Silas (Dirty Aces MC Book 4)

by Lane Hart

  Since that seems to be the quickest way to fuck her without it hurting, I drop down to my knees and swipe my tongue through her folds, making Cora’s ass squirm as she moans, coating my tongue with her sweet flavor.

  “You like that?” I ask to make sure.

  “Yes!” she exclaims, so I do it again and again, causing her hips to buck faster and faster as they slam back against my face, chasing my tongue. “More! Please!”

  I squeeze her ass cheeks in either hand to spread them apart at the same time Cora adjusts her stance, opening her legs wider to give me better access. The tip of my tongue circles her asshole a few times before I shove it back into her pussy that’s definitely getting slicker. She’s so wet I can easily pump two fingers into her, making her scream for God.

  My dick is sticking out of my pants, hard and ready to go, leaking with anticipation, but I can’t seem to take my mouth off of Cora.

  It doesn’t take me long to figure out it drives her crazy when my tongue rubs her clit, so I keep at it while fucking her with my fingers and pressing my thumb to her asshole. One of these days I’m going to fuck her there too.

  “Oh, oh yes!” Cora sobs above me as her entire body convulses so hard with her orgasm that she would’ve probably fallen to the floor if my face wasn’t pinning her ass to the counter. Now she’s literally dripping wet, her juices gushing out, more than ready for me.

  I finally get to my feet and plunge my cock back into her perfect slice of heaven.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cora

  * * *

  I’m not sure why I was having doubts about Sam leaving, not when he couldn’t last two minutes in the room with me without wanting me again.

  I didn’t think he actually meant he would fuck me whenever he wanted, especially when I was in the middle of cooking…something.

  For the life of me, I can’t remember anything at the moment after his tongue touched my flesh, not even my new name. All I know is that it was by far the best kiss of my life. Screw having any on my lips if it means having his magical mouth someplace even better.

  And with just three pumps of his cock inside of me, I’m already about to come again. There’s no pain at all this time – just overwhelming pleasure. I don’t even mind the edge of the counter pressing into my stomach, cutting off my air. Breathing is overrated when there’s a big, muscular man pounding away inside of me.

  None of my hair gets pulled out this time. No, Sam’s hands are too busy pressing my upper back down while the other reaches around to play with my clit, rubbing it in the same teasing circles as his tongue until my walls begin to clench around his cock.

  With my cheek on the cool counter, I can see glimpses of Sam behind me, his head thrown back, lips parted as his shaft swells inside of me, right before he lets out a roar of pleasure. He slams deep when he empties himself inside of me again, his hot release causing me to spontaneously combust again.

  I’m so exhausted and spent by the time the aftershocks are over, that I can’t even keep my eyes open, much less hold myself up.

  Silas

  * * *

  Cora’s body is squeezing my satisfied cock one second, and the next she’s going completely limp under me.

  I catch her before she falls and toss her over my shoulder, worried I somehow smothered her against the counter or pummeled her pussy to death. But when I feel her chest rising and falling, I realize she’s just asleep.

  Holding up my pants with one hand and my arm around her, I carry her to her bedroom, lowering her body to the mattress.

  She looks like a sleeping angel with her now brown hair spread out on the white pillow. I brush the hair from her face that is so delicate and beautiful with lightly scattered patches of freckles. Then my fingers can’t resist trailing over her bright red lips. They’re all natural, not waxy from lipstick. Someday soon I’m going to insist that she wrap those sexy lips around my cock and suck me dry.

  My knuckles skim down her neck to her shoulders where I can easily tug her cotton dress down one and then the other to free her braless breasts. I barely resist playing with them while she sleeps. After what I’ve done to her already, I doubt she would care, but still, for some reason I just tug the material to her narrow waist, past the swell of her hips, her neatly trimmed red bush and then down her legs, leaving her completely naked. I could stand here and look at her for hours and it wouldn’t be long enough.

  I’ve never been with anyone as sweet and innocent as Cora. Not even close. She’s so trusting that it really should be a crime. I’m the man responsible for dragging her away from her life, and she’s so convinced that I’m helping her and keeping her safe that she’s willing to let me do anything I want to her body.

  It’s a heady feeling having that kind of power over someone even if it hasn’t been earned. Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to make myself leave yet.

  Eventually, Cora will figure out she’s better off without me hanging around, using her body, and she’ll send me on my way.

  Until then, I plan to make the most of this arrangement.

  I’ll leave before she figures out that I’m the man from her worst nightmares, because that is something she never needs to know.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cora

  * * *

  I’ve made plenty of meals in my life, but I’ve never had any of them served to me in bed.

  That’s what Sam does when I’m finally able to wake up, embarrassed to find out that half the afternoon has gone by.

  “Are you going to sit up or eat this lying down?” a shirtless Sam grumbles from beside the bed.

  “I’ll sit up,” I answer with a smile as I stretch my arms over my head. That’s when it suddenly occurs to me that I’m naked under the sheets that I quickly cling to. “When did I get naked?”

