Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1) Page 25

  He caught her in his arms and held her tightly against him. “Of course Lana is okay. Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “Maybe because she was going to confront two psycho knife-wielding nut jobs.”

  He shrugged, tipped her face up to his and rubbed his nose along hers. “Lana could have handled them both in her sleep. She looks sweet, honey, but she’s got another side to her.” He loved that her first concern was for Lana. That had to mean she was moving toward being part of their family whether she knew it or not.

  He took her mouth. Holy fucking God, he loved her mouth. He loved the way, when he kissed her, she just opened up to him, let him take everything. She ignited until the firestorm was so hot he wasn’t certain he could live through it. He slid his hand under her shirt, up her back to her bra. Deft fingers undid the clasp easily. “How long is your break?”

  “It took you all of four minutes to get whatever you did, done, so I’ve got about sixteen minutes.” She caught the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head, letting the bra fall to the floor.

  He loved how she sounded breathless. How she didn’t even hesitate. He caught both breasts in his hands, massaging, squeezing, bringing them together so he could suck one nipple into his mouth and then the other. He lavished attention on the soft mounds, flicking with his tongue, using his teeth, suckling strong enough to leave marks all over her soft breasts. He fucking loved her breasts as much as her mouth. Just once he’d like to try filling her mouth with his cock, feeling the burn of that hot cavern, seeing her lips wrapped around him, but he knew that wasn’t safe.

  “Your jeans,” he managed to hiss, biting down on her nipple.

  She let out a soft cry and her hands went to the waistband of her jeans, tearing them open. She kicked off her shoes and tried to push down the denim, but he hadn’t released her, his mouth working her hard. He didn’t even try to be gentle with her. He couldn’t. He was too far gone. She was his, and the threat to her was over. He’d fucking killed the man with his bare hands. Hands that stroked over her body, claiming every inch of her.

  He yanked down her jeans, forcing her to step out of them. He tossed them over his shoulder and caught her hard by the shoulder, spinning her around to shove her over the back of the chair. She could barely reach the floor when he kicked her legs apart and held her down by the nape of her neck. He liked that she had to struggle a little to stay in position as he undid his jeans one-handed.

  He was ready. He was always ready when he was with her. His hand went between her legs to test her slickness and then he slammed home. Fire engulfed his cock. Her tight folds barely gave way, only doing so reluctantly, gripping him as he surged deep, surrounding him with thousands of fingers, a fist of silk squeezing him so tight it bordered on pain. She was scorching hot, both paradise and hell, a place he never wanted to leave.

  He plunged into her over and over, his finger flicking her clit, listening to the sobbing musical notes pulse around his head just the way her hot little channel did around his cock. She was close, so close. He didn’t want to stop, but if she went over the edge, she’d take him with her, no doubt about it.

  “Damn it, Reaper. I fuckin’ need her out here.” Her jeans came sailing over their heads. “Finish up and give me back my bartender,” Preacher snapped from behind them.

  Anya stiffened. Reaper didn’t miss a beat, working her clit to distract her. Going harder, suddenly aware he was bareback again. He couldn’t imagine being in her with any barrier, no matter how thin, between them.

  “Now, baby, give it to me now,” he whispered and caught her hair, yanking her head back as he plunged into her again. He felt it like lightning streaking down his back. The strikes sizzled through his balls until he was a fucking volcano, erupting like it had been dormant for years. He blew big. Hard.

  She surrounded him with those magical tight muscles gripping and milking, looking for every drop, draining him dry. Her body rippled around his, just as hard, the aftershocks shaking both of them. He collapsed over the top of her, his arms around her, kissing a line up her back.

  “Nothing more beautiful than being in you, babe,” he said.

  She was still fighting for breath. She turned her head. “Do you ever think we’re going to do this face-to-face?”

  He stiffened. Pulled out and zipped up his jeans. “You complainin’?”

