Judgment Road (Torpedo Ink #1) Page 26

  He pushed his shoulders between her thighs, keeping her legs spread wide apart. Turning his head, he kissed his way up from her knee, inside her thigh all the way to her entrance. He did the same on her left leg. “Thought you were going to lie there,” he whispered against her slick, inviting sex. Amusement was shocking. He didn’t play. He didn’t tease. He didn’t know one could feel that way during sex.

  “I am lying here,” she lied. “Not moving.”

  Her hips were bucking so hard he had to use strength to hold her down. He laughed softly, bit her thigh close to her entrance. He breathed warm air. Waited a heartbeat, two. She was dripping now in anticipation. He might have to buy a new fucking rug if they kept this up. He smiled again and put his mouth to her, claiming her little pussy, that sweet, sweet part of her that was made just for him.

  She screamed and pushed up with her heels, driving her body into his mouth. He sucked on her clit, used his tongue ruthlessly, devouring liquid gold, an aphrodisiac that was all his. He took his time, savoring her taste. Savoring the fact that he could take his woman face-to-face, her body under his. His mouth on any part of her he wanted. She was his, and he could have her any way he wanted. He wanted everything. Every fucking thing.

  The first orgasm took her hard. She screamed his name. The second was even harder, and she sobbed his name. The third time she just opened her mouth, her head thrashing back and forth, her hair wild. He wiped his face on her thighs and knelt up between her legs.

  “Open your eyes,” he ordered, cock in his hand. He felt ready to burst. His balls were thick with his seed. His backbone hurt. His ass. His legs even, as if that volcano was somewhere deep and ready to blow any moment.

  She obeyed him, those long lashes lifting so he was staring into all that green. He loved the way she looked right at that moment. He wanted that image burned into his brain for all time. “Keep looking at me, baby,” he said. He was big, and she was tight. He wanted to see her face, watch her eyes, know she could take him like this. Not at his worst, but maybe close. He wasn’t going to be able to hold back.

  “I’m looking at you,” she said softly.

  He pressed into her tight slick entrance and wanted to throw back his head and roar. Watching her face, he pushed steadily, firmly, not thrusting, just a steady pressure, forcing her tight folds to give way for his invasion. Nothing could keep him out. There was nothing that hot. That perfect. Pleasure and pain collided together in one unadulterated mix.

  Her sheath gripped him hard, squeezed and milked at him. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead as her scorching heat surrounded him in a tight fist. He withdrew, watching her eyes go wide. Slammed deep. He lifted her hips and repeated the motion. Her eyes went dark with lust, with desire. Her breath hissed out. Her breasts jolted, calling his attention to those marks of possession. Maybe he’d have Ink tatt his fingerprints all over her.

  He took his time, staying in control for as long as he could, taking her harder than he ever had, needing the feel of his body buried deep in hers. Needing those flames licking all over his body, down his spine, over his ass, dancing down his thighs. Her body clamped down on his and she sobbed through the orgasm, but he didn’t relent, not when she began to thrash again, twisting, her body so beautiful, the sheen of sweat making her glow.

  He would have tried to stop had she moved her arms, but she didn’t. Her eyes remained locked with his and her arms stayed over her head. He increased his speed, feeling the buildup, the fire leaping through his veins, threatening to destroy them both. Her eyes went dazed. Her mouth opened. No sound emerged. Then her body once more clamped down on his like a vise. The volcano was ripped from his body, molten seed blasting into the walls of her sheath, mixing with all that heat to turn into an inferno.

  He collapsed over her, letting her take his full weight, his face buried in her neck, cock still jerking hard. He stretched his arms along hers, threading his fingers through hers, his heart pounding, gliding now, trying to come down from a rush like he’d never known. He’d done it. Fucked her face-to-face. She was safe. Hell, he might even be able to sleep in the same bed with her. The minute the thought came his mind shut it down. Maybe the floor would be better. Open spaces. He kissed her eyelids as he lifted himself, took his time at her mouth, letting her taste herself on his breath, on his tongue.

