Into Temptation

by Pam Godwin

  His cock rammed against the juncture of her thighs, demanding entry. Her pussy throbbed in invitation, convulsing and opening in a flood of arousal. But no amount of wetness could prepare her for his size.

  She didn’t want him. She couldn’t fucking stand him. But the burning, tightening demands of her body made it damn hard to resist his bold touch, ripped physique, and the fascinating yet terrifying equipment between his legs.

  “You’re despicable.” She brandished elbows, knuckles, and knees, hammering her sharpest bones into any part of him she could hit.

  He ducked his head, dodging her strikes, and veered his mouth downward to chase the curves of her body. He licked and sucked every inch of her from breasts to pussy. She kicked at him, bowed into him, and tore at his hair.

  “I hate you!” She jerked her hips, rocking against his face. “Oh God, don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop, you son of a bitch.”

  He bit her clit, and she screeched, smacking his head and sinking her nails into his flesh.

  “Fuck, woman!” Teeth bared, he shot up her body and grabbed her face.

  Livid didn’t begin to describe the fire in his eyes.

  She yanked him close. He dragged her closer and took her lips, kissing her, fingering her, and grinding against her to the echoes of her own traitorous groans.

  They reached for his cock at the same time, wriggling and lining up their bodies, wild and clumsy in their urgency. She knew he would stretch her, bruise her, possibly injure her, and she didn’t even care.

  She counted on it.

  With the broad tip of him notched at her entrance, he wrapped a fist around the base of his shaft. A habit? To prevent himself from sinking in all the way?

  Clenching his jaw, he held her gaze and pushed past her opening.

  Sensations unfurled, exploding shimmers of pleasure around the stretching invasion. His entire body shook with the effort to control his thrust, and she trembled with him, moaning, squirming, needing more. More burning, more pressure, more him.

  She slapped him across the head. “Hurt me, goddammit. I want to feel you.”

  He stopped breathing, eyes wide and frighteningly angry.

  Then a nefarious smile lit his face.

  He dropped his hand from his cock, removing that barrier, and impaled her to the hilt with absolutely no mercy.

  Rylee let out an ear-splitting scream of pain, and Tomas choked on a groan, shaking in the exquisite grip of her body. Christ, he was going to come.

  From one thrust.

  Holy fucking fuck.

  He wasn’t a sadist, but damn, this woman had begged for it so beautifully. Not just begged. She’d demanded it.

  Hurt me, goddammit.

  Yeah, he was hurting her, and she was taking it like a champ. Every inch of him. Each time he hit the back of her hot cunt, she wailed, cursed, and clutched his ass, pulling him tighter, harder against her.

  She was tougher than he’d thought, and everything was so wet and warm around him, sucking him in, gripping him like a glove. The sweet smell of her skin, the intoxicating way she tasted, her sexy little cries of hunger and rage—these were things he would never forget. Fucking incredible. Hotter than hell.

  That only enraged him more.

  Why wasn’t it like this with other women? He was so accustomed to the gasps of fear, awkwardness of penetration, and pleas for him to slow down and be gentle. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d just let loose and plowed into a woman. Or when he’d actually had sex without holding a hand around his cock.

  Never.

  Rylee was unlike anyone he’d ever been with. Just his goddamn luck.

  Only four days ago, he’d strangled the life out of her and contemplated leaving her for dead. And that was before he knew the infuriating depths of her stubbornness. The best thing to do now was just fuck her until she broke.

  He grabbed her by the throat, growing painfully hard at the sight of her huge silver eyes, the gaping O of her swollen lips, and the jiggle of her perky, round tits as she tried to suck in air.

  She was beyond gorgeous. Utterly perfect. He fucking despised her.

  Driving viciously against the walls of her cunt, he rammed his tongue down her throat in the most aggressive kiss he’d ever taken.

  When he finally let her breathe, she growled and ripped at his hair. But it didn’t stop her from kissing him back. Their mouths fused, crashing and mauling like they were trying to dislocate each other’s faces. It was violent and crude and emotionally unbridled, releasing an unfathomable flood of passion.

