Headlong: The Hellbound Brotherhood Book Two

by Shannon McKenna

  At least for a while.

  His erection was already visible. And of course, he saw her look.

  As a distraction, he was a lot better than bourbon, that was for sure. But everything had its price. “You want more than I can give,” she whispered.

  “I’ll take what I can get.”

  She stood there, speechless, as Eric moved toward her, enveloping her in his heat. His arms slid around her waist, drawing her close. “Just sex. Great sex. No strings.”

  “You said no strings last night, too. I’m not falling for that bullshit again.”

  He nuzzled her hair. “I learned my lesson.” His deep voice vibrated next to her ear, making delicious shivers race down her back. “I’ll be good. Just red-hot, fabulous fucking. As much as you want. As long as you want.”

  “And after all that’s happened, you’re still up for sex? You’re not tired?”

  “No,” he said.

  Sex throbbed off him in waves, making her giddy and unsteady on her feet. “You bad boy,” she whispered. “Tempting me.”

  “Can’t help it,” he said. “It just happens.”

  She felt it, too. Like some physical force inside her that pulled her toward him. She laid her hand on his hot chest, her fingertips digging in, feeling that sleek, hard muscle.

  She slid her hand slowly downward. “It doesn’t seem right to take you up on it. Not after you declared yourself to me like that. It makes me feel like I’m using you.”

  “Use me,” he said. “I’m fine with that.”

  It was a terrible idea. So stupid. She couldn’t fall for this a second time.

  “There’s a bedroom with a double bed upstairs,” he said. “I just put on fresh sheets.”

  “You did? When did you have time to do that?”

  “After my shower. In case I got lucky.”

  She found herself laughing. “Calculating much?”

  Eric’s grin was unapologetic. “I have to deliver on all my seductive hype, right?” he said. “That takes foresight. Planning. Come upstairs and I’ll make you forget all your troubles. For as long as you let me.” He scooped her hair over to the side, pressing slow, hot kisses against her throat. “Just pleasure,” he whispered. “No guilt.”

  She shivered, clutching his shoulder for balance. “I’ve heard that before.”

  “Let me try again. I’ll be so good.”

  They looked at each other. This was the moment to say no, if she was going to say it. And mean it.

  She dug her fingers deeper into his densely muscled shoulder.

  “Yes,” she said.

  17

  Eric reached up to his shoulder, covering Demi’s hand with his own. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it, reverently.

  The contact made his heart speed. It pounded in his ears.

  But it was still his job to keep them safe, whether she’d dismissed the danger or not. He opened the drawer and took Otis’s Glock. “This goes upstairs with us,” he told her. “I’m not completely convinced that you’re in the clear. Not yet.”

  Her smile made his face heat up. “Whatever makes you feel better.”

  She was humoring him. He was fine with that.

  He led her up the creaking farmhouse stairs and into the bedroom he used whenever he was in this house. It was a small, white-painted room with a dormer window. Dim light filtered through the boughs of a big oak tree that swayed and knocked the siding in the wind outside, making the room a cave of shifting green shadows. Not much in the room, just a bed, a straight-back chair, and his suitcase. A dresser was cluttered with his toothbrush and shaving gear, wallet, change and car keys. Otis had been a widower for decades, and he’d never been much of a decorator.

  But the bed was comfortable. Eric laid the gun on the nightstand and turned the comforter back. Demi paced toward him, her eyes full of teasing challenge. She pried off one shoe, then the other, kicking them aside. “Your turn now.”

  Shoes seemed as good a place as any to start, so he followed suit.

  Demi started in on her sweatshirt, making a slow, sexy thing out of it. She tossed it onto the chair, shaking out her hair into a sexy, tousled mop over her face and shoulders. She was wearing a peach-colored satin bra that propped her stunning tits up. The chill in the room made her nipples taut, poking against the soft fabric.

  Her eyes pierced him with their intensity. Daring him. He realized it was his turn.

  She was keeping it playful. He had to do the same. Iron control. No sweeping declarations. No staring at her with the eyes of his soul. None of it. It was all off limits.