  She didn’t turn her face away, she kissed him back. He framed her face with both hands, looking down into her eyes. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy. You like the things I do to you, don’t you?” All the heat. The storm. The pounding.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “You were made for me.”

  She smiled at him. An angel’s smile. He didn’t see how that could be when he’d just pounded the hell out of her, but there it was. “I thought it was the other way around, Reaper, I thought you were made for me.”

  Her fingers were on his chest, moving. He was very aware of them slipping down toward his belly. His cock jerked. Wanting her touch. Needing it. Before her fingers could go any farther, he pulled out of her abruptly and rocked back, sitting on his ankles, out of reach.

  “We’re a mess,” she observed, looking around her. “If you grab my shirt, I can wipe off so I don’t get anything on the rug.”

  “Fuck the rug. We can buy ten of them. I don’t want you to wipe off. I like knowing I’m inside you.”

  She laughed. That sound. That magic. Filling his house with her. With warmth. Pushing away the emptiness.

  “You’re so crazy. And maybe a little kinky.”

  He reached down and gripped her inner thigh. “You think that’s kinky? We’re only getting started, babe. I’m going to teach you things that will blow your little mind.”

  “It’s late. Can you teach them to me later? If I don’t get sleep soon, I’m going to be talking gibberish. Where’s the bathroom?”

  He hoped to hell there were towels and toilet paper. He never thought of those things. Lena and Alena always took care of everything, ordering what the club needed. He’d never thought to thank them and he needed to remember to do that. He stood and reached down for her hand.

  She ignored his hand and reached instead for his cock. He was semihard, a state he was used to around her. The moment her fingers brushed him, that demon inside him exploded. He moved fast, knocking her hand way. Hard. He turned around and stalked across the room, cursing himself. Cursing her. Cursing everything he could think of. He heard her move, but he stormed to the door leading to the long, curved verandah that circled the living room. Once outside, he could breathe away the pressure in his chest. The need for violence. The terrible need to kill.

  He lifted his face to the night and roared his pain. It was pain. His woman couldn’t touch him without triggering his kill response. Years of training. Years of killing. Years of being a fucking monster. It was still there, waiting. Lurking. But he wouldn’t let it win. Not her. Not Anya.

  “You don’t get her,” he whispered to Sorbacov. To the night. “You don’t get Anya.” She was his. Reaper’s. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. “You don’t get her,” he repeated. It was a vow.

  The great room was empty when he returned. He had no idea how long he’d stayed outside, but it was long enough to cool the heat of his body. He left his clothes lying on the floor and went up the stairs. The sound of water abruptly stopped. She’d taken a shower in the master bathroom. Not wanting to face her and any questions, he used the guest room shower. The hot water helped to soothe aching muscles, but it didn’t do anything to alleviate the fear growing in him. He couldn’t give her up. He had to find a way around this.

  He wanted her touch. He even needed it. He wanted her mouth on him. He wanted everything with her—her body, every way he could have it. He wanted her to be able to touch him freely, to kiss him where she wanted when she wanted. The water blurred his vision, burned behind his eyes. Caught in his throat until he couldn’t swallow. The pressure in his chest was enormous, threatening to crush him.

  H
e slammed his fist into the wall, feeling the pain explode up his arm. That was good. What he needed. Striking out. Feeling the burn. The sweet promise of retaliation, of driving the demon off for a little while. He hit again and again, wishing he was hitting someone, needing them to be punching back so he could feel fists slamming into him.

  “Stop it.”

  Her voice penetrated. He looked down at his hands. Blood was everywhere, even running down the broken tiles.

  “I mean it, Reaper. Stop it right now or I swear, I’m walking out of here.”

  Fury burned through him. He spun around and gripped both her upper arms, giving her a little shake. “Don’t you ever fuckin’ threaten me with that. Not ever. You don’t like something I do, you can yell at me, hit me over the head with a frying pan, but don’t you threaten to walk out on me. Do you understand me?” If he could stay and figure this shit out, then she could too.

  Her eyes searched his face. She took a breath. “I think you made it abundantly clear, Reaper. Let go.”