  “I took your dress off of you,” Sam informs me when he hands me a warm plate of reheated stir fry. “From now on, unless you’re cooking, I want you naked, so I don’t destroy any more of your clothes.”

  I laugh because I assume that he’s kidding; but when he sits down in the oversized armchair across from me, he doesn’t so much as smile. Not that I think I’ve ever seen him smile, so I really can’t tell if he was joking or not. I do notice he’s wearing a pair of khakis that must be new since he didn’t bring anything with him to the island. I take that as a sign he’s going to stick around at least a little bit longer. I won’t ask him again since that seemed to piss him off earlier.

  Neither of us talk while I eat. He just watches me as if I’m some sort of complicated puzzle he can’t figure out.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask to end the awkward silence.

  “Already did a few hours ago.”

  “Oh,” I mutter, taking another bite of a roll.

  I’m not sure what else to say after what the two of us did in the kitchen, so I’m glad when Sam says, “I set up a bank account for you while you were asleep. The account numbers are written down in the kitchen, and the debit card will be in here in a few days.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks,” I reply sadly. His tone makes me think he is leaving and wanted me to have my own money when he’s no longer here to help buy things I need.

  “What? You don’t want the cash?” he asks gruffly.

  “Of course I do. It’s just, I didn’t know the feds gave stipends for people in WITPRO,” I reply rather than tell him yet again that I don’t want him to leave. I think I’ve made my preference on him staying clear. Either he’ll give in or he won’t. Nothing I can do to change his mind.

  When I’m finished eating, he takes my plate to the kitchen and then returns to his chair, reclining in it with his legs spread wide in front of him, staring at me like he thinks me in bed naked is more interesting than anything on television. Is he waiting for me to invite him to bed? I doubt that since he doesn’t seem like the type of man that would need an invitation. Does he want me to talk to him?

  “H-how long have you been an agent?” I a
sk.

  “A few years,” he responds stiffly.

  I try to dig deep in the recesses of my brain to remember what I’ve read or heard about FBI agents. “Do you have a law degree?”

  That question gets a smile-less chuckle before he says, “No.”

  “So, you just had law enforcement experience before you became an agent?”

  “Something like that.” He gives me yet another vague response.

  “Should I not ask you questions about your job? Is this a situation where you could tell me but then you would have to kill me?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Do they teach classes on evasiveness for when someone asks you a personal question?” I joke.

  “Why do you need to know shit about me?” he grumbles.

  “Because we’ve had sex twice now, and I don’t really know you.”

  “I tried to talk you out of that,” he states simply while crossing his thick arms over his chest. And I’m not sure why I hadn’t noticed before, but he has tattoos. Dark ones of what I think are skulls and playing cards on his chest.

  “Do your tattoos have any meaning behind them?” I ask, making his jaw tighten in annoyance or anger.

  I’m not sure he’s going to even respond, before he finally tells me, “You could say I had to go deep undercover once in a MC.”

  “A MC?”

  “Motorcycle club,” he explains.

  “Oh. Is that why they assigned you to my case, because of the connection to that motorcycle club?”

  “Yeah, guess so,” Sam replies. “What’s with all the questions?”

  “I’m just trying to get to know you,” I say with a one-shoulder shrug. “You were just sitting there staring at me, so I thought I was supposed to do something, entertain you.”

  “Maybe I just like looking at you,” he mutters.

  “Oh,” I say in surprise, feeling my cheeks warm at what I assume he meant as a compliment.

  “If it bothers you, I’ll leave,” Sam says when he gets to his feet and walks out of the room before I can say a word to stop him.

  It’s frustrating how hard it is to read that man! With one question, I may have just sent him on his way.

  I lay there in bed for hours, waiting, listening for the front door before I finally fall asleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Silas

  * * *

  Last night I told myself that I was leaving this goddamn island as soon as the sun came up. I got up, put on the khakis and black tee, and decided I would be the first person on the fucking ferry as soon as it starts running again at eight a.m.

  But then around seven, according to the watch on my wrist, the scent of coffee and something greasy and delicious being cooked temporarily deterred my plan. I still have plenty of time. I can eat breakfast and easily make it to the dock in less than twenty minutes. That’s assuming that Cora actually cooked enough for me after I bit her head off last night when she asked a simple question…

  I honestly don’t know why I like looking at the woman. Before, I was sure it was just her bright red hair that was drawing me to her, like a fiery explosion you can’t look away from. Now, even as a brunette I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful woman. And her body? Fucking hell. I want to come on every inch of her luminescent skin. But I won’t. My dick is staying in my pants. No more sex. No more spending money on her. I’m done. All I want is food.

  That’s all I wanted, until I walk into the kitchen and find Cora cooking in nothing but a faded gray t-shirt that barely covers her ass cheeks. Her hair is damp and pulled up into a knot on top of her head, leaving her delicate throat bare other than for a few curly strands that have fallen loose around the base of her neck. I want to leave fingerprints or teeth marks in that smooth, flawless ivory flesh, I’m just not sure which, so I just stand there and stare at her yet again.

