The Nauti Boys Collection

by Lora Leigh

  “Fine.” He slammed the doors closed as he turned back to her. “Let me carry one of them before you topple over.”

  “I have them.” She peeked between the branches of the rosebush. “Just lead the way.”

  “If you fall in the lake because you can’t see over those damned pots, then I’m going to let you drown,” he warned her.

  He knew better. He was so damned stupid where she was concerned, he’d save her and the fucking plants.

  “I know what I’m doing.” Dark brown eyes narrowed on him. “Just go on. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “After you.” He smiled tightly. “And watch where you’re going, if you can. Don’t walk off the side of a dock. Please.”

  As she moved ahead of him, Dawg stayed close to her, just in case. She was so damned stubborn she would probably kill herself rather than see a single rose damaged.

  He frowned at the small roses topping their green branches. He had given her a rosebush once. He wondered what had happened to it. On her seventeenth birthday, an attempt to sweeten her toward him. He had arrived at her home, endured Alex’s glare, and given her the plastic-wrapped little bush for the tiny rose garden she had behind the house. He had noticed that. How much she liked roses.

  She’d probably tossed it out just like she had tossed out the memory of them together.

  Memories that were still foggy to him. At twenty-four, he had drunk too much, partied too damned hard, and had no sense where women were concerned. But he had been smart enough to think Crista was different. Special.

  Hell, she was special, and so different from any other woman he had ever known that it was like night and day. The leading difference being the fact that Crista had never been bowled over by the famous Mackay charm.

  At least, not until he was too drunk to remember what had convinced her to sleep with him in the first place.

  Now, he had to deal with a hard-on that made common sense iffy at best and the knowledge that someone had been drawing Crista into this game between the agents looking for missiles and those involved in the buying and selling of those missiles.

  Damn. He knew the only missing component to this case was the woman who had escaped with a million dollars in unmarked bills. He prayed she was running far and fast and was the only person aware of Crista. Not that he could get that damned lucky, but he could hope.

  Unlocking the glass door that led into the houseboat, Dawg checked the security monitor as he entered the living room before setting the suitcase and box on the couch and watching as Crista stood hesitantly in the room, looking around.

  “Can I put the flowers upstairs?” she asked. “There’s more sunlight there.”

  “Set them down. I’ll take them up later.” He strode across the room to the refrigerator and the cold beer inside.

  Twisting the cap off the bottle, he took a healthy drink as he stared at Crista through the dark glasses he wore. Better to hide his eyes, to hide the emotions he knew he wasn’t holding back very well. Even Natches had watched him in concern during the meeting with the joint ATF and Homeland Security task force that had been working the investigation.

  Something about Crista made him dangerously hungry. Knowing he had had her and being unable to remember anything but the dimmest events made him crazy.

  “You have a choice.” He set the beer on the counter with enough force to cause her to jump.

  “Do I?” She was watching him nervously.

  At least it wasn’t in fear.

  He pulled the sunglasses from his nose and tossed them to the counter before turning his gaze back to her. Immediate. Her response came as fast as her gaze took in his.

  He watched her breasts begin to rise and lower with her quicker breathing, watched the little points of her nipples tighten beneath her shirt and a softening in the defiant stance she had adopted.

  His hand went to his belt, loosening it slowly as her eyes began to widen.

  “Dawg.” She swallowed tightly. “I’m not ready for this yet.”

  At least she hadn’t said no outright.

  The belt came loose. Moving toward her, he tore the metal button open, then rasped the zipper down. Her eyes became wider, darker, and sharp little teeth bit at her lip.

  “I dreamed.” The rough sound of his own voice surprised him. “I dreamed of your mouth taking me. Sucking me into a pleasure so hot I nearly died from it.”

  Her eyes seemed to glaze; her face flushed heatedly as he pulled her to the couch. Dragging his jeans down his thighs, he sat down, removed his boots, then kicked the material free as she watched in shock.

  He was desperate. So fucking hard he was dying from the hunger crawling through his system.

