Midnight Action

by Elle Kennedy

  “Faster. Use your hand, baby.”

  Her lips released him with a soft pop, and she replaced them with her fist, giving him a few lazy strokes before bringing her mouth back into play.

  He hissed softly. “Oh yeah. Just like that.”

  She increased the tempo, sucking and pumping until he was moaning with abandon. He cupped the back of her head and fucked her mouth, the salty, masculine taste of him coating her tongue and fueling her excitement. He was harder than steel, but his shaft was soft as velvet. Her fist glided over it, her tongue stealing delicious licks whenever it could.

  When his hips started to move faster, she knew he was close, and suddenly it became her life’s mission to make him come.

  Moaning against his throbbing cock, she increased the suction, squeezed his balls, and listened to her name fly out of his mouth.

  “Noelle.”

  He came with a husky cry, and she greedily drank up his release, refusing to let him withdraw. But he wasn’t going anywhere—he kept thrusting, kept moaning, giving her everything she wanted.

  It was seconds, hours, before he finally grew still. With a groan, he gently reclaimed his cock from her mouth, then grasped her upper arm and yanked her to her feet.

  He didn’t reach for her, didn’t try to pull her closer. He simply looked at her, his heavy-lidded gaze resting on her mouth before seeking out her eyes again.

  “Can I kiss you?” he said gruffly.

  She swallowed the nervous saliva that had pooled in her mouth.

  And then she slowly shook her head.

  • • •

  Morgan staggered out of the bathroom after Noelle, who’d jumped out of the shower stall so fast that for a second he actually wondered if he’d hallucinated that unbelievable blow job.

  He didn’t bother with a towel, just strode into the bedroom naked and wet, dripping water all over the hardwood. He didn’t give a shit about the floor, though. He felt raw and battered and he wanted to lash out. Hit something, throw something, kick something.

  No, what he really wanted was Noelle. The orgasm she’d just given him wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to bury himself inside her, but the way she hurriedly gathered up her clothes told him she wasn’t in the mood to fuck him.

  And damned if that didn’t piss him off even more.

  “I don’t want to play games anymore,” he burst out.

  Her expression revealed nothing. “I’m not playing games.”

  He curled his hands into fists, which she immediately noticed, because she raised her eyebrows and said, “Seriously? You’re this angry about a stupid kiss?”

  “It’s not about the kiss. It’s...it’s...” He couldn’t even finish the thought. The turbulent emotions he’d been battling all day had finally caught up to him.

  When he felt his legs giving out from under him, he stumbled forward and collapsed on the bed, bare ass planting on the mattress.

  Son of a bitch, he refused to burst into tears like a fucking sissy again. It was bad enough that Noelle had found him in such a sorry state. He couldn’t break down again. He couldn’t.

  “Jim...” It was her turn to trail off, as if she had no idea what to say to him.

  Anguish clogged his throat, and he had to avert his eyes so she wouldn’t glimpse his pain. “I let her walk away.”

  He heard her sigh. Heard the bedspread rustle as she sat down beside him, a good foot away. His peripheral vision caught nothing but golden hair and bare skin. She hadn’t gotten dressed yet.

  “I just let her go,” he muttered. “I gave her back to a man who sells guns and kills people. What kind of father does that?”

  “You couldn’t force her to come with you,” she said quietly. “You had no choice.”

  “I did have a choice! I could have taken her! Tied her up, drugged her if I had to. Anything to keep her away from Dietrich.” His breaths turned into shallow pants. “But instead, I let her go. I let her go.”

  Noelle didn’t answer, and her silence almost felt like a reprimand.

  “You should have seen her,” he mumbled, choking on the lump obstructing his throat. “She’s so beautiful. And smart. She’s so fucking smart.” His hands shook as he raked them through his damp hair. “I wasn’t there for her. I missed out on her entire life.”