  “Of course not,” she said and turned, leaning against the chair, still fighting to breathe. The action drew attention to her breasts. His marks were all over her. “It’s just that sometimes, I think we might try with the door closed and me looking at your face.”

  “Workin’ on it, Anya.” Reaper tossed her the bra and found the jeans and panties Preacher had thrown. He pocketed the panties and handed her the jeans.

  “Hand them over. I’m on to your games,” she said, snapping her fingers.

  “Gotta pay a price, babe,” he said and sauntered out. Inside, his gut was churning. He was going to have to find a way to get past his problems, a way to keep her safe and to just plain keep her.

  THIRTEEN

  The house Reaper had purchased was larger than he remembered. He unlocked the door, surprised to find it was warm. He should have known Lena and Alena would help him out. He stepped back to let his woman walk through the door first. His heart pounded out of control. He didn’t know if she was safe with him, but it sure as hell felt like he wasn’t. He was in new territory and uneasiness was making him edgy.

  He wanted her there. He wanted her to like the place, even though he’d only walked through it three times. Once when Czar insisted he buy a place. He chose it, not for the house, but for the location and escape routes. It was in a defensible position. He’d barely paid attention to the actual house. Now he wished he had. What if she didn’t like it? He had to be able to give her something, because she wasn’t getting much of a bargain in him.

  “This is your house? You own this?”

  “Yeah.” He owned it. Bought with club money. Money Code siphoned off from the billionaire Greek shipping magnate who’d been the president of the Swords club and the top asshole running human trafficking. He was dead, thanks to Czar’s persistence. Czar had put his life and his marriage on the line for five long years to get his shot at taking the man down, and he’d done it. They’d done it together with the help of some of the women from Sea Haven and Jackson Deveau.

  “Reaper. A house like this has to be worth millions. Your view is incredible. I’ve never been in a house like this one.” There was awe in Anya’s voice.

  He followed her as she went slowly from room to room, looking at her the entire time, not at the house. He didn’t give a damn about the house, but he did about the woman. Her face was lit up. Soft. Beautiful. She ran her hand over the granite counter, touched the stainless steel refrigerator and then the stove. The kitchen cabinets were all oak. The floor was a swirl of oat with circles of three different colors, all faint splotches in the tile.

  Anya went straight to the bank of windows overlooking the ocean. “This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Bedroom’s upstairs,” he said gruffly.

  She was thinking nice house. He was thinking he wanted to set her on that kitchen counter and devour her until she was screaming for mercy.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Honey, why were you staying at the clubhouse when you have this?”

  He couldn’t see any of what the house had to offer until she was in it. It had been empty, echoing when he walked through it, after meeting the furniture delivery truck with a bed the girls had chosen for him and the chair and kitchen supplies he’d added later. He’d hated the emptiness of the house, feeling like every echo was just a reflection of his own emptiness. Now, there was Anya lighting up every room.

  Anya went to the great room. He didn’t understand the term great room. It was large, high ceilings, all glowing wood and gleaming floors. One entire side of the room was made up of windows, letting in the sun, the sea a
nd the view. She stood at the window, just staring out without speaking.

  He wanted to strip her right there, press her against that glass and have her screaming for his cock and mercy. That would make the great room truly great. He didn’t move. He didn’t touch her. He just watched her, an exotic creature he was totally obsessed with.

  “You don’t have any furniture.” She turned to face him. Her hair tumbled around her face, falling out of the confines of the messy ponytail. The silken mass was far too wild to be tamed by the tie she used.

  He wanted to sink his fingers into all that hair, but he still didn’t move. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but it was something. His heart kept pounding and he heard his blood roaring like thunder in his ears. He wanted her with every breath he took. Wanted to fuck her face-to-face. Have her on her knees, mouth around his cock, have her touching his skin. He broke out in a sweat, his heart accelerating even more, running a race he was terrified he’d lose.

  “There’s a bed. Upstairs.”

  “You don’t even have a chair, Reaper. Why not?”

  “Kitchen has chairs,” he said gruffly.

