by Naima Simone
She nipped his bottom lip, raked his chin and neck with her teeth. Clenching his jaw, he tipped his head back, granting her easier access. His fingers tightened on her ass, and he ground harder against her, the primal caress of her teeth on skin arrowing straight to his balls. And when she drew his flesh into her mouth and sucked, his cock jerked in jealousy. He stroked his palms up her spine and into her hair, pressing her close, silently ordering her to continue the delicious pressure. Christ, he could imagine the same action around the head of his dick. Could feel the same suction taking him deeper and deeper into that beautiful, wicked mouth.
Eager fingers gripped the hem of his sweater and jerked the knit up his torso. Obediently, he raised his arms, and she tugged the material off.
“God, you’re beautiful.” Her soft sigh whispered across his skin as she sidled off his lap and knelt on the floor between his thighs. Her words seemed as reverent as the lips she slid down his abdomen and chest. His heart thumped against his rib cage and under her palms. No one had ever called him beautiful; applying the word to him should’ve sounded silly falling off her lips. Instead the compliment humbled him. He’d been with women—lots of them—but none of them had made him feel so wanted, so…cherished. “A part of me thinks I’m going to wake up in my bed and all of this will have been a dream. Like a bad episode of Dallas.” She chuckled breathlessly. “I still can’t believe you’re letting me touch you, kiss you.”
He tangled his hands in her hair. “As much as you want, baby. Take whatever you need from me.”
Her gaze lifted to his, and the hunger in the gray depths nearly brought him to his knees.
“I need all of you.” He almost didn’t catch the quiet, murmured confession. And by the swift catch in her breath and immediate lowering of her thick lashes, he had the impression she might not have meant to utter the telling words aloud. Too late, though. He’d heard. And he wouldn’t allow her to retract them or pretend she hadn’t voiced them.
“Then take it, Fallon,” he growled. “It’s yours.” Me, he silently amended. Take me. The primitive need to claim and be claimed roared inside him like a ferocious lion, but a sudden vulnerability prohibited him from stating the telltale declaration at the last moment. It was harmless. It meant his body, his cock, the pleasure he offered. But me…me referred to everything. His body, his heart, his mind, all his faults…his life.
Yeah, it was safer.
She lowered her head and opened her mouth over his chest. Her soft, quick tongue flicked his nipple, and he jerked under the erotic lash.
“Damn it.” He lowered a hand to her waist, then trailed it back up her torso and under her sweater until he cupped a breast. “Harder, Fallon,” he rasped, demanded.
With a slightly strangled moan, she closed her lips over his nipple and worried the pebbled tip with her teeth. His hips bucked at the edge of pain mixed with gut-twisting pleasure. He loved that, craved it again, and told her so. As she repeated the caress, he tugged the cups of her bra down and grazed the taut beads with his thumbs. She cried out against his flesh, her fingers digging into his waist. He circled and pinched the peaks, and she reciprocated with hard, pointed stabs of her tongue to his nipples. Every lap and nibble strung him tighter than a quivering guitar string. Her lips and tongue played him as skillfully as any musician.
Panting, she shoved away from him and peeled her sweater off. All those gorgeous honey-and-chocolate curls bounced around her face and shoulders, and an erotic shiver tripped down his spine.
“Come here,” he murmured, reaching for her, but she plucked his fingers and, with a smile that would’ve done a siren proud, slowly released the button on his jeans, lowered the zipper.
“I’m taking what’s mine,” she reminded him. “You promised.”
“Wait, wait.” His heart thumped like an eternally late white rabbit. He whipped his discarded sweater up from the cushion next to him and, bending over, folded the knit and padded the floor. Straightening again, he paused at her stunned, wide stare. “What?” he asked, cradling her head. “What’s wrong?”