  He pounded into her, biting her lips and licking the tears that drenched her face. Sand and grit clung to her hair, his hands, their arms and legs.

  The heat was unbearable, the sun relentless. But the fever between them overpowered everything, flowing uncontrollably through their locked tongues, breaths, and hips. Nothing was stopping them.

  With a surge of strength, she pushed him onto his back and started to ride him, clawing at his chest, trying to claw away his dominance.

  Fuck that. He rose to his feet without disconnecting their bodies, continued to grind her on his cock, and crossed the distance to the cave.

  He dumped her on the ground in the shade. She landed with a yelp, and he fell upon her, thrusting deep, power-fucking her into the rocky sand, dripping with sweat, and tearing her up like an animal. She choked him. He choked her right back, and within seconds, she was coming in a torrent of incensed screams.

  “Fuck you, Tommy!” She sank her nails into his arms, panting and thrashing and gushing all over his cock. “Oh, Jesus, it hurts so good. So fucking good.”

  Impaled on the full length of him, she came and came, flailing wildly, unabashedly through the longest orgasm in history. Sweet God in hell, she was the most arousing, extraordinarily beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Such a sexy, uninhibited screamer, who liked it rough, got off on pain, and left shameless scratches all over his body. So fucking satisfying.

  But he wasn’t satisfied.

  He didn’t want her to enjoy it more than he was.

  Pulling out, he flipped her over in the dirt and spanked her. She fought him belligerently while wriggling her ass for more.

  “You’re such a slut.” He grabbed her hips and slammed into her from behind.

  “If I’m a slut…” Panting, she pushed back and forced him deeper. “You’re a depraved, twisted pervert. Give it to me, you sick fuck. Make me feel it.”

  His balls tightened. His skin caught fire, and the pressure in his cock exploded. He came violently, dizzyingly, groaning, jerking through the thrusts, unable to slow down as he fucked her like a dog.

  He shouldn’t have shot his load that quickly. Hell, he shouldn’t have fucking come in her at all.

  Irritated, he pushed her away, his cock still rigid and throbbing.

  She fell onto her back, legs spread, pussy glistening, and eyes glimmering with filthy, forbidden temptation.

  He wasn’t done. Not even close.

  In the next breath, he was inside her again, his tongue in her mouth, his furious thrusts stabbing between her thighs. He’d never been a gentle lover, but he was really going at it with her, slapping her tits, biting her throat, marking her flesh, leaving hickeys and bruises, and God only knew the damage he was inflicting on her cunt.

  He wouldn’t pretend it was the moral thing to do or that he was justified in any way, but what followed was the angriest, loudest, sweatiest, most passionate sex of his life.

  Every time she climaxed, he spiraled with her, falling deeper, further into her corrupt, dishonest, deliciously tight clasp.

  His recovery rate was unprecedented. He’d never been able to go multiple rounds without breaks in between. But with Rylee, he never wanted to stop.

  He used her mercilessly—on the ground, against the Jeep, and across the front seat with the air-conditioning blowing at full speed. It went on and on, orgasm after orgasm, in every position. Just when he thought he couldn’t go another round,
she did this seductive lip-biting thing with an evil glint in her eyes, and blood surged to his cock with a vengeance.

  They ended up at the entrance of the cave again where the shade from the butte was the coolest. With his back to the rocky cliff, he held her on his lap, hands clenched on her waist, moving her up and down on his sore, ravenous erection.

  Scratches and bite marks covered her gorgeous breasts in a tapestry of destruction and passion. Their bodies were soaked in layers of sweat and come, with sand creeping into places they would never get clean.

  “Fuuuck!” She threw her head back, moaning. “I love your huge, gorgeous cock. Even if you are a heartless asshole.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” He dragged her mouth to his, kissing her hungrily, furiously, trying to quench an unquenchable thirst.

  It was impossible. This felt too amazing. She felt too perfect. It was as if he’d been waiting his entire life to experience this. To experience Rylee Sutton in all her lusty, untamed glory.