  As Cate’s face flashed in his mind, it killed him to realize just how much time he’d lost with her. He hadn’t seen her take her first step, hadn’t been there to hear her first word. He hadn’t held her hand on her first day of school. Hadn’t helped her with her homework or given her advice about school or friends or boys.

  And he could never get any of those moments back.

  “Dietrich watched her grow up. That son of a bitch took my kid and disappeared off the face of the earth for seventeen years. He and Ariana—they got to raise her. And me...her father...I missed it all.”

  Resentment burned in his blood like jet fuel. The urge to slam his fist into something returned, more violent than before.

  “Cate needed a father,” he burst out. “Kids need their fathers, damn it!”

  As he tried to breathe through the pain, he became aware of the increasing tension thickening the air. Inhaling slowly, he turned his head—and was startled by the malevolence blazing in Noelle’s eyes.

  “I can’t believe you,” she spat out.

  Wariness trickled through him. “What did I do now?”

  “You seriously have the nerve to talk to me about fatherhood? About kids needing their fathers?” She shot off the bed, her expression sizzling with unbridled rage. “You have the fucking nerve to talk to me about fathers? After you killed mine?”

  Chapter 26

  And there it was.

  Truth was, he’d been expecting it. Whenever the two of them crossed paths, Morgan held his breath and waited for the inevitable explosion. She was like a volcano that had lain dormant for years, wisps of ash and spikes in temperature hinting at impending catastrophe, but you never knew when it would erupt, when that hot lava would destroy everything in its path.

  Well, it was happening now. Almost two decades since the last eruption, and now here it was again, hitting him when he was at his most raw, his most susceptible.

  “I didn’t kill your father, Noelle.” His voice was low and even, but not without regret.

  “No, you didn’t do the actual deed,” she agreed bitterly. “You didn’t put those bullets in his chest. That’s awfully convenient, right, Jim? Because the truth is, you’re the reason it happened. You’re the reason he died, and guess what. To me, that’s the same fucking thing as being the one who held the damn gun.”

  He rose from the bed with a degree of calm he certainly didn’t feel. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told you all those years ago—your father was selling highly classified secrets to foreign governments. He jeopardized the lives of hundreds of intelligence agents operating around the globe by selling their locations to our enemies. He was a traitor to his country, Noelle.”

  She looked at him as if he’d raised a hand to her. Her bare breasts heaved as she struggled for air, but she seemed completely oblivious to her nudity, too consumed by fury to care or notice.

  “He sold out his country,” Morgan said in a monotone voice, like he was reciting passages from a history textbook. “I was assigned to find him and bring him in. He was taken for interrogation. He was not being tortured, he was simply being questioned, and he was the one who decided to disarm the interrogating officer. He was the one who shot and killed two other military servicemen before he was finally brought down by six bullets to the chest.”

  Noelle’s face became ashen. “Whatever he may have done, he didn’t deserve to be killed.”

  Frustration crashed into him like a tidal wave. “He got himself killed! And he murdered two people beforehand!”

  “Because yo
u put him in that position!”

  Morgan inhaled deeply. Christ, he couldn’t do this again. They’d had this same argument the day after her father’s arrest. Noelle had been released into the custody of her stepfather—there’d been no evidence to connect her to her father’s crimes—and she’d come directly to Morgan’s hotel room, just as he’d known she would. He’d been dreading the confrontation, and it had been as gut-wrenching as he’d known it would be.

  “You took him away from me,” she said fiercely. “He was my father. He was a good father. All he ever did was try to protect me.”

  “Protect you?” Morgan cut in, an edge to his voice. “The way he protected you from Laurent?”

  Shock filled her eyes, and she faltered for a moment before responding. “He didn’t know about René. I kept it a secret from him.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Noelle, Douglas Phillips was a spy. You truly think he didn’t know what was going on in that house?”

  “He. Didn’t. Know.” Pure venom dripped from her voice.