She blinked. Shook her head. Cleared her throat. “Nothing. I—” A tremulous smile ghosted across her lips. “Nothing,” she softly repeated. “Absolutely,” she pressed a tender kiss to his abdomen, “nothing.” Another kiss brushed the patch of skin about the band of his boxer briefs. He didn’t know which one trapped the air in his lungs—the gentleness in the sweet caress or having her mouth so close to his dick.
Air wrapped around the tip of his cock seconds before her lips did.
“Oh fuck.” Wet, slick heat. Tight, eye-crossing suction. Her hand fisted the bottom of his shaft, setting up a slow, hard pump while her tongue swirled around and under the rim, hitting a spot that had him almost forgetting his damn name. Jesus. She was good. So good he didn’t know whether to yell at her for the erotic knowledge or babble his thanks and praises. She engulfed another couple of inches. Praises. Son of a bitch, definitely praises.
He groaned, his head falling back on his shoulders, fingers gripping her bright strands. Then, seconds later, he lifted his head and dropped it forward, damned if he missed a moment of her beautiful mouth taking his dick. He withdrew, then deliberately thrust forward, watching his rigid flesh part her full, sensual lips. Stared as her mouth bumped her fist at the midway point of his cock.
“Damn, that’s pretty,” he whispered. “So pretty. Take your hand away.”
Her eyes flicked up to his, and he detected the flash of uncertainty in them before she complied, curling her fingers into the denim covering his thighs. He held her head steady as he slowly fed her his cock until the head bumped the back of her throat. She shifted, gagged, her nails biting him through his jeans.
“Easy, baby,” he crooned. “Relax your throat. You can do it.” Her muscles loosened, no longer trying to expel him from the slim channel. “God, yes. That’s it,” he growled, pulling free of her mouth and then returning with a slow thrust along her flattened tongue. Her moist heat covered over half his cock.
Lust and hunger swelled in his chest, rippled down his spine, and sizzled in his balls. She swallowed, and he gritted his teeth to force back the orgasm tingling at the small of his back. Shit, so close. So damn close. Surrendering to the need clawing at his insides, he fucked her mouth with short, hard strokes, and the fire of release licked at him, the flames burning higher, the wet sounds of sucking his dick stoking the lust, adding kindling to the need.
“No.” Desperation wrenched the denial from him even as he yanked her away and up to her feet. Her eyes were hazy with passion, lips wet and swollen from him riding her mouth. Snarling, he released her button and tore off her jeans and panties. “I want to come in your pussy, not your mouth.”
He shot to his feet, hiked her in his arms, and strode to the nearby table, setting her on it. Hurriedly, he removed his wallet and a condom from the fold. In seconds, he had his jeans shoved down his hips, the condom rolled over his cock, and her legs wrapped around his hips. He fisted the base of his erection, pressed the cockhead against her folds, and was captivated as her small opening stretched to accommodate him, accept him, suck him in. God, it was beautiful. Hot as hell and beautiful. As he pressed forward and slowly became enveloped by her tight, quivering flesh, a stunning revelation nailed him in the back of the skull.
He wanted Fallon to welcome him into her heart the same way her pussy welcomed his cock. Wanted her to allow him into her life just as her flesh allowed his dick entrance. Wanted to create something that didn’t reflect him or her, but them. Just like when he was buried so deep inside her, he couldn’t tell where he began and she ended.
“Hold on to me.” The order came out hoarser, harsher than he intended. But the dense ball of emotion knotting his chest, as well as the stranglehold her sex had on his erection, had him hovering on a razor’s edge of need. She slid her arms around his neck, and he tugged her closer to the table’s edge, his hold on her hips keeping her steady.
With a groan,
he thrust deep in one long stroke. He waited, his molars probably ground down to the bone with the control he exerted not to withdraw and plunge inside her again. But he remained still as her muscles quivered and spasmed around his cock, adjusting to his penetration. Those moments fluttering around his taut, rigid flesh nearly undid him. Closing his eyes, he dug his fingers into her hips, acknowledging bruises might blot her golden skin later.
