and the wind cleared her head, she realized Spence had shared a lot with her tonight. He’d shared his past, his history, his pain. And he’d probably not shared that with a lot of people before.

  Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, but it had slipped out. And maybe that’s what had irritated him. Did he think she’d feel sorry for him now that she knew? Or that she’d pity him?

  She didn’t know what to think, or what to do about Spence. Figuring out what went on in a man’s mind was nearly impossible. But she’d admittedly felt something for him tonight, and it wasn’t pity.

  She wasn’t the type to give up easily. But getting involved with a mission partner spelled disaster. They both needed clear heads and focus for this mission. She had to concentrate on finding the rogue agent, and get through this whole stripper act. Wasn’t that enough to handle without getting involved with her partner?

  Yet Spence intrigued her. There were both hard and soft sides to him that begged further exploration.

  Damn, this was a mess and a half, wasn’t it?

  She had some thinking to do.

  NINE

  SPENCE RAN HIS FINGERS THROUGH HIS HAIR AND PACED THE hotel room, feeling more and more like he walked a cage. Sharing this space with Shadoe was going to be torture, especially after what had happened between them last night.

  He spit out a curse and pushed through the double doors leading outside to the balcony, hoping the morning air would clear his head. No such luck. It was sticky hot outside already and he knew he’d find no clarity there.

  What the hell had he been thinking? Other than Grange and the other Wild Riders, he’d never told anyone about his past. The only reason the other guys knew about it was because Grange insisted they all talk about what had happened to them—he hadn’t had a choice but to comply if he wanted to stay in the group. And that talk had been a long time ago, when they were all still kids. Old wounds Grange had made them open up, talk over, and then never discuss again.

  So why now, and why with Shadoe, a woman he barely knew? He’d wanted her to talk about herself. His intent was to find out about her, gain some insight. Instead, he still didn’t know jack about her or her relationship with her father. But she knew everything about him, since for some reason he’d started talking and couldn’t seem to shut his mouth.

  Goddammit. He hadn’t thought about Trevor in years, had tried to bury that part of his life, his past, all the ugliness. His focus was on looking ahead, never behind.

  Maybe it was because they’d ended up back here where he’d grown up, and that had dredged up the memories. Hell if he knew. He wasn’t the type to psychoanalyze, to think about the whys of things. He lived in the now, never in the then. You couldn’t go back and change what had happened; you could only live your life going forward, so there was never any sense in taking a walk back into the past.

  He sure had last night though, hadn’t he? And Shadoe had listened, asked questions, never found fault with what he’d done. She thought of him as some kind of goddamned hero.

  He snorted. He was no hero. Trevor was the hero.

  His gut tightened at the thought of his brother. He wondered where Trevor was now. Was he successful? He’d always wanted to know, but never allowed himself to find out. What would be the point? He wouldn’t contact him . . . couldn’t. He’d wanted the past dead and buried, wanted to cut out that part of his life and forget it had ever existed.

  Until he’d unearthed it last night, shared it with Shadoe. That had made it real again. Raw.

  He looked over the balcony railing at the street cleaners below, systematically washing away the remnants of last night’s revelry from Bourbon Street. He wished he could do the same thing.

  He dragged his hand through the short clips of his hair. God, he was so fucking stupid. The whole night had been like that. Shadoe had gotten under his skin from the first night he’d met her, and that never happened with women.

  Women were fun. They smelled good, he enjoyed fucking them and spending time with them, but that’s where it ended. He didn’t do relationships. He didn’t do the whole talk-and-get-to-know-you kind of thing. He partied with them and had sex with them. He purposefully chose the kind of women who wouldn’t get attached.

  Shadoe wasn’t that kind of woman. Even worse, she was his partner on this case.

  So what the hell had he been thinking pouncing on her like an animal in heat last night? To shut her up about thinking he was some kind of hero? Or had he done it for some other reason?

  He didn’t even want to ponder what he felt. He didn’t do feelings any more than he did relationships. He wasn’t the kind of guy to dissect that shit. He liked women, he fucked them, then he moved on. Any sense of a woman wantin
g more than that and he was history.

  Fortunately, when they got back to the room last night, Shadoe was in no more of a mood to talk than he was. She went right into the bathroom, took a shower, and climbed into bed without a word. He did the same. It worked out perfectly. He was afraid she’d want to talk about what had happened between them.

  She hadn’t.

  She was probably pissed at him because he blew her off right after he fucked her. Too bad. She’d have to get used to it, because that’s who he was.

  Not that he was going to have sex with her again. That had been a huge mistake and wasn’t going to be repeated. It was time to concentrate on their job and not on each other.

  But man, she’d been sweet last night. Hot, sexy, she fit him perfectly and matched his passion and needs.

  His cock twitched at the memory of her coming apart for him time after time. She was a mix of innocence and seductress in one beautiful package. And he hadn’t gotten her naked, hadn’t been able to touch her skin and taste her all over. He’d wager he’d be able to taste the sweetness in her.

  He cursed his growing erection and his wayward thoughts, refusing to go down that road. It wasn’t going to happen again.

  “Good morning.”

  He half turned to see her standing in the doorway wearing a pair of soft gray shorts and a cotton tank top. Her hair was mussed from sleep, her cheeks rosy, and her eyes barely open.

  She couldn’t be any sexier than if she were standing there stark naked.

  She made his dick hard and his balls quiver. He wanted to scoop her up and take her back to bed and fuck her for about five hours until he stopped thinking about her.

  Instead, he turned away. “Mornin’.”

  She moved out onto the balcony alongside him and laid her hands on the railing. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, which gave him time to gaze at her out of the corner of his eyes. The light morning wind blew her hair across her cheek. She didn’t bother to pull it away. He wanted to. Then he wanted to kiss that soft spot on her neck. And the wind kept lifting the short tank top, giving him a peek at her flat stomach. He wanted to kiss that, too.