The Nauti Boys Collection
Page 56
Her tongue probed beneath the crest before curling over it, her mouth sucking him deeper as she stared up his broad chest.
Sweat beaded on the hair-spattered flesh, glistening on the teak skin and catching on the short curls. She mouthed his cock head, moaned on it, and then cried out in impending ecstasy as he pulled her to her feet.
“Against the wall,” he bit out, his lips pulling back from his teeth as he stared back at her with fiery lust. “Oh, baby, I can take you against the wall.”
One arm wrapped around her hips as he lifted her, the other easing one leg around his hip as her other leg followed on the opposite side.
A second later, Crista cried out sharply, pain and pleasure whipping through her at the fierce, hard thrust that sent him burrowing through the snug tissue of her pussy.
“God, yes!” His hands gripped her rear as he rocked against her, stroking her internally, sending cataclysms of sensation to attack her nerve endings. “You’re so fucking tight, Crista. So hot and sweet.”
“Do it again,” she moaned, her hands gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his flesh as he pulled back. “Take me hard again.”
He retreated, nearly sliding free of her grip before shafting inside her with a quick, forceful thrust.
“Oh God, Dawg. I love that,” she cried out hoarsely.
“Love that, do you, sweetheart?” He retreated again, plunged inside her again, stroked the internal blaze higher until sweat soaked their bodies in an effort to regulate the body heat.
There was no regulating the hunger building sharp and fast inside them. Crista could feel her juices flowing between them in response to the pleasure. Dawg’s cock was fierce, thick inside her, stroking once-hidden nerve endings and burning her with the liquid-hot lust building harder inside them.
“Want more?” His hands tightened on her rear, his fingers sliding inside the narrow cleft until they met the damp entrance there.
He stroked, he played. He let his fingers dip inside her as his cock pounded inside her pussy. Tingles of sharp heat, hard thrusts that sent shocking waves of sensation tearing through her womb.
It was too much. He began to thrust faster, harder inside her with deep, plunging strokes that sent waves of sensation, violent pleasure, and emotion clashing inside her.
“I love you.” She couldn’t hold the words back. “I love you. Always loved you. Dreamed…” Tears filled her eyes and fell to her cheeks. “Oh God, Dawg, I dreamed…”
“And I dreamed, Crista,” he groaned, his lips moving to her shoulders, then her neck, as his hips thrust and surged, filling her with his cock in quick, hard strokes. “Dreamed of loving you. Holding you. Always loving you.”
Emotion fueled pleasure and fueled lust. The conflagration that resulted had them both crying out. Crista’s wails mixed with his harsh, male groans as ecstasy began to explode inside them, then around them.
She felt the hard, fierce jets of cum exploding inside her. He felt the tight, heated clasp of her pussy gripping him like a fiery fist, flexing around him and throwing him higher into his own release.
Long minutes later, they found themselves on the floor, breathing hard, their bodies still tangled together, arms wrapped tightly around each other.
“Leave me again, and I won’t fuck you for a week,” Dawg mumbled against her ear.
“Forget about fucking me again, and I’ll shoot you myself.” She gave him an unladylike snort, then smiled at the slow stiffening of his cock inside her.
“I didn’t forget the first time,” he whispered then. “I just didn’t want to accept that I had been so damned stupid. You lived in my dreams, Crista. Every night you were away from me, you lived in my dreams. And in my soul.”
She leaned back and stared at him, seeing the intensity in his eyes, the light green seeming to glow inside his dark face as the sensual fulfillment relaxed his features.
“No more dreams,” she whispered. “Just this.”
“Just this.”
This being more than love, more than lust. It was the dream, the hidden wish, and the fulfillment of two hearts meeting, two souls merging.
“I love you,” she whispered. “And I’m looking forward to many many naughty nights in your arms, Dawg.”
“Many,” he promised. “Many naughty nights in my heart.”
There, in the center of the room where it had all begun eight years before, the future began. For Dawg and Crista.
Weeks Later
Natches listened to the sounds of the night. It was late Summer. The lake was filled with those determined to take advantage of every second of the final days of summer.
Kids laughed, parents chided, teenagers dashed about the docks, and the sound of boats returning for the night filled the air with life.
And if he listened closely, really closely, he thought he could hear the sounds of pleasure coming from the boat beside his. He’d moved from his place beside the Nauti Boy after Kelly moved in with Rowdy. He’d parked the Nauti Dreams on the other side of Dawg’s boat instead.
There was no place left to move to avoid the late-night whispers of passion and pleasure that sometimes flowed from the two boats.