  “Say no, and it stops,” he bit out. “Just say no.”

  “And go to jail?”

  He clamped his lips shut. He had one advantage over her, and that was it. She very well might not be ready for the rest of it yet, but he had to have this, or he was going to die.

  “Your choice.”

  SIX

  Her choice.

  Crista stared down at him, feeling every cell in her body reacting to the sight of Dawg, leaning back on the couch, his devil’s black hair mussed around his face, his light green eyes darkening, and she felt her vagina flood with the response.

  She was dampening her panties. Growing so sensitive that even the air from the air conditioner was a caress against flesh still covered by her clothing.

  “Dawg—” She could hear the plea in her voice.

  “You’re so pretty, Crista,” he whispered. “I dreamed of it last night. Your sweet mouth moving over my cock, driving me insane. Give me that. Just that. We can wait for the rest of it.”

  Wait for the rest of it?

  Was this his idea of seduction? If it was, then she was weaker than she could have ever imagined, because it was working.

  “Come here, baby.” He gripped her wrist, drawing her to her knees as he leaned forward.

  As she settled before him, his hands gripped the hem of her shirt and drew it upward, drawing it over her head, then her arms, until he tossed it away.

  “Sweet God have mercy,” he groaned, his eyes like brilliant pinpoints of color in his dark face as he stared at the white lace covering her breasts.

  “Dawg, this is too soon.” She had to force the words past her lips. “You have to let me—”

  One hand cupped around her neck, tilting her head back as the other touched her lips.

  “You have the memories of this,” he said, his voice rough. “Give me one now. Just one memory, Crista, instead of a dream that tears my guts to ribbons with hunger.”

  One hand gripped her wrist as he settled against the back of the couch once again and folded her fingers partially around the width of his cock. They wouldn’t surround it.

  The hard flesh throbbed beneath her hand, silky and ridged with heavy veins, the bloated head darkened as a drop of pre-cum beaded at the tiny slit.

  She knew what he tasted like. Like a storm coming in from the mountains. She knew what was going to happen the minute she took him into her mouth. She was going to lose herself in the sensuality he wrapped around her.

  He terrified her. The knowledge of what he could do to her had her shaking before him.

  “There, Crista.” His hand tangled in her hair, cupping the side of her head as he drew her forward. “Just a little bit, fancy-face. Suck me just a little bit.”

  Just a little bit?

  Crista whimpered as the thick crest touched her lips, parted them, slid inside.

  She couldn’t help herself. Because she did remember that night, and she knew exactly what he had taught her. She knew what he liked then, but would he like it now?

  Tentatively, she swirled her tongue over the engorged head, feeling his thighs clench, hearing the ragged groan that rumbled in his chest. His hand tightened in her hair, pulling at the strands and sending a tingling heat through her scalp.

  His chest was moving fiercely, rising
and falling quickly as her own breathing became labored, and she let her mouth fill with the head of his cock and the few inches beyond that she could manage.

  “Sweet God. Crista. Sweetheart. Ah God yes, suck my dick, fancy-face. Hard and deep…”

  Dawg felt his head fall back against the cushion behind him and fought to breathe. Her mouth was hot, tight, drawing over his cock head, her tongue rasping the ultrasensitive flesh beneath it. His balls drew up painfully tight as her fingers were tucked beneath them, cupping them, massaging the taut sac with such wicked caresses that he had to clench his teeth to hold back the brutal pleasure tearing through him.

  He struggled to open his eyes, to stare down at her. God help him, she was gorgeous. Long hair flowed around her flushed face, her lips stretched wide around his dick, her dark eyes almost black.

  Delicate fingers gripped the shaft, working it slow and easy as she drew on the pleasure-tortured crest. She sucked it, tongued it. Her cheeks hollowed and her eyes glowed, and he swore he saw the same needs in her eyes that he felt ripping through his guts.

  Hunger like nothing he had ever known before.

  “Ah yes.” He hissed out on a hard breath of pleasure as she worked the head of his cock with strong sucks and fast, flickering lashes of her tongue. “That’s good, baby. So good.”