Sooner than the previous night, her core relaxed around him. Lowering his head, he took her mouth in a burning kiss even as he pulled free from her wet, tight pussy and drove back in. Oh damn, she sucked him in. Liquid heat rushed around him. Her muscular walls rippled over his dick, massaging him even as they squeezed him like a vise. Nothing or no one had ever felt this perfect—this perfectly made for him.
He angled her hips higher, slamming his to hers, fucking her like a man possessed. Consuming her cries, he buried his cock in her over and over, losing himself in her mouth, her arms, and her body. When she stiffened, dropped her head on her shoulders, and erupted with a scream, he followed. Her sex clamped down on his shaft and milked everything from him—his seed, his strength, his sanity.
Panting hard, she fell back on the table, and he covered her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He couldn’t move—didn’t want to move. Especially when her arms wrapped around him. Content, he started to drift when she whispered his name.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think,” she rasped, “we will ever start out having sex in a bed?”
Chapter Sixteen
Pearly moonbeams streamed through the large bay windows, the glow, unhindered by smog or soaring buildings, almost lighting the bedroom as clearly as the noonday sun. Shane stared out over the cliff and beach, the dark waters of the ocean seeming to meld seamlessly into the vast key. Cool air from the central air-conditioning whispered across his bare shoulders and chest, and the hardwood floor cooled his feet. Behind him, in the big bed with the tousled covers and sheets, warmth and comfort awaited him. Not to mention the beautiful, sexy woman sleeping there. But here, it was the woman—or the jumble of thoughts and emotions she stirred—that had driven him from the bed in the first place. Here, at the window with its view of the calm, smooth as glass waters, he’d hoped to find a sense of calm, some sort of peace to ease the turbulence roiling inside his head and chest.
Not happening.
Memories of the evening—of the past few evenings—scrolled through his head like a movie reel. Amid the attempted murder, explosion, and shoot-outs, he’d made love to the vivacious, confident, impetuous woman he’d known for years. And he’d held and comforted a courageous, driven but insecure and wounded stranger who’d worn Fallon’s face all this time. In spite of a mother’s selfishness and a father’s negligence, Fallon had persevered to stand on her own two feet, to provide and create a life for herself. And she’d done it.
Yeah, the sex had been explosive. But, even more importantly, so had the quiet sharing.
The sex had ripped him open.
But the sharing had ripped him up.
When he’d suggested this “bargain,” he’d been so damn confident. So sure he could keep it strictly sex, and then eventually walk away unscathed and definitely unattached.
Now, after having her, after spending these last few days with her, hearing her laugh, seeing her smile, feeling her arms around him, he realized just how much of an arrogant ass he’d been.
Not only was he scathed, but the marks were permanent.
Still, he rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck, nothing had changed. The two of them together remained a disaster waiting to happen. He wanted family, marriage, a home. She wanted nothing to do with any of it. Not that he could blame her with her parents as a sterling example. Trying to compromise on those basic values would stifle her and one day make him grow to resent her.
An insistent buzz from across the room snatched him out of his dark thoughts. Frowning, he strode to the nightstand and snatched up his cell phone. A voicemail notification blinked up at him as if irritated at being ignored. He swiped his thumb over the screen and pressed the phone to his ear. Damn. When had a call come in?
“Shane.” A low rumble of impatience. “Where are you?” Tristan’s voice barked. “I need to talk to you. Now. I don’t have time—fuck.” The cursing, the frantic, almost panicked edge to his tone… This wasn’t Tristan. What the hell was going on? “Listen, I’ll hit you back, and I hope to God you answer. Don’t contact me on my cell. I don’t know if it’s being traced. I’m calling you from my office phone, but I’m not going to be here…” Another curse. And then nothing. The message abruptly ended.
“What the hell?” Shane repeated. For a long second, he stared at the cell. Then, retracing his steps to the window, he tapped in a number. Waited. One ring. Two. C’mon, damnit. Answer.
“Yeah?” Rafe drawled.