  “It’s a beautiful morning out. Do you want to eat on the deck?” Cora says without even glancing at me over her shoulder, having obviously heard me come in. That’s when I notice my feet are still bare. How did I forget my shoes? Maybe because I don’t really want to leave just yet.

  Fuck.

  “Or we can eat inside,” Cora amends when I don’t respond.

  “Outside is fine,” I grumble, heading out that way instead of just standing there watching her cook.

  The view of the ocean from the wooden deck isn’t the best, but it’s there, just behind the surrounding trees, the bright morning sun coming up over the calm waves.

  And even I can admit that the air here is different than Carolina Beach, away from cars and industries. It’s actually…fresh. I get why Anita loved visiting this place and wanted a home here someday. Not that she ever got to see that dream come true.

  “I hope you like pigs in a blanket,” Cora says when she joins me on the deck and hands me a plate. Sure enough, she’s rolled up the sausage links in each pancake, then drizzled syrup on them.

  “Are you serious with this shit?” I ask her when she takes a seat in one of the wicker patio chairs, crossing her legs so that her shirt rides up far enough that I can almost tell if she’s wearing panties or not. I’m thinking not…

  “It’s delicious!” she exclaims defensively as she picks up one of the pancakes and wraps her lips around it to bury her teeth into the first bite. My dick twitches in response. It’s the only time in my life I’ve ever been jealous of actual sausage, which is really fucking pathetic. Still, I can’t help but imagine my cock sliding between those red lips of hers, her front teeth scraping gently along the top of my shaft. Not enough to cause any damage, just enough to cause a little pain with my pleasure. “Umm-mmm. So good.”

  Fuck. I can practically feel her hum vibrating on my quicky swelling cock.

  That envy is my only excuse for what I ask her next. “How are you not four-hundred pounds eating this kind of shit?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I brace for their impact. Even though I don’t date women, I know that mentioning weight is one way to make them hate you. Thankfully, Cora doesn’t take offense to the comment.

  She giggles before telling me, “It’s all about moderation. Two pancakes and two sausage links aren’t going to kill you. Just try it!” she remarks after a bite.

  Taking my plate, I go over and sit my ass down in the other patio chair, figuring the food smells too good to resist. And when I finally take a bite, I feel Cora’s gaze on me, waiting for my reaction. Now I get why she complained about me staring at her last night. It’s unnerving to have that sort of intensity aimed directly at me, like I’m not worthy of her undivided attention.

  And fuck it, as I chew that first bite, I’m not sure why I haven’t always been eating my sausage wrapped in a pancake.

  “So?” Cora asks. “What do you think? Edible or not?”

  “Guess it’s not terrible,” I respond when I take another bite, then another, refusing to tell her just how much I’m enjoying it.

  “There’s nothing wrong with indulging in a little comfort food now and then,” she says as she finishes one pancake and moves on to the other. “In fact, if I’m ever able to open my own restaurant, this is the kind of food I would serve.”

  “A heart-attack waiting to happen?” I tease her.

  She shakes her head while chewing. “Good, old-fashioned, greasy food makes people happy. I want to be the person that makes the food that makes them happy.”

  “Will you make sure that your restaurant is at least located near a gym?” I ask.

  “Joke all you want about it, but I grew up being forced to eat celery as a snack, lettuce for lunch, and fish every night for dinner because it was healthy. Do you know how miserable that was? When I turned six, I finally got to have a birthday party with friends from school, but instead of cake, my parents served yogurt parfaits! There’s no icing on parfaits! You can’t put a candle in yogurt!”

  “I take it you have something against yogurt or parfaits?”

  “I hate yogurt!” she excl
aims vehemently as if the idea of the dairy product personally offends her.

  “Your parents didn’t care what you wanted?” I deduce.

  “Exactly. They never asked what I wanted to eat or if I wanted a real cake for my birthday. It was all about appearances with them. What would people say if they let their only daughter get fat?”

  “I’m guessing you were never fat.”

  “How could I be when celery or carrots was all that I could eat from our unlocked refrigerator? I didn’t even have a real soda until I went to boarding school in the ninth grade. For fifteen years of my life, all I could drink was water.”

  “Now I’m starting to understand how you ended up with bad boys. All they had to do was offer you a Coke, and you would hop up on the back of their bike.”

  “I never dated anyone with a bike,” she says. “But basically, yes. I loved having the freedom to make my own decisions, even if they were bad ones. At least the food was better in prison than it was in my house.”

  “That’s incredibly sad,” I tell her.

  “It’s the truth,” Cora says. “And that’s why I want to own my own restaurant where I can serve people anything they want because only eating healthy all day, every day makes people grumpy. Take you, for instance,” she starts. “The more greasy food I put in you, the nicer you are to me, and the harder it is for you to leave.”

  “Is that right?” I reply, surprised to find I’ve cleaned my plate and want more. “You think you’re wearing me down with food?”

  “I know I am,” she says.

  “Sorry to break the news to you, but I’m leaving this morning.”

  Instead of responding with words, Cora simply gets up from her seat. She places her mostly empty plate down on the round patio table between the chairs, then takes mine from my hand and piles it on top of hers.