  He pulled at her hair, drawing her head back, feeling her fight the tug at the strands and watching the pleasure that consumed her expression.

  He pulled at her hair again, his teeth gritting as her lashes fluttered and she took his cock deeper into her mouth.

  “Like that?” He was almost shaking with the pleasure.

  “Hmm.” She lifted her lips from his aching flesh and raised her eyes.

  “Do you?” she asked him a second before her tongue took a lingering taste of the underside of his cock.

  “Oh hell yes,” he groaned, sending a surge of pleasure racing through her. “It’s so damned good I’m about to burn alive with it.”

  His abdomen flexed and rippled with tension. His scrotum was tight as she cupped and caressed it in the palm of her hand, and heat radiated from him.

  Crista took him into her mouth again, holding his gaze, sucking him deep and hard as she remembered, licking the underside and feeling her own edge of ecstasy twisting inside her at the pleasure she was bringing him.

  She knew better than this, better than to allow herself to be affected by his pleasure. But she couldn’t help it now any more than she could have done anything to stop it eight years before.

  She loved giving Dawg pleasure. She loved watching his expression tense as he fought for control, how his body tensed and a sheen of sweat slicked his muscles.

  Her mouth moved on his cock, taking as much as possible, holding it deep and then retreating to suckle at the head with loving greed. She moaned at the taste of pre-cum that whispered over her taste buds and teased more to her hungry mouth as his hands tightened in her hair.

  Fingers tugged at the long strands, pulled it forward, drew it over his taut abdomen, and a whispered male groan filled her ears.

  “Ah, Crista. So sweet and good.” His voice was low and tight with lust. “Perfect, sweet mouth.”

  She tongued the underside of his cock, licked and probed and gloried at the shudder that traveled through his heavily muscled body.

  She wasn’t as hesitant as she had been eight years ago. She knew what he liked then, what he still liked now, and she applied the lessons he had given her through the long, dark hours on an unforgettable summer night. Lessons she had dreamed of, fantasized about using on him once again.

  “Crista, sweetheart.” Dawg could feel the sweat building on his flesh, the heat rushing through his body.

  His head fell to the back of the couch, his eyes closed, and memory slammed into him.

  Innocent brown eyes staring at him from the same spot where she knelt now. She had helped him into the houseboat and then to the couch, and there he had pulled her to his lap, kissed her, caressed her, and teasingly convinced her to go down on him.

  “Suck my dick, baby,” he whispered now as he had whispered then. “God, your mouth is killing me.”

  She had been more shy then. Hesitant. A bit of fear in her wide eyes, but mixed with that fear had been immeasurable excitement.

  He forced his head up, his eyes to open, and he stared at her now. Not that much had changed. She was still shy, a little afraid, but the hesitancy was gone. And the pleasure was starker, clearer.

  The sight of that pleasure nearly destroyed his control. That coupled with the heat of her sucking mouth, the tempting touch of her fingers on his shaft and his balls, and her moan, and Dawg knew his control wouldn’t last much longer.

  “Sweet mercy,” he groaned, arching, driving his cock deeper in her mouth as she began to lengthen and quicken her suckling strokes. “You’re destroying me, Crista.”

  He hadn’t expected this. He had expected a fight. Hell, he halfway wanted a fight. Anything to give him an excuse to escape the hunger that dug into his guts like a dull knife.

  There was no escaping it with Crista’s hot mouth wrapped around his dick, though. No escaping the pleasure or the pain. Each time he stared down at her, past and present merged. What he had believed were dreams swirled alongside reality.

  His chest clenched at the sight of her, emotions held so closely in check for most of his life swirling inside him, confusing him, multiplying the pleasure until he was pulling at her hair, his hips lifting to her, his cock flexing, tensing.

  “Crista. Sweetheart.” He could barely breathe. Sensation tore through, wrenching at his muscles and stealing his control. “Ah God. I’m gonna come, baby.”

  He couldn’t stand it. His balls were so tight they were torturous, the seed boiling in them, building, breaking down the walls of his restraint as easily as a hammer against sandstone.

