by Lora Leigh
Pleasure tore through her as heat wrapped around her senses. His lips were like velvet, rasping and demanding, his tongue carnal, tasting her as his lips ate at hers.
She was consumed by him. Every nerve ending in her body felt the possession and reveled in it. Clenching her hands in his hair, she arched closer, pressing her leather-clad breasts into his chest, whimpering with the need to feel his flesh against hers. Her nipples rasping against the coarse hair on his chest.
"I told you to shut up," he muttered, dragging his lips from hers, his teeth rasping her neck as he raked down it.
His free hand moved between them, loosening her belt, stripping it from her first before working on the closure to her leather pants. Once the material parted, his hand moved farther up her body.
One hand held her head back; the other gripped the thin, elastic edge of the leather cups above the corset and pulled. They raked over her nipples, sending blinding waves of pleasure shrieking through the hard, gold-studded points.
She had worn the thin gold chains she had purchased for the piercings, letting them dangle below her nipples erotically rather than tightening the subtle noose the two connected chains made as they dangled below the hard points.
"God. That has to be the sexiest sight in the world."
His hand cupped the mound, lifting it as he stared down at her, his eyes glittering in the dim light reflecting from the parking-lot lights.
His lips were swollen, parted, as he breathed roughly. His eyes were narrowed, the rough slash of his cheekbones emphasized by the tense set of his expression.
She arched to him, needing his lips on her, his tongue, the feel of his cheeks drawing on the sensitive flesh.
Instead, his thumb and forefinger gripped the point, tightened, sending her awakened senses exploding with heat and pleasure.
Morganna cried out, writhing beneath him as the flash of pleasure-pain tore through her. This was pleasure. The dark edge of ferocity, a hunger that couldn't be controlled. It rose within her like a demon, raking at her womb with merciless fingers, convulsing in her vagina with the warning tremors of nearing orgasm.
"I like the nipple rings, Morganna," he whispered as she stared up at him blindly. His fingers moved from her nipples, gripped the gold chains, and tugged at them gently.
Her head twisted on the rough truck seat, a whimpering cry tearing from her.
"So hot and ready," he whispered. "Would you be this hot with Drage, Morganna? Would one touch have your body twisting in need?"
"No. Oh God, Clint. You. I need you." She was past lying. She knew she would regret it, knew Clint was going to destroy her with her own body, but at this moment nothing mattered but his touch.
"Damn you. Damn you to hell for what you do to me." He may damn her, but his head lowered, his lips covering the hard point and burning her with the sensation.
"Oh God. Yes." The whiplash of heat that suffused her body left her gasping.
The moist suckling heat of his mouth, the lash of his tongue tugging at the gold chains on her nipples, were nearly unbearable. She twisted against him, not knowing if she needed to get closer or escape the electrical impulses of pleasure tearing into her womb as his other hand slid into her pants.
Her fingers clenched in his hair as she felt his fingers rasp over the swollen bud of her clit. She was wet. So damned wet his fingers sank into her juices as they slid through the narrow slit awaiting him.
He played with her. Toyed with her arousal. He circled the throbbing opening of her vagina, his fingertip brushing over the entrance with firm strokes. Hips writhing, her moans echoing in her own head, Morganna fought for penetration. Oh God, she needed penetration.
"Please, Clint." Surely he wouldn't be so cruel as to deny her. To bring her so close, only to pull back.
"So sweet and hot," he muttered against her breast. "For God's sake, Clint, please ..." A strangled scream tore from her throat. He didn't penetrate with just one finger. He used two. Slow. Easy. Stretching her, burning her. She felt her pussy convulsing around his fingers, felt her orgasm close, so close.
"Do you need me, baby?" His voice was torn, rough, thick, and edged with the same hunger that ripped through her. "Tell me what you need, Morganna." "You."
"What part of me?"
"All of you, Clint," she cried out as his fingers flexed inside her, sliding deeper before withdrawing. "Please. All of you..."-
He thrust inside her, a hard, long impalement that had her hips lifting, her body reaching for orgasm. She could feel it whipping along her nerve endings, thrumming in her blood, and pounding in her head.
"Son of a bitch." Before she could understand the sudden desertion, Clint was jerking from her. His fingers pulled from the clenching depths of her pussy as he jerked the leather back over her breasts and lifted his eyes. His expression was tight as he stared beyond the window.
"Clint, it's Officer Zane Roland. Is everything okay in there?" There was an edge of suspicion, of amusement, in the voice beyond the door.
"Come on." Clint levered himself from her, quickly helping her sit up before the pounding at the window made sense to her.
He lowered the window enough to glimpse the police officer standing outside before lowering it halfway.
"Thought that was you, Clint." Surprise surprise, he knew the police, too.
The stoic expression of the officer creased into an apologetic smile for a moment.
"We're heading out, Zack," Clint breathed roughly, pushing his fingers through his hair as he slanted the officer a wry smile. "Sorry 'bout that."
"Understandable." Zane nodded, glancing at Morganna as she ducked her head. "Just thought I'd check and make sure everything was okay. I heard about the shooting at Diva's last night."