  “Why didn’t you want to live here?” She persisted.

  Because she wasn’t there. He damn well wasn’t going to say that to her. She already had him wrapped around her little finger and that just pissed him off. He didn’t know what to do with it.

  “Alena and Lana put together the kitchen. Pots, pans, I think they have silverware and dishes as well. Some food in the fridge. Bought that myself.” He couldn’t take his eyes off her, afraid if he blinked she’d be gone and he’d have the emptiness of the house again.

  The club members had lived together from the time they were toddlers, most of them anyway. Being alone was difficult. Being alone with himself was worse.

  “Are we going to live here?” Anya put her hands on her hips.

  That just called attention to her curves. She had them. He loved them. She could be sassy, his woman. “Yeah, we’re going to live here.” Unless she didn’t like it. Then they’d move wherever the hell she wanted to be.

  “There’s no furniture, Reaper.”

  “We have a bed. What else do we need?”

  She burst out laughing. He loved her laugh. It poured over him like music, the notes dancing in his brain, soothing him when nothing but fists ever had.

  “I can’t believe you own this house, it’s amazing. Beautiful. I can help with the mortgage payment. If I’m living with you, I can share expenses.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her, gave her the death stare. “That’s bullshit. One, there is no mortgage payment. I own it outright. Two, I take care of my woman, not the other way around. Don’t give me grief over it because you won’t win.”

  She glared at him. “It’s one thing for you to go all macho on me when you’re with your brothers in the club, but when we’re alone …”

  “It’s me, Anya. Not macho. Me.” Was she going to be able to live with him? With the way he was? He knew she wasn’t getting a bargain. He was trying, but damn it all, he didn’t know how to talk to her. How to be what women seemed to need.

  She stood there for what seemed like an eternity. His heart nearly exploded and his gut was so tied up in knots it was a wonder his belly didn’t hit his backbone. A slow smile finally lit her face, and the relief was tremendous.

  “Let’s go check out the bedroom.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think we’re going to make it to the bedroom.”

  “We’re not?”

  He shook his head again. “No. Not right now.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “You’re going to strip for me.”

  “I am?”

  “If you don’t want me to rip off those clothes, then yeah, you are.” He took a step toward her. “I don’t mind taking them off you, but I won’t be gentle.” He wasn’t feeling gentle. The pressure in his chest nearly consumed him. He couldn’t tell her what she meant to him. He couldn’t get words like that out. He could show her. He needed to know she was his. That she’d give him whatever he needed when he needed it. He wanted her to feel the same way about him. To take whatever it was she needed.

  She laughed softly, the sound sliding down his spine, curling around his cock like the touch of fingers. He shrugged out of his colors, folding them carefully and tossing them to the thick carpet. Catching the hem of his T-shirt, he dragged it off and sent it flying across the room. Motorcycle boots were next. He didn’t take his eyes off her while he pulled them off.

  “Get a move on, woman.”

  “I like looking at you. It’s better than the view, and that’s saying something, because the view is pretty darn spectacular.”

  He peeled off his jeans and stalked her. She laughed and turned to run. He was on her before she’d taken two steps. He caught her tee and yanked it hard, ripping it from neck to hem, throwing the scraps away. Her bra was next. “Hate this fuckin’ thing. Stop wearing them.” His hands went to her breasts, cupping the weight, while he pressed his body tightly against her back.

  “You’re perfect. I love the way your skin is so soft.” His fingers were at her nipples. He’d been as gentle as possible before, but the animal in him, that beast craving her, worried sick she couldn’t accept him, was out now and he couldn’t put it away. He pinched and tugged, rolled and kneaded. She moaned and he kept at it, pulling at her nipples, wanting to use his mouth. His tongue. His teeth. He needed to put his mark on every part of her.

  His hands dropped to the waistband of her jeans. She’d already opened them, so all he had to do was strip them off her body. He had her panties, so there was nothing between him and her bare skin. He spun her around, one hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head back so he could take her mouth. Fire poured through him. Absolute fucking fire.