  He had to be careful, calculated. Keep her close, for as long as he could manage it, until she got used to him. Used to the idea of them together.

  Right. When hell froze over. Who was he trying to fool?

  There was nothing playful about the feeling raging inside him. His hands shook, his heart pounded, his cock an ache of need. He hadn’t known how numb he was before, but there was a big fucking downside to not being numb. And he was feeling it all.

  He started to pull off his sweatshirt but stopped partway with a hiss as his shoulder blazed white-hot.

  Demi moved closer, pushing up the hem of his shirt, her cool fingers stroking his belly. “Let me,” she murmured.

  Sensual torture, the way she slid her hands gently up his chest, taking the sweatshirt up with it. Splaying her fingers over his pecs, circling her hands over his nipples. Sliding her fingers into his chest hair, giving it a tug. Just to the edge of pain.

  She lifted the shirt gently over his head and tossed it in the direction of the chair. She was inches from him now, staring him down. She undid the front clasp of her bra.

  She leaned down to drop a soft, careful kiss on the bruise on his shoulder, then looked up again, swaying forward until her tight brown nipples were just barely touching his chest. The contact burned sweetly, like a kiss.

  Their embrace felt so inevitable, like a trap springing. One he never wanted to escape from. There could be no playing it cool with Demi. Not if he was kissing her, tasting her, feeling her. The pain in his shoulder was already a distant memory. Every cell of him was electrified at the contact. There was nothing playful about the way he grabbed her hips and pulled her against the bulge of his erection, nothing playful about his devouring kiss. He struggled feverishly with her jeans, and she did the same, his mouth moving hungrily over hers. Pleading, demanding, insisting, he couldn’t tell and didn’t care. He just needed more, more, more.

  All his. Forever.

  Pants and underwear kicked away and forgotten. One hand grabbing his ass, her nails digging in. The other cupping his balls, a seductive caress before she gripped his shaft and squeezed, stroking…ah, God. Oh please.

  Chill. He had to slow this…way…the fuck…down.

  It took everything he had not to just throw her down and fall on her, but he broke away from that kiss, panting. Counting slowly. Down from ten, then once again.

  He slid his hand up between her hot, smooth thighs, into that secret paradise between, teasing that swatch of silky fuzz that decorated her pussy. Caressing the whole length of her folds, his fingertip dipping into that hot silken well. Up…down…and in. Stroking, sliding. Tenderly thrusting inside. Slick, hot heaven.

  She moaned, writhing. Her body clenching eagerly around his hand. Her fingers tightening around his cock. An expert, swiveling stroke that almost made him come.

  He blocked her hands and breathed it down. “Not yet,” he whispered. “You first.”

  She pressed her face against his shoulders. “If you insist.”

  “I do,” he murmured.

  He took his time about it, making her wait, but when she got to the point where she was digging in her nails and sobbing with need, he insisted, and pushed her over the top and into a shattering orgasm.

  She was rigid in his arms, making breathless keening sounds, her pussy squeezing his fingers as pleasure wracked her. So sweet.

  And it was that perfect s
ensation that reminded him of something that could wreck his world. “Damn,” he muttered. “Condoms. Don’t have any. This is going to kill me.”

  Demi lifted her face. Her cheeks were blushed deep pink, eyes bright and dazzled from pleasure. “I can’t wait for you to go buy some. I’ll explode with lust.”

  He just stared at her, bewildered. “Uh…but I can’t…”

  “I have a contraceptive implant. Got it a few years ago, but it’s still good. And I’ve had bloodwork done since I was last with anyone. You?”

  The implications of that news for his hard, pulsing dick wiped out his powers of speech for a few moments. “Ah…ah, yeah, I have. Same. Clean bill of health.”

  “Well then,” she said briskly. “So? Proceed.”

  “Just like that?”

  She frowned. “Don’t mess with my head. Why not? Don’t you trust me?”

  “Of course I trust you! I just assumed that you wouldn’t trust me.”