  He separated their mouths and stared at her, enraptured. Then he captured her lips again, his hand falling to the small of her back and gently fitting her against him.

  His hips were no longer moving, his body no longer racing toward release. He was still hard inside her, but he just wanted to touch her, enjoy the nearness of her beauty, for no other reason than because he could.

  He moved his lips to her throat, licking gently, savoring her salty-sweet taste.

  “What are you doing?” She touched his jaw, pushing away his mouth.

  With a hand framing her angelic face, he leaned in to kiss her.

  She pulled back and wriggled on his cock. “Why did you stop?”

  “I’m spent.”

  “Bullshit.” She scoffed with disdain. “You dominate women in your sleep.”

  As conflicted and angry as he was with this crazy woman, he wasn’t so far out of his mind to not recognize she had severe intimacy issues.

  Her eyes hardened as if she could read his thoughts. Shoving off his lap, she gave him the finger and strode toward the Jeep.

  No, she limped, nursing each step. He’d done that. He’d fucked her so brutally she could barely walk.

  He smiled, feeling a sick amount of satisfaction in that.

  Until she spoke.

  “I thought a guy your age could go for days.” She flashed a venomous glare over her shoulder. “Evan might be twenty years older than you, but he knows how to fuck me properly. He loves my ass.”

  Yeah, he knew all about Evan’s ass-fucking, but it was difficult to hear.

  What was this burning pit in his stomach? The sudden difficulty in swallowing. The loss of vision due to a blinding need to gut her neighbor from neck to balls.

  Was it jealousy?

  That was new.

  So was her insult. He’d been with women who cowered and grimaced and sometimes cried in pain, but they never outright criticized his performance.

  She was baiting him. He knew it, but he couldn’t stop himself from moving. He just…lost it.

  He caught her at the Jeep, bent her over the bumper, and fucked her pussy so hard that her head hit against the scorching metal hood.

  Everything was so drenched down there he pulled out and slammed right into her ass. No barriers. No mercy. He put his back into it and went to town, giving her every inch of his cock and soaking up her screams.

  Fuck yeah, she screamed, calling him every despicable name she could muster. But her verbal abuse only made him hotter. He loved how her tongue slurred over the vowels, her lilting voice and moaning cries rising up and down like notes on a musical scale.

  If he thought she’d made him hard before, it was nothing compared to the excruciating grip of her tight little hole. She kept trying to finger herself, but he wouldn’t allow it. He slapped her hand away. She hit him back and ended up coming without the stimulation.

  She climaxed just from the stretch of his cock in her ass, soaking his balls, his legs. He shoved a hand between her thighs. Holy fuck, she was a squirter.

  Another first for him.

  His orgasm crashed into him, and he exploded like a goddamn fire hose, filling her with more come than he’d ever shot before and with such ferocity that he collapsed on the ground in a pile of exhaustion and astonishment.

  Straightening, she stretched her arms overhead and rolled her neck. Thick globs of milky white slithered down her inner thighs, her perfect ass welted from his hands and coated in sand.

  She wasn’t embarrassed by any of it as she turned to face him. Her posture radiated pleasure and contentment.

  The image of every man’s wildest fantasy.

  He’d wasted a lot of goddamn years fucking only young women.

  Rylee was so far past modesty, bashful awkwardness, and indecisive teetering. Whether she was confident in her skin or mature enough not to give a fuck, she stood before him, gloriously naked, covered in savage bites, and smiled.

  It was the first time she genuinely smiled at him.

  Christ, he felt it.

  Everywhere.

  “I have a newfound appreciation for the desert. Best sex of my life.” She walked away, wobbly on her legs and sexier than ever.

  What they just did, it was destructive. But the twisted, fucked-up aspects of it had made it so much more passionate. They hated each other, and he might just kill her before this situation was resolved.

  But he agreed with her. She was the best sex he’d ever had.

  He joined her at the rear of the Jeep and lifted the second water container, pouring it over her as she washed her body. Then she held it over him while he did the same.