He slouched further in his chair and stared out over the lake from the upper deck of the boat and considered his options. There weren’t a lot.
He was sure sick of bullets chasing him, though, sick of toting a sniper’s rifle, and sick to damned death of the lovey-dovey kissyfaced shit going on around him. His two cousins and their women, monogamous and proud of it.
He finished his beer at the thought of that, then opened another. There wasn’t much danger of getting drunk; he didn’t keep the hard stuff on the boat, so that kinda canceled out becoming oblivious.
Hell, he could move into town. There was an apartment over the garage, and he was spending more time there anyway. Anything to get away from the monogamous bliss settling in on the back side of the Mackay docks.
He breathed out roughly. They weren’t the hell-raising, high-living, hard-loving trio they used to be. The Mackay cousins were no more.
And that made for a very, very lonely night.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ONE - Somerset, Kentucky
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
EPILOGUE
Praise for the novels of Lora Leigh
“Leigh draws readers in to her stories and takes them on a sensual roller coaster.” —Love Romances
“Leigh writes wonderfully straightforward and emotional stories with characters that jump off the page.” —The Road to Romance
“Fraught with tension from the first page to the last … a love story of the deepest kind with a very emotional and sensual base. Combine all these elements together, and [you’re] guaranteed an intriguing story that will have you glued to the edge of your seat.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“Blistering sexuality and eroticism … bursting with passion and drama … enthralls and excites from beginning to end.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A scorcher with sex scenes that blister the pages.”
—A Romance Review
“Thrilling … explosive … a perfect blend of sexual tension and suspense.” —Sensual Romance
“An emotional read.” —The Best Reviews
“Hot sex, snappy dialogue, and kick-butt action add up to outstanding entertainment.” —Romantic Times (Top Pick)
“Ms. Leigh is one of my favorite authors because she creates new wo
rlds that I want to visit and would move to if only I could.”
—Erotic-Escapades
“The writing of Lora Leigh continues to amaze me … electrically charged, erotic, and just a sinfully good read!”
—JoyfullyReviewed.com
“Wow! This was one hot … romance. The lovemaking is scorching.” —Just Erotic Romance Reviews
Berkley titles by Lora Leigh
DAWN’S AWAKENING
TANNER’S SCHEME
HARMONY’S WAY
MEGAN’S MARK
NAUTI DREAMS
NAUTI NIGHTS
NAUTI BOY
Anthologies
SHIFTER
(with Angela Knight, Alyssa Day, and Virginia Kantra)
BEYOND THE DARK
(with Angela Knight, Emma Holly, and Diane Whiteside)
HOT SPELL
(with Emma Holly, Shiloh Walker, and Meljean Brook)
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
Copyright © 2008 by Christina Simmons.
eISBN : 978-0-425-21951-5
I. Title.
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2008019357
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Tippytoes, for everything you’ve done,
thank you.
PROLOGUE I
Iraq
Five Years Ago
“Little American whore.” The kick was harder this time, aimed at the tender flesh of Chaya’s stomach, driving the breath out of her and causing her to send a tortured cry through the small cell she had been tossed into.
Her cry. She knew it was her scream, strangled and agonized, but it no longer sounded familiar to her. Reality had receded the day before, and it hadn’t yet returned.
She had been dragged from her car just outside Baghdad, blindfolded, and shoved into a van. And that had been a walk in the park compared to the hours since.
“How much easier would it be, whore, to simply give us what we need?” The muzzle of a handgun caressed her cheek. “You could die then. Quickly. There would be no more pain. Wouldn’t that be nice? No more clamps attached to tender parts of your body. No more electricity. No more kicks. All you need to do is tell us who contacted you. Tell us the information they have.”
The voice was an insidious whisper inside her head as she felt herself crying. Curled in on herself, shuddering with sobs.
Oh God, please don’t let them hurt her anymore. She could feel the bruises along her body now, the swollen tenderness of her nipples, the fragility of bones that couldn’t take much more abuse without breaking.
They hadn’t broken her yet. Had she managed to convince them she didn’t know? That she was unaware of the illegal weapons pipeline they were buying their guns and explosives through? That she knew nothing of the information she had been sent to retrieve about the spy within Army Intelligence providing access to those weapons?
And what did she do with the information that only one person had known where she was headed and why?
“So easy,” a voice crooned, and she focused on the accent. It wasn’t Iraqi, she knew Iraqi. It wasn’t Afghani. There were tonal differences in the voices, even when speaking the same language. She knew the difference. This voice was a whisper of something else. Someone else. She knew this voice.