  “He knew,” Morgan said flatly. “He just didn’t do a damn thing about it.”

  Noelle was glaring daggers at him now, but it was too late to stop the course he’d set them on. And fuck, maybe it was time she knew the truth.

  “He knew,” Morgan repeated. “He told me so himself, Noelle. He knew his daughter was getting raped every fucking night, and he stood by and let it happen. He was a selfish, greedy motherfucker who didn’t give a shit about anyone but himsel—”

  Her fist connected with his left temple before he could react.

  The force of it snapped his head back and made his ears ring, and as pain shot through his temple, all he could do was gape at her.

  “You don’t know a goddamn thing about him,” Noelle hissed out. “You never did.”

  Morgan met her eyes. “He knew exactly what was happening to you, Noelle.”

  This time he was expecting the attack, but he didn’t back away from it. He stood there and let that lethal right hook smash into the side of his mouth. Blood soaked his lips and filled his mouth with its coppery flavor.

  “You done?” he said tersely.

  “Not by a long shot.”

  Her fists shot up like a boxer’s, like she was anticipating having to block his retaliation, but when she realized he wasn’t going to fight back, she struck out again, coming at him so fast he almost fell on his ass.

  For a moment he’d forgotten that this woman was trained in every martial art known to man, and it took everything he had to deflect her deadly blows—quick jabs to the face followed by a kick to his ribs that made him gasp. An uppercut that brought stars to his eyes, followed by two sharp hooks, left and right, the latter of which split his eyebrow open.

  Blood streamed down his face, but he had no time to wipe it away. He was focusing all his energy on blocking a series of lightning-fast karate moves that would have seriously injured him if he hadn’t been vigilant.

  “Hit me back!” Desperation lined her voice, and her eyes glittered with frustration.

  When he didn’t take the bait, she stumbled backward and grabbed the drinking glass on the end table, then hurled it at him. He batted the glass out of the way and it crashed to the floor, breaking into a hundred little pieces.

  With a growl, Noelle came at him swinging again.

  He grabbed her forearm before she could land another punch. Twisted it hard. “Stop. I’m not going to hit you, damn it!”

  Christ, he’d never seen her so enraged. She shrugged out of his armlock with astonishingly little effort and struck again, blindsiding him with a low kick that sent him toppling right off his feet.

  He landed on the floor with a heavy thud, flat on his ass, the wind completely knocked out of him. Shards of broken glass dug into his back, bringing little stings of pain. Stunned, he managed to regain his senses just as Noelle launched herself at him, and then there was a bone-jarring crunch as her fist smashed into his jaw.

  Hot waves of pain rippled through him, blood continuing to drip down his face, but he planted both palms on the hardwood and forced himself not to strike back. She needed this. Fuck, maybe he needed it too. Maybe he deserved this after what he’d done to her.

  As he lay there at her mercy, he suddenly became aware of her tears. Clinging to her thick eyelashes, sliding down her cheeks, soaking his bare chest. She was still straddling him, but no longer moving. She’d hung her head in defeat, as if she’d finally accepted he wasn’t going to fight her.

  And seeing her surrender absolutely killed him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Those two words seemed to drain away whatever energy she’d had left. She collapsed on top of his chest, her wet face sticking to his neck and her long hair fanning over his pecs like a silk sheet.

  His arms came around her and he held her tight, stroking her bare back. He wanted to say something, anything, but he was only capable of formulating those two bleak words.

  She lifted her head slightly, and when he saw the devastation in her eyes, he wanted so badly to kiss her. But he didn’t dare, afraid she’d just start hitting him again.

  So he rolled them both over instead, covering her body with his and burying his face in her neck. He felt her trying to wiggle out from underneath him, but he didn’t let her. He cupped her cheeks with his hands and forced her to look at him. “I’m sorry,” he said firmly.

  “Don’t say that to me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop it, Jim.”