  They didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. But their gazes touched and held, never shying away.

  It wasn’t awkward or normal or hopeful or angry.

  It just…was.

  When all the sand and body fluids were rinsed away, they pulled on their jeans. Her tank-top was ruined, so she stole his shirt.

  He allowed it because seeing her in his clothes satisfied some weird, territorial instinct he refused to analyze. It was too soon.

  They packed up the Jeep and drove back to the house in sated silence. He didn’t shackle her. She didn’t know how to drive a manual transmission—a prediction he’d guessed accurately when he’d put her in the vehicle this morning.

  Yesterday, Cole hid her truck in a storage unit and bought this Jeep in a nearby town. They still didn’t know who was watching her, if she was working with anyone, or if she was as clueless as she claimed to be.

  Someone connected to NSA or black ops had put high-tech bugs in her house. That someone had an unnerving interest in who she was fucking. And now Tomas was on the list.

  Was her ex-husband stalking her? Her neighbor? Or someone less obvious? Whether or not it was her intention, she’d led that someone directly to him and Cole.

  That made him edgy, especially as he neared his property.

  The house came into view, and he slowed, shading his eyes and scrutinizing every inch of the perimeter. Cole was still gone, as expected. Nothing appeared off-kilter.

  “You’re tense.” She twisted in the seat, watching him. “Do you think we’re in danger?”

  “You led trouble to my front door.”

  “Yeah, you keep saying that, but I can’t figure out how or why anyone would be interested in me.”

  He was interested in her. Begrudgingly. Insanely. She’d sneaked beneath his skin, and if he wasn’t careful, his attraction to her would become irreversible.

  Parking the Jeep, he shut off the engine. As he stepped out, the distant purr of a motor reached his ears. He went still, his senses firing.

  “What is it?” She followed his gaze to the horizon, shielding her eyes with a hand.

  The engine grew closer, louder. Not throaty enough to be Cole’s motorcycle.

  “Get in the house.” Pulse quickening, he lunged toward the glove box, unlocking it and removing a pistol.

  She didn’t move.

  “Now.
” He slammed a palm against her butt, sending her in motion.

  The sounds of her footsteps moved toward the door, and it slammed shut behind her. She better keep her nosy ass inside.

  A black truck emerged on the horizon. Newer model. Expensive.

  He concealed the gun in his boot and straightened his spine.

  As the vehicle advanced, he saw only one occupant. A male driver. Texas tags on the truck. Not a local, though. The man was wearing a white collared shirt and black tie. No one around here owned a suit or drove a fancy truck.

  The pistol sat heavily against his calf. If Rylee hadn’t taken his shirt, he would’ve concealed the weapon in his waistband for easier access.

  As the vehicle stopped a few yards away, Tomas leaned against the Jeep, arms folded across his clawed-up chest, and waited like a bored, rural redneck with nothing but time on his hands.

  A mid-thirties man stepped out and directed his mirrored aviator sunglasses at him. Lean cheeks, clean-shaved jaw, aristocratically straight nose, ink-black hair worn high and tight—all of it lent him the air of official business.

  He reeked of law enforcement. Probably a small-town detective, dressing for the job he wanted rather than the dead-end job he was stuck with.

  Only one of two reasons would interest him enough to drive all the way out here. Paul Kissinger or Rylee Sutton. Both missing.

  Except Rylee took a sabbatical from work and claimed she told no one she was coming here. The jury was still out on whether she was lying.

  “Mr. Dine?” The man strode forward, flashing his shiny, self-important badge. “I’m Detective Hodge.”

  Tomas spat a wad of phlegm in the sand and glared.

  “You’re the owner of this property?” The detective paused a few feet away and peered at him over his lowered sunglasses. “Are you Tomas Dine?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’m following up on a missing-persons report. Got a call that Rylee Sutton was spotted at your residence.”

  Spotted by whom? Paul Kissinger? The bastard must’ve notified someone that the tracker on her truck stopped here. That, or someone else was tracking her truck.