  He did, forcing his fingers off her warm skin, afraid he might have hurt her. “Damn it, Anya. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you so tight.”

  “You didn’t.” She rubbed at the blood dripping down her arm. His blood. “I don’t like you hurting yourself.”

  He frowned. “I’m not hurting myself.”

  She caught his hand, held it up under his nose, completely disregarding his no-touching rule. “What the hell is this, then? Looks like blood to me. Looks like that tile is all broken to shit. What is it, if it isn’t you hurting yourself?”

  “Woman, you have a mouth on you when you’re angry.”

  “It seems to be the only thing you understand.”

  She dropped his arm and turned away. She was wearing a shirt. His shirt. The fucking flannel that seemed to follow them everywhere they went. Lana and Alena again. They must have moved clothes over to the house. Trust Anya to find them. He watched her storm away. It would have been a great show of temper, but her ass cheeks peeked out from under his shirt now and then as she walked fast, arms moving hard enough to lift the shirt.

  He caught up a towel, buried his face in it and then swiped the dots of water from his skin, following her, mesmerized by the sway of her hips and the occasional glimpses of her ass. He thought his fingerprints tattooed there might be just the thing as well.

  “Are you following me?” she snapped, spinning around at the door to the master bedroom.

  “Woman, did you look at my knuckles? I could use a little TLC. What kind of woman leaves her man bleeding and hurt?”

  “A woman who is going down to the kitchen to find herself the largest and thickest frying pan possible. That kind of woman.” She backed up two steps. “And stop walking. Go away.”

  She shooed at him with her hand. He kept walking toward her.

  “Reaper, you’ve got me wanting to throw things. It isn’t safe for you to get near me. I mean it, go away.”

  “You need to take a punch at me?” He walked right up to her. She smelled like heaven. Her hair was piled on her head in some messy knot that just asked to be yanked out. He caught her hand, closed her fingers into a fist and pulled it to his heart. “Right here, baby. Hit me right here. You need to do it, I’m all for you taking the shot.”

  She stared up at his face for a long time. Very slowly her fingers uncurled until her palm lay flat and his heart beat into her hand. To his shock she leaned into him, pressing her body close to his. “Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me why you keep leaving me after you touch me like you do.”

  He wrapped his arms around her head and held her tight, held her so it was impossible for her to look up and see his face. Ordinarily he could keep a mask there, but he didn’t know how to deal with such intense emotions. “You don’t do anything wrong, Anya,” he assured gruffly. “I’m not good at this. It’s all new to me. I’m making it up as I go along.”

  She lay against him, her body soft. Pliant. Not at all stiff. If she was angry, it wasn’t over him leaving her after they’d had sex. It was because his knuckles were bleeding. If that was the case, she was going to be angry a lot.

  “Baby, let me work this out. Give me a little time. You wanted face-to-face, and I gave you that.”

  She nodded. “I know you did. I really loved face-to-face. I loved on my knees. I loved bent over a chair. I love being with you any way I can. I’ll take whatever I can get, Reaper, but you have to tell me if I’m doing something wrong.”

  He took a deep breath. It had to be said if she was going to be safe. “Don’t touch my cock unless I give you permission.” He forced the words out. “Don’t ask me for reasons, just give this to me. It’s necessary or I wouldn’t be saying it.”

  She stepped back and looked up at his face. “You don’t want to be in my mouth? You don’t want my lips wrapped around you? My fist holding you tight?” There was a little wicked temptress in her. Any other time he would appreciate it, but now wasn’t that time.

  Her words conjured up images. Her mouth was made for fucking. He wanted his cock there. He wanted to see her lips stretched around him. He wasn’t small and he would stretch her limits. She would find it hard to take him down her throat, but she would. He was hard as a fucking rock all over again. Her gaze was glued to his cock, but she didn’t make the mistake of reaching out to touch him. She put both hands behind her back and looked up at him innocently.

  “Innocent my ass,” he snapped, spun her around and pushed her into the wall.