Clint nodded abruptly. "You're right; this was real dumb." He glanced at Morganna, but his gaze wasn't angry now; it was ... perplexed maybe. "She goes to a man's head."
"So I see," Zane chuckled. "See you around, Clint, and take care."
"Yeah. I'll do that," Clint grumbled as he hit the electronic lever that raised the window.
Morganna was still fighting to breathe, to pull her emotions and her senses together, when Clint put the truck in gear and pulled out of the parking lot, back into the traffic as she moved to fasten her pants.
He didn't have to warn her to keep her mouth shut now; she didn't think she could form a coherent thought, let alone produce speech.
What was she going to do about Clint? Her body awakened to him with nothing but a look, and what his kisses did to her should be illegal. It probably was illegal.
She stared through the windshield until he took the turn leading to her house, rather than his apartment. She breathed in slowly, pulling herself together, pushing back the pain she could feel clawing through her.
She had a feeling he had no intention of joining her in her bed. It was a repeat of that morning, except for the orgasm. She would definitely be left wanting tonight.
"We need to talk." The anger wasn't there, only the aching well of sadness she had sometimes glimpsed in him.
"We tried that this morning. It didn't work." Wrapping her arms over her chest did nothing to soothe the aching void inside her. "Besides, Clint, you don't talk; you order, demand, or command. When that doesn't work, you tattle. Why should we break the habit now?"
"God, Morganna, you have no idea what you're getting mixed up in." He sighed, the weariness in his voice pricking her conscience. She knew he had slept in his truck the night before and that couldn't have been restful.
"I can't sit on a shelf and wait for you and Reno to decide to take me down for a visit," she whispered, swallowing tightly. Emptiness stretched ahead of her, years alone, if she didn't do something to change it. And God knew she was so tired of being alone.
"What happened to marriage? Children?" he bit out, his voice rough. "Morganna, what you're doing will get you killed."
"Are you proposing?" she asked as he pulled in front of her house.
"This isn't a joking matter." He jerked his head around, staring at her as he put the truck into park.
"No, it isn't." She shook her head dismally. "Because it wouldn't matter if you were proposing, Clint. I've found what I want to do." She stared back at him directly. "I found some-thing I believe in. Something that gives me purpose. I won't give that up for you. And it wouldn't work if I did. Because, quite honestly, you don't want me, not really. It wouldn't matter if you were fucking me or that redhead tonight. We would both be the same in your eyes. And I need more from a lover than that."
"And you think Drage Masters is going to give you more?" Clint asked in astonishment. "Do you think you can sell your soul to the devil and walk away later, Morganna?"
"Then rescind your request that I be barred from the clubs," she said gently. She wasn't angry any longer. She was tired. Tired of loving a man who didn't need her. Who didn't truly want her. "Don't take this away from me, Clint. I've worked too hard and too long. Don't force me to choose like this."
"You'd play the whore for him?" He frowned back at her, his expression heavy, set.
"I have to find a life, Clint. A lover. Someone who sees something in me other than his best friend's sister or a responsibility he can't run away from this time," she pointed out, aching inside. "I love you. I've always loved you. For as long as I can remember. But I can't continue to wait on a man who doesn't even respect me enough to work with me. A man willing to steal years of my life for his own selfishness. I've worked for this assignment. I trained for it. And you pushed me out as though what I want, what I need, doesn't even matter."
He said nothing in his defense, no explanation, no denial. The pain of it ate at her heart as the years she had wasted stretched out behind her.
"Good-bye, Clint," she whispered. "Just say good-bye. I don't need a babysitter; I need a lover who's willing to care. Drage might not love me, but he's willing to put effort into some part of me. That's more than you've ever done."
She gripped the latch, pulling it toward her to open her door, when Clint caught her arm. Drawing in a deep breath, she turned back to stare at him.
His eyes blazed from his face, his expression torn and, for the first time, reflecting the conflicting emotions she had always felt raged inside him. Emotions she would have jumped with joy to have seen in the years past. Now it was just too little too late. Clint couldn't change who he was; somehow she had always known that, always sensed it. She had kept their confrontations light, kept from pushing too hard, because of that instinctive knowledge.
She couldn't fight it anymore, though. She couldn't fight him.
"I care...." The words seemed torn from him. They ripped through her chest, tore at her heart with slicing, agonizing blows.
Lifting her hand, she touched his cheek. The growth of beard was sensually rough beneath her fingertips, sending an aching hunger to pulse through every cell of her body.
"Not enough," she whispered tearfully. "Not enough for either of us, Clint."
She pulled free of him before jumping out of the truck and running up the cement steps to the front yard. Now was as good a time as any to say good-bye.
Chapter 9
CLINT HUNG HIS HEAD, HIS jaw clenched, his head pounding with a need that wracked his body. And he was sitting here in this damned truck letting her run away, letting her give up on him. Hell, he had never let her give up, he realized. He had pushed her away with one hand, pulled her back with the other, and tortured them both with the arousal she fired in his blood.
No one could affect him like Morganna, and she terrified him because of it. Terrified him because he had always known that something wild and free beat inside her. She needed a man who could stand at her side, not one who would stand in front of her.