  “I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  He wasn’t sure which one of them guided his cock between her legs, whether it was his hand or hers, but suddenly their bodies were joined, and he was slowly moving inside her.

  Noelle gasped beneath him, but she didn’t push him away. If anything, she deepened the contact by arching her hips and wrapping her legs around his waist.

  “Fuck me hard,” she choked out.

  “No.” He gritted his teeth when she tried to quicken the pace by thrusting her pelvis upward. “It’s going to be slow and sweet and you can’t do a goddamn thing about it.”

  Anger flared in her eyes, but he refused to give her what she wanted. His cock slid into her in excruciatingly gentle strokes. The light rocking of their bodies seemed almost absurd in juxtaposition to the brutal chaos of before. His face was still bleeding, drops of crimson staining Noelle’s golden hair. Pieces of glass were embedded in his skin, and probably hers. Her knuckles were bloody and torn; his body was aching from her assault.

  And yet he fucked her with infinite tenderness, his gaze never once leaving hers.

  Their quiet breathing filled the air. Glass shards crunched against the hardwood as he filled her thoroughly, sweetly, gliding his cock in and out of her wet sheath until she was clinging to his shoulders and moaning in ecstasy.

  He waited until she cried out in release before he let himself go, and then he was squeezing his eyes shut and spilling his seed inside her as waves of pleasure pulsed through his body.

  When his eyelids fluttered open, he found Noelle staring up at him. She looked sated and sad. Aroused but defeated.

  “Again?” she murmured.

  With a curt nod, he scooped her into his arms, stood up, and carried her to the bed.

  * * *

  Liam jerked when another loud crash sounded from the vicinity of the bedrooms. Lord, what were those two doing in there? Smashing everything in sight? Fucking all the furniture to pieces?

  He stifled a sigh and tried to focus on the television screen, but it was impossible to concentrate on a soccer game when a sexual hurricane was ripping through the penthouse. Morgan and Noelle had been locked in their bedroom for hours, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what they were doing.

  Considering they were broa
dcasting it to the whole damn neighborhood.

  Liam had been sporting a semi all day, and he knew he wasn’t the only one suffering from a serious case of turned on. Sully, Sean, and Ash kept rearranging their pants and weren’t bothering to be discreet about it anymore, and even Bailey seemed affected by the sounds of hard-core fucking reverberating in the apartment.

  Thump.

  Thump.

  Thump-thump-thump.

  A groan lodged in his throat as the rhythmic banging of a headboard smacking the wall echoed through the penthouse.

  On the other side of the sectional, Sullivan didn’t even bother stifling his groan. It slipped out, low and husky and tinged with arousal.

  The tortured noise sent a spike of lust right to Liam’s groin. He forced himself to breathe, trying not to think of all the other times he’d heard Sully make that sound, usually when a pretty girl was about to strip off her clothes for them.

  “I’m going for a walk.” Bailey abruptly shot up from the couch, her face taking on a frazzled look. “There are way too many hard-ons in this room.”

  Liam almost offered to go with her, but closed his mouth when he saw Sean glaring at him. Crap. He’d been hoping Reilly hadn’t noticed all the time he’d been spending with Bailey, but judging by that deep scowl, he totally had.

  In Liam’s defense, there was absolutely nothing romantic between him and the dark-haired operative; Bailey was simply helping him work through his messed-up issues. Weirdly enough, he’d felt a lot more at ease ever since he’d confided in her. Rather than tease him or recoil in disgust, Bailey hadn’t been fazed when he’d confessed to fantasizing about his best friend. Whenever they could get a moment alone, she used that laid-back, no-nonsense attitude of hers to try to help him make sense of his jumbled thoughts, which he totally appreciated.

  He just wished the making-sense part would come soon, because right now, he still had no clue how to deal with his...crush?

  Was that what it was? A crush?

  God help him.

  As Bailey strode out of the room, Sean heaved out a breath and headed for the terrace doors. “I need a smoke,” he announced.