Another blow landed and a scream tore from her as the toe of the boot connected with her ribs. Terror washed through her like an oily, dark wave of suffocating heat. They would break them next. If her ribs broke she wouldn’t have a chance of escape. Naked, bruised, and hurting, hell yeah. She could escape given half a chance. But if they broke her ribs? If they caused internal bleeding? She would never make it.
“Maybe we will get to keep this one awhile,” the voice mused, laughter filling the tone. “I think maybe she enjoys our caresses, yes?”
No. No. She shook her head, dry heaves shaking through her, torturing her as the spasms ripped through her body.
“You do not like our touch?” False sympathy filled the voice as he bent to her again. “Maybe we use you and fill your belly with seed. We take your brat then and place it in a pretty stroller filled with explosives and park it in front of your White House. Who can resist a baby’s cries, eh?”
She fought to breathe.
Reality. Reality was birth control that had been administered before this mission. Reality was backup, somewhere. Her team didn’t want to lose her or the information she had, but they could only rescue her if they knew she was missing. If the officer she had discussed the trip with had reported that she hadn’t returned.
Reality was, she was beginning to suspect that officer may well be the leak they had been searching for in Army Intelligence.
Reality. She had to hold on, just a little bit longer. She had to find a way to escape, a way to get that information back to her superiors despite the disillusionment and the betrayal that seared her soul.
She felt a hand on her thigh, moving along the back of her leg, fingers touching her, probing.
Rage and terror blazed through her mind. Kicking out she fought to avoid the touch, tried to hurt or to maim, to piss him off enough to keep him away from her. She would prefer to be kicked. She would prefer the broken bones.
“Tell us, Greta.” The voice sighed then, resignation in his tone as she heard the shuffling around her. “Raping you would not be a pleasant experience for some reason. And raping you broken and unable to fight holds even less appeal. But if you do not give me what I need, I will spread you out here and I will let these guards use you. They will use you over and over again, until your body is so defiled that even your own people will know nothing but disgust for you. Is this what you want?”
The false gentleness in his tone built the fear inside her. He was going to do it. She knew he was. She had known all along that he would take this step. What better way to torture a woman? When the electrical clamps to her nipples and clitoris hadn’t worked, he had gotten more inventive. His men hadn’t raped her, but the painful device he used had.
She couldn’t bear more pain.
“Such a beautiful woman.” He sighed.
Saudi. The accent was Saudi. She couldn’t see him, her eyes were so swollen now she doubted she could see daylight if she was in it. But the accent, the voice.
“Nassar,” she whispered, dazed, sobbing. “You betrayed us, Nassar?”
And it only supported the fact that the man she suspected of betraying the Army was a
traitor. Her husband. Nassar was his friend. His contact. And so, obviously, his coconspirator.
Silence filled the void for long moments. Nassar Mallah. She remembered him now. He was a contract agent for the CIA and one of their most trusted moles. Handsome, charming, his black eyes always twinkled with humor and a smile always curved his lips. She had never guessed, never known he was a traitor.
“Ah, Greta.” He stroked her cheek again, but she had distracted him. He was no longer stroking the abused flesh between her thighs, no longer threatening to open her again, to destroy her with a helplessness she couldn’t accept.
“Why?” Shudders were working through her, and she knew she was finally going into shock.
Or perhaps they had meant to kill her slowly like this.
“Kill her.” She felt him rise to his feet. “Use her however you please first, but when you leave this cell, she is to be dead.”
“No. Nassar,” she cried out his name weakly. “We trusted you. We trusted you.”
“No, you trusted me. Fool that you were.” She heard the shrug in his voice. “Enjoy your last minutes, Greta. I doubt they will spend much time enjoying your broken body. But, with these four, you never know.”
The cell door clanged shut. Her fingers tightened around the makeshift knife she had managed to sharpen against the stones earlier. It was gripped in her hand, tucked along her wrist and hidden beneath her body as they dragged her from the pallet.
Reality was, she was going to die here and she knew it.
Pop. She heard the sound, but it didn’t make sense. She heard someone grunt, heard something fall.
Several more of the hollow, wet pops and more shuffling.
She knew that sound. Bullets. She couldn’t see, but she knew the guards were dead. Frantically, she scrabbled at the floor, found one of them, and raced to tear his shirt off his torso. Buttons. God she hated buttons. She worked them loose with stiff, swollen fingers as she heard shouts, screams, and grunts outside the cell door.
The shirt came free, and she dragged it off his body before shoving her arms into it and wrapping it around her. There wasn’t a chance she could rebutton it. Pants. She needed pants.
She was frantic. She worked fast, struggling, panting, trying to ignore the pain searing her body as she worked boots and pants off the guard.