And Clint needed to stand in front of her. He needed to protect her, to shield her. The thought of losing her forever ... God, it was killing him.
He groaned, a low, torn sound that shocked him. She was giving up on him. He had heard it in her voice, and that affected him more than he would have ever guessed. Affected him, hell. He couldn't do it.
Clint jerked open the door and moved from the truck, striding quickly up the cement steps to the house. He was about to make the biggest mistake of his life. He was about to take a chance on destroying both of them, and he knew it.
The front door was open, but no lights were on. As Clint made it to the porch, every instinct he had ever honed in the SEALs went on full alert.
He heard Morganna's short cry, the sound of something breaking, and fear tore through him. He rushed into the house, his gaze quickly finding her. For a moment, one blinding second in time, Clint knew he had lost her forever.
The dim light seemed to glow around the two figures. The tall, masked form behind her. A leather fist was clenched in her hair, jerking her head back as the other hand lifted, the blade of a wicked knife gleaming in the darkness as Clint rushed for them.
His mind was processing as he rushed for her. The determination in her face, the lack of fear as her arm came up, bent, her elbow slamming into her attacker's solar plexus as she gripped his wrist and twisted with both hands.
Clint managed to grip her arm, jerking her back and throwing himself a| her attacker. The sound of a knife clattering on the floor was followed by a heavy male curse as Clint rushed him.
Rage transformed itself, fury and fear; the sight of Morganna within inches of death sent a flash of red before Clint's vision.
Before he could slam his body into the assailant's, before his fists could connect or the bloodletting rage could find an outlet, the dark form threw itself through the window behind him.
The crash of glass and the splintering wail of the home security system shrieked in Clint's head as he jumped through the window frame, landing on the ground in a crouch as gunfire splattered around him.
"You son of a bitch," he snarled as he threw himself to the side, staying low and rushing to the front of the house.
"Gun." Morganna was waiting at the doorway, pushing the .45 into his hands.
"Let's go."
He had to get her out of there. If the intruder was an assassin, he'd definitely have backup. Clint grabbed her arm as he balanced the weapon in his hand and pulled her from the house.
"Stay low." Clint pulled Morganna close to his side as he moved at a run for the truck, rushing to get her out of the line of any fire.
Lights were filling the homes around Morganna's now, and he knew the police would be on their way soon. Jerking the driver's side door open, he pushed her inside before following.
"Get down." He pushed her down in the seat as he twisted the key in the ignition and pushed the gas to the floor.
The truck peeled out of its parking spot, followed by the ping of bullets against the side.
"I'll twist his guts if I find him," Clint growled at the damage to his truck. "Damn bastard. It's a new truck."
He twisted the wheel as he turned the corner, accelerating down the street and heading for the interstate.
Morganna hadn't said a word.
Clint glanced over at her, seeing her wide eyes, her pale face, as she curled up on the seat, her head lying next to his thigh.
"Are you okay, baby?" One hand shot from the wheel, running down her arm, her stomach, her hip. "Did he cut you anywhere?"
Clint leaned over her, checking her for injuries as he raced away from the residential streets. The fear that flooded him at the thought of her wounded, bleeding, cramped his guts in horror.
"I'm fine." She was shuddering, shaking from the shock. "No cuts. Few bruises. I'm fine."
He straightened, jerked his cell phone from the holder at his hip, and punched Joe Merino's speed dial.
"This is Merino. We have a report of a disturbance-" Merino's voice was frantic.
"I have Morganna," Clint snapped. "She was attacked when she walked in the door. Damned rookie. He didn't expect her to fight back."
"Is there a body?"
"Neg
ative. We're taking cover. We'll contact you at zero eight hundred hours."
"Shit," Joe snarled. "I'll contact you if they find anything at the house, and apprise the officer in charge that the owner of the house is safe. And, Clint?"
"Yeah?"
"We had another girl drugged tonight. She was being led to the back entrance when one of Masters' bouncers caught sight of her and went to investigate. The bastard got away."
"The girl?"
"Critical. She's at the hospital now, but she was a little thing and the dose was a good one. She might not make it."
Clint took the exit to the interstate, his eyes narrowed as he checked the rearview mirror. It would be impossible to tell if they were being followed until they managed to get farther from town.
"They're looking for their next mark now." Clint's jaw clenched at the thought.
"My gut is rocking on this one, and I know yours is, too. We don't have much time here. What did you find out tonight?"
"Not enough." Enough to know every fucking Dom in that club had put his name in the hat in case Morganna asked for sponsorship, but that had nothing to do with the drugs or their mark.
"Is Morganna okay?" Joe breathed out roughly across the line, obviously aware that this was not a discussion Clint was ready to have.
"She's fine." Curled at his side like a little cat. "Find out what you can; we'll talk later."
He disconnected the phone before shoving it back into the holder and easing up on the gas. He kept a close eye on the rearview mirror as traffic began to thin and they neared the next exit he was searching for.
"I'm going to find a hotel for the night." He buried his hand in her hair, caressing her scalp. He needed to touch her, to know she was alive.
He felt her nod.
"We'll find some place with room service. You need to eat, to rest. We'll figure this out tomorrow."