  Demi laughed under her breath. “Well, it’s complicated. You have a problematic habit of completely pulverizing my life, yes, but I really don’t think you’d lie about something like that. So for what it’s worth…feel free. If you want to, that is.”

  That left him wordless, staggered. Demi pressed a kiss against this jaw. “Don’t sweat it,” she murmured. “Remember? No past, no future, just your thick fabulous cock moving inside me. So deep. Nothing between us. Just heat…and wet.” She cupped his face in her hands and pulled it down to hers, dropping soft, lingering kisses against his jaw, his mouth. “Don’t overthink this. Or I’ll change my mind.”

  “Oh no. I’m in.” That snapped him right out of his daze and he kissed her again. Putting everything he was afraid to put into words into the kiss.

  She rocked back, her breath unsteady. “Um, Eric. One thing.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did I thank you for saving my ass last night?”

  “I don’t need to be thanked. I’m glad I got the message out, loud and clear.”

  She frowned at him, puzzled. “Message?”

  “Anyone tries to hurt you, I will fuck them up so hard I’ll make them wish they’d never been born. Let the world know it. Let the message spread far and wide.”

  The flash in her eyes made his breath stop. Her gaze slid away, almost shyly. Time started up again. “Um, thanks,” she whispered. “For caring, I mean. It means a lot to me. Particularly right now.”

  “Anytime.”

  Eric backed her up until her legs hit the bed. She sat down suddenly, and he lifted up her legs, pushing her onto her back against the cool sheets. He wanted a good long look at that her like that, thighs spread wide. Her beautiful, shining pink pussy on display.

  He tugged her ass to the edge of the bed, taking in every tiny detail as he stroked her with his fingers. Opening her wide, stroking that puff of silky dark curls that decorated her mound. He wanted another go at her with his tongue, but first things first. He had to get inside her or he was going to pass out.

  Demi propped herself up, her direct gaze burning him alive.

  The bed was high, the perfect height for him on his feet, her at the edge. He seized his dick at the root and petted her pussy with it until she was squirming, biting her lip, gasping for air. His penis head gleamed with their juice.

  She locked eyes with him. “Now,” she said. “Do it.”

  He drove inside her, one long, slow stroke, and oh. Fuck, it was beautiful.

  So tight, so hot. The snug perfection of her. His whole length, stroked by her clinging hole. He drove inside all the way. Eased himself out, riveted by the sight of her tender flushed pussy lips kissing and caressing his flushed shaft on the slow outstroke.

  He clamped his hand into her thighs and pumped his cock into her as slowly as he could. Best feeling ever. Deep, hot, juicy fucking. Eyes locked. Her red lips were parted, her lush tits bounced as the jolting rhythm got more intense. Deeper, harder. His flushed, swollen red cock shone. A fresh slick of balm with each slamming stroke.

  The bed rocked with them. They panted for air. Demi arched and writhed beneath him, clutching his shoulders, her pussy squeezing him as she climaxed again, clenching wildly around him.

  That was the end of his self-control. He hadn’t meant to come inside her, but he didn’t have a hope of stopping it. He let out a hoarse shout as his orgasm crashed down like a landslide.

  After, he found himself hunched over her, staring into her eyes. Naked and exposed. Everything he felt, written on his face. Blazing out of him in fucking neon.

  Feelings she didn’t want him to have. Hopes she didn’t want to encourage. He was hers. Body and soul, whether she wanted him or not. It was a done deal. On his part.

  But he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t offer it. He’d promised.

  He pulled out of her and turned away, to hide his face. This was the danger spot, the no-go zone, every damn time. After they had sex, he just couldn’t fake it anymore.

  He grabbed his jeans, pulled them on. “Bathroom’s down the hall,” he muttered, without looking at her. “Towels in the cabinet. Help yourself.”

  “Eric?” She sounded worried.

  He gritted his teeth through the pain in his shoulder as he tugged his shirt back on and grabbed the Glock off the nightstand. “I’ll go downstairs. Make some coffee.”

  “Hey!” Her voice was sharp. “Eric! What the hell is the matter with you?”