“Hey, it’s me. Shane.”
“What’s up?” his friend asked, all remnants of laziness gone, replaced with a hard and alert edge.
“I need you to trace a cell phone for me.” Shane rattled off Tristan’s number. “Can you let me know his location?”
“You got it. Hit you back in a few.”
The line went dead, and he slid the cell into the front pocket of his jeans. What had Tristan wanted? And why had he sounded so paranoid? Almost…unhinged?
“It’s a beautiful view, but somehow I don’t think that’s what has you standing here in the middle of the night.”
He glanced down at Fallon, who stood next to him in one of his T-shirts. Her wild curls appeared almost black in the shadows, the moonlight turning her smooth skin alabaster.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said in lieu of addressing her comment. But he should’ve known Fallon wouldn’t let it go.
“What was the call about? What’s wrong?”
He quickly told her about Tristan’s call and his request for Rafe.
“He’s trying to find you,” she whispered. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” He paused, studied her face, needing to imprint every soft curve and stubborn angle to memory. “But you remember what I promised you, right?”
She nodded. “You won’t let anything or anyone hurt me.” Shaking her head, she chuckled, but the sound was devoid of humor, flat. “My timing has always sucked. But this seems about as good as any. Especially,” she shrugged, “considering.”
She tilted her head back, met his eyes, hers unwavering, steady, and yet incredibly vulnerable. His heart set up a thud against his sternum, and he almost begged her to shut up, to not utter a word. But he was too late.
“I screwed up,” she murmured. “Royally.”
He frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Just what I said. I messed up.” She fixed her gaze on the beach and water beyond the window, shifting closer to the glass until her toes bumped the window. “Somewhere between ‘I just want to be fucked, no strings attached’ and your gunfight at the O.K. Corral, I evidently lost my mind…and heart.”
Shock stretched its icy fingers through his veins. What the hell? She couldn’t mean… His gut bottomed out even as his heart set up a thunderous pace. Panic and…and something vied for dominance.
“If it’s any consolation,” she continued, “I entered this ‘arrangement’ with no expectations beyond pleasure and multiple orgasms. I promised I could walk away with no regrets, and at the time I meant it. Believed it.” She inhaled a shuddering breath. “But then I almost lost you—almost lost you before I had you. And it hit me that I couldn’t imagine a world that you weren’t in somewhere, breathing. Even if that somewhere isn’t with me. This world needs an honorable, brave, selfless man like you. I need you.”
“Fallon,” he whispered, but the quick, hard shake of her head stopped him.
“God knows my parents haven’t been the most protective. But you’ve always watched out for me. Cared for me. And when I needed you most, you put your life on the line for
me. Time and again. Now, in this safe house, I need protection from you. At least my heart does. The same heart I’ve been so determined to shield, to hold onto so no one else could bruise it. Until you. I guess if I’m honest, it’s always been you.”
“Fallon,” he rasped. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?” she asked, finally tearing her stare away from the window. Her eyes were dark with the pain he’d tried so damn hard to avoid inflicting. “Tell you I love you?” She laughed, the sound dry, rough. “I considered keeping it to myself, because I knew that if you even suspected my feelings about our ‘bargain’ had changed, it would be over with quicker than I could blink. But no matter how pitiful it makes me look, it’s only fair that you know I love you.”
Silence throbbed in the room. The heaviness of it pulsed within him like another heartbeat. Part of him hungered to palm her head, draw her into his chest, hold her close. But the other half, the half that recognized they would only hurt each other, kept his arms chained to his sides.
“Fallon,” he murmured, surrendering to the need to touch her. Even if it was a graze of the back of his finger over her temple. “Baby, what you want from me, I can’t give it to you.”
“Love?” she demanded. “Are you telling me you can’t love me? I call bullshit.”
His mouth thinned, frustration welling inside him. “Do you want me to lie to you? To tell you we can make it and later have you hate me for not being what you need?”