  Crista’s lips, mouth, and tongue were destroying him. Giving more pleasure than he had ever known. How could it be so good? How could one woman, one sweet, shy little mouth rip his control to shreds?

  “Ah, God. Crista.” His voice was rasping, guttural. “I can’t hold back. Ease up.”

  She didn’t ease up. Her mouth was hungrier, her moans hotter, her fingers…hot, wicked fingers playing with his balls while the fingers of her other hand stroked his shaft. Her mouth sucked, her tongue licked, her teeth scraped with delicate greed, and an edge of fire ripped through his balls and tore the choice from him.

  The first explosive spurt of semen had a strangled cry tearing from his throat. His body tightened to breaking point, his hands gripping her hair, holding her in place. Praying…“Oh hell. Tongue it. Suck it. Fuck. Yes.”

  His head slammed back to the cushions, and light exploded in front of his eyes as pleasure became a fiery, torturous ecstasy unlike anything he had experienced in his life.

  He filled her mouth. Forced her to take his release. Held her head in place and nearly writhed with the sensations burning and twisting through his body. His hips lifted from the couch, and her hungry moans rippled over his cock until finally, blessedly, the hot fingers of electricity eased from his spine, and he slumped back to his seat, fighting just to breathe.

  Dawg forced himself to release his fingers from Crista’s hair, and despite the shame that raged through him, he made himself stare down at her.

  Shock wound through his consciousness at the sight of her. A temptress’s smile curved her plump, swollen lips as she licked down the shaft of his cock in soothing motions, easing the sharp, heavy contractions in the still-hard flesh. Her eyes were nearly black with her own arousal, her cheeks stained with a flush of lust and shyness.

  “Come here.” He caught her arms as she moved to distance herself, ignored the flash of hesitancy in her expression, and lifted her to him before bearing her back on the cushions.

  Moving over her, Dawg didn’t give her time to argue or to protest. His lips covered hers, and for once, his distaste at kissing a woman who had just consume
d his seed was absent.

  He needed her kiss. The sweetness of her response. Her arms twining around his shoulders and her body softening beneath his.

  Her lips parted for him with a gasp, and he nipped at the swollen lower curve before sinking into another, different whirlpool of arousal.

  The past few years, sex had been rare. Even the desire for it had been rare. But now, as though fighting to make up for lost time, his body went into overdrive. His cock thickened back to full strength, and the need began to whip through his system once more.

  Because of Crista. Because there was something about her that made him hungry. Hell, made him ravenous for the taste of her. For her touch, her breathy little moans and the kisses that burned through his soul.

  He tore his lips from hers a second later, turned to her jaw, nipped and licked, kissing his way down the graceful arch.

  “Dawg. Wait,” she gasped, her voice thick with arousal.

  He could hear the hunger in her tone, feel it in the heated silk of her flesh. His hand flattened on her upper stomach, slid down, his fingers gripping the metal button of her jeans.

  “Wait for what?” Damn, he was nearly shaking. Every cell in his body was in a frenzy of need to mate. To fuck. If he didn’t bury inside her, he was going to go crazy.

  “Dawg, please.” Was it a protest or need?

  His hand flattened on her abdomen, beneath the loose material of her jeans, and felt the muscles there flexing, spasming.

  He needed her. Sweet heaven, her womb was clenching for release; her pussy would ripple and contract around him. It would hug him like a hot little fist and welcome him more eagerly than her mouth.

  His lips moved to the swollen, flushed mounds of her breasts above the lace of her bra then. Her nipples were hard and pointed beneath. With his free hand, he drew the material over the flushed mound and stared in rapt attention a second before the overriding need to taste her had his head lowering.

  Dawg groaned at the feel of her nipple against his tongue, the taste. The acceptance she allowed when his lips closed over one hungrily.

  She jerked as though jolted with a hard surge of electricity. Her nipple tightened further, fit perfectly against his tongue, and drew him into a heated intimacy he had never known before.