  He stopped, his hand on the doorframe. He started to say something stupid and ill-considered and true, but swallowed the dangerous words back. Then tried again.

  “Just trying to play by the rules,” he said. “I suck at it, that’s all. See you downstairs.”

  He splashed his face and hands, but what he saw in the mirror over the bathroom sink was too much for him. Soap and water wouldn’t wash that look off his face.

  Coffee. That made sense, at least. He headed downstairs barefoot. Laid the gun on the dining room table before heading into the kitchen.

  Not much in the way of food in Otis’s kitchen. Best he could find was a sleeve of chocolate-dipped butter cookies. Better than nothing.

  He heard the stairs creaking a few minutes later. He poured out two cups of coffee and brought them and the cookies into the dining room.

  “I don’t have milk or cream,” he said. “Hope it’s okay for you black.” He stopped short at the sight of Demi at the table with Otis’s gun in her hand, a strangely abstracted look on her face.

  He set down the coffee. “What is it?”

  She glanced up. “You said this gun is a Glock 19?”

  “Yeah. What of it?”

  “I was just thinking of those minutes in the ICU when Otis was awake and lucid. He kept repeating ‘lock, lock, lock.’ It just occurred to me that maybe he wasn’t saying lock at all. Maybe he was saying something else. Like…Glock.”

  The loud, discordant clang of the grandfather clock over the fireplace striking the hour made them both jump.

  They looked over at it, and then at each other. Her eyes widened, and she laid the gun carefully down.

  “Clock,” he said softly.

  Eric went over to the grandfather clock and pulled open the small glass door over the pendulum, decorated with a fading pattern of gold-painted curlicues. He pushed gently against the corner of the back.

  It popped loose. He fished the panel out. Behind it was a recessed area with a square, silvery object tightly lodged inside.

  Demi appeared next to him. “Did you know that the clock had a false back?”

  Eric shook his head as he pried out the object. It proved to be a small digital camera. He turned it over in his hands. “Mace and Anton and I got this for him a few years ago when his old Pentax bit the dust,” he said. “For his bird-watching.”

  They gazed down at the camera in Eric’s hands.

  “He didn’t tell you about what was going on with him?” she asked.

  Eric turned back to the table and laid the camera down, picking up his smart
phone. “He sent us a voicemail the night before he died. At five AM. He was anxious to tell us something, but he didn’t spell it out in the message. Listen to this.”

  He set it to play. The sound of Otis’s rough, halting voice made his throat clench.

  Hey. Otis here. You boys need to come home. Soon as possible. All of you. Got things to tell you about GodsAcre. Can’t say it on the phone. I’ll explain when you get here. Bye now.”

  “He sent the exact same message for Anton and Mace,” Eric told her. “Then he hid this camera in the clock. Maybe he fell while he was going for his gun.”

  Demi made a noncommittal sound. “He just had a stroke, Eric.”

  Eric made a doubtful sound in his throat. “Maybe. Let’s see the pictures he took.”

  The display screen on the camera was large enough to see the pictures clearly, but the images themselves were baffling. The camera’s memory was full of generic pictures of parked cars, trucks, heavy equipment. There were some shots of a mass of deeply rutted tracks in the mud. Other shots of large piles of building materials. Big heaps of dirt.

  “What the fuck is all this?” he murmured. “Come on, Otis. A little help, here.”

  Demi peered over his shoulder as he scrolled through more and more. Dozens of them. All more of the same. Muddy vehicles, parked outdoors.

  Then one of the pictures blindsided him. The distinctive shape of the tall chimney in the distance, looming up behind a back-hoe. The chimney of the Great Hall at GodsAcre.

  The hall was a heap of ashes and blackened bricks on a block of cement, but that chimney still stuck up into the sky like a burned bone.

  It was like a kick to the gut. His hand jerked. He suddenly felt waves of blazing heat billowing in his face, saw showers of sparks in the dark. Heard the screaming, echoing in his head against the sound of his own thudding heart—

  “Eric? You okay?”

  Demi’s worried voice came from far away. She clutched his arm, squeezing it.