  He kicked her feet wide, yanked back her hips, shoved the flannel up and slammed his cock home. Lightning forked up his back and down his spine. Fire raced through his veins. He drove into her over and over. Hard. Punishing. Loving her. What the fuck was he thinking? He couldn’t stop, not wanting to examine that thought or where it came from. He plunged into her over and over, while their breathing turned ragged and she sobbed his name and he heard the roar of his blood in his ears. She was an inferno, searing her name into his cock, branding him with her tight muscles and scorching hot silk that surrounded him like a fist.

  “Reaper.” His name came out as a whisper.

  He loved hearing it like that. Soft. Meaning something. The rapid building of pressure increased tenfold. There was no holding back. He yanked her head back, using the messy knot on top of her head. Bending her back, pressing her tits into the wall, keeping her hips pulled into him while he took her deep and hard. He let the firestorm rush over him. Let it blow his fucking mind. Her body clamped down so hard around him he thought the top of his head would come off right along with his cock.

  He locked his arm around her waist and held her up when her legs threatened to give out. He shoved his face into her neck and breathed her in. “I love fucking you.”

  She didn’t say anything, but kept her forehead pressed tightly against the wall.

  “Baby? Did I hurt you?” She had gone too still for his liking.

  She shook her head. “I need to clean up again.”

  He stepped back and, keeping his arm around her waist, took her into the bedroom. He’d forgotten how large it was. Spacious. High ceilings. That long bank of windows just like those in the kitchen and great room. French doors led to a balcony that overlooked the ocean. The bed was made, two pillows. Blankets. Sheets. He let her slip away and stepped back.

  “We’re sleeping downstairs. In the great room. On the floor.” He made it an order, walked past her, ripped the blankets off the bed and stalked out.

  He was feeling the pain in his knuckles now. He needed to soak them. He was going to San Francisco tomorrow to rescue Hammer’s old lady. He’d need his hands. He tried to keep his mind on the pain and not whether or not Anya was following him downstairs. He threw the blankets in front of the fireplace and went on through to the kitchen so he could run his hands under cold water.

  He stayed there a long time, wishing he was different, knowing he probably never would be. When his knuckles were so numb he couldn’t feel them, he jerked o
pen the fridge door, found two bottles of water and pulled them out. He really wanted whiskey. Maybe the whole fucking bottle. He went back into the great room expecting it to be empty.

  The blankets were laid out in front of the fireplace. Flames danced along the fake logs. The remote was next to her. She sat in the middle of the blankets brushing out her hair. He sat down behind her and took the brush.

  “I found a first aid kit in the upstairs bathroom. It had gauze in it and antibiotic cream. Your sisters know you, don’t they?”

  “Yep.” He ran the brush through the long, thick mass. He was a little in love with her hair. Not only did he want her mouth wrapped around his cock, he wanted her hair wrapped around it too.

  He kept brushing, ignoring the thoughts and images that filled his brain and let him know he could just be the biggest pervert on the planet when he was around her. Worse, he liked it. She reached back, took the brush and began to braid her hair. “I can’t believe this is really your house. It isn’t that far from the clubhouse. Or work.”

  “You want to keep working? You don’t have to.”

  “Of course I’m going to work. I love bartending.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “Reaper, Preacher or one of the others is always there. You know someone watches the monitor. I have a panic button. You don’t have to be there every night because I am.”

  “You’re there, I’m there if I can be.”

  She sighed. “If that’s what you want to do. I’m just saying it isn’t necessary.” She tied off her hair, scooted back and turned to face him. The first aid kit was close. She opened it and brought one of his hands to her, inspecting his knuckles. The cold water had stopped the bleeding and controlled the swelling. He’d been fighting all his life and his knuckles showed that. They’d been smashed more than once.

  She lowered her head, and his heart nearly stopped when he felt the light brush of her lips across his mangled flesh. It took control and discipline not to jerk his hand away. It wasn’t because she’d aroused the monster. It was because no one had ever done that before. No one had ever kissed a hurt on him. He didn’t know what to do with it or how it made him feel. He wanted to move away from her, withdraw and protect himself from the overwhelming feelings he didn’t understand or want. But he didn’t. He gave her so little and he was going to give her this if it fucking killed him.