  He took her to the floor. He wanted a hard surface. Her hands moved over his chest, his back, up to his neck. The touch of her fingers drove him wild. He kissed her over and over, his knee nudging her thighs apart. Her hands smoothed down his back and gripped his buttocks. He loved that. Loved the way she touched him with such possession.

  He left her mouth to kiss his way down her throat, around to her neck. He bit down. Hard. Wanting his mark there. Wanting her to know he meant business. She cried out, but her hips bucked. His hand moved between her legs, testing. Making certain. He wanted everything he did to turn her on more. Even his bite, his claim, sent liquid fire coating his fingers.

  Her hands slid down his hip toward his cock. His heart stuttered. Time stopped. Tunneled. He caught both her wrists and pulled them over her head. Stretched her body out for him like she was on a rack. Tied there. “Want Ink to tattoo my fingerprints on your wrists. Like bracelets. Show the world who you fuckin’ belong to.”

  She kissed his chest, flicked his nipple with her tongue. “Could he do that?” She sounded breathless.

  “Yeah, baby, he can do that. Gonna ask him tomorrow.” He kissed her throat and then ran his tongue down the valley between her breasts.

  “Okay.”

  “Leave your arms right where I’ve got them.” He nipped at her breast, ran his tongue around her aureole and then sucked her nipple into his mouth, flattening it against the roof of his mouth before tugging on it with his teeth.

  Her hips bucked harder. She writhed under him. A low, keening cry burst from her. He took his time, his mouth moving over her soft skin, marking her, teeth nipping, stinging, tongue easing that ache. He kept one hand between her legs, judging her reaction to his rough. This was the real Reaper, loving on his woman. He wanted her to feel him, to know she belonged to him. He worshiped the fucking ground she walked on. He wanted to do the same to her body.

  He took his time. It was the first time in his life he had ever enjoyed a woman like this. Using his hands and mouth to claim every inch of her. To learn what she liked, what she didn’t. What really turned her on. What she was a little afraid of. He was face-to-face with her. Her front t
o his front. There were no murderous thoughts in his head. Only pleasure. Pure pleasure.

  He spent a great deal of time on her breasts, learning how sensitive she was, how much she liked her nipples tugged and pinched. Pulled. Sucked. She was covered in his marks by the time he moved on to her rib cage, to her belly, that sweet little belly button he spent a few minutes teasing while she squirmed and thrashed under him.

  Twice she moved her hands over his back and down to his buttocks. He loved the feel of her palms gliding over him, claiming him. He loved her hands kneading his ass, fingers digging in when she arched her body into his as he kissed or bit at her skin. Both times her hands slid along his hip, searching for his cock, he gripped her wrists and put her back in the stretched-out position under him.

  “Stay there,” he growled the second time, deliberately punishing her with a bite to the upper curve of her breast. “I’m starving here, woman. Let me have you my way.”

  “Your way just might kill me,” she hissed. “Reaper, I need you in me.”

  “We haven’t even gotten started. You wanted us face-to-face. You got what you wanted. Quit bitchin’ and let me have my fun. I’ll take care of you.”

  “Fine. I’ll just lay here like a lump or something,” she groused.

  He lifted his head to look at her. Her eyes were so green they were nearly glowing. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses. Her face was flushed. She looked so beautiful his heart did a weird stuttering he was becoming familiar with. He couldn’t help giving her a rusty smile. It was slow, but it was there. He felt it first in his gut. It blossomed out, spreading warmth through him. Radiated upward until it reached his mouth and curved that bottom lip. Happiness. He barely recognized that emotion for what it was. All he knew was she made him feel, and the way she made him feel was better than good.

  “You do that, baby. You lay there like a lump,” he challenged and dipped his head again toward her belly button. Lower. Kissing his way to her mound. He loved the silky little dark curls hiding what was never going to be kept from him.