Raw Heat

by Cherrie Lynn

  “If you hadn’t said anything, I never would have noticed.”

  “I’m going to break my neck in these shoes.”

  “I’m going to put those shoes in the air later.” He said it so conversationally that it almost didn’t register at first. When it did, Emma nearly stumbled on the carpet, barely stopping herself from breathing life into her prophecy.

  “Careful,” he cautioned, after catching her elbow and steadying her. Talk about ruining a sexy moment.

  “What’s wrong with now?” she asked.

  “I’d hate to demolish your efforts to recreate your friend’s masterpieces.”

  Emma didn’t much give a damn. She’d been a walking live nerve all day.

  They took the Bentley tonight, and she wondered if it might be because he wanted to make sure everything was in order after she spent the day driving it. “I took care of your baby,” she assured him, leaving out the part about Liz riffling through his stuff. God, he probably knew everything’s place, too. It wouldn’t escape him if something was a mere inch out of its normal spot. Crap.

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “Thanks for letting me drive it. What did you do all day?”

  “After the gym and basketball, I went to the club for a few hours.”

  “How’s my temp doing?” She felt bad for the poor girl who had to adjust to him anew. Emma’s first few weeks at that job had been spent cleaning drool off her chin and trying not to show it.

  “So far so good, from what Stacia says. I haven’t even met her yet.”

  “Don’t, if you can help it.”

  “Why?”

  You’ll short-circuit her brain. And she might want my job permanently. She chuckled. “Just trust me.”

  They opted for seafood tonight. But as soon as he exited the interstate and began navigating the streets, his hand slipped under the skirt of her dress, his fingertips skimming her inner thigh, leaving electric trails in their wake. He didn’t say a word. Emma’s breathing deepened, everything below her waist tightening. She licked her lips as the edge of his little finger rubbed along the dampening fabric of her panties. She didn’t tell her legs to open for him; they did that all on their own. But they would be there soon . . .

  “Do you want to come?” he asked, and what kind of fucking question was that? Of course she did.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “Then you’d better hurry. I won’t stop until you do. You wouldn’t want the valet to find my hand under your dress, would you?”

  Oh, Jesus Christ. Pushing her hips into him to increase the pressure, she rode his teasing fingers as he kept his eyes on the street ahead. People were walking on the sidewalks, and she could only hope none of them looked too closely into the car, or they would see her head thrown back, her heaving shoulders. Close enough, and they might even see the angle of his arm, his hand disappearing under the edge of her dress. She grabbed his wrist with her left hand and, desperate, reached down to wrench her panties to the side with her right, needing those electric sensations directly on her clit, needing him to hurry.

  He made a sound in his throat, twisting his wrist to touch her more firmly, fingers working her slick bud in expert circles. Frantic ecstasy built low in her belly and the heels of her shoes dug into the floor as she pushed against him.

  “There it is,” he said darkly. She opened her eyes to see they were in the line. “Hurry, Emma.”

  “Someone’s going to see—” Her voice cracked.

  “Someone will see if you don’t come in the next thirty seconds.”

  Fuck! A sob ripped from her, and he increased his motions, quicker, quicker, and she thrust against him until—“Oh God!” Release ripped through her with teeth and claws, tearing her apart, her hips undulating, everything clenching and pulsing and needing, and if anyone saw, fuck ’em, they should be jealous. She barely got her last cry out before Damien pulled his hand from her and maneuvered the car to the curb so the valets could open their doors.

  This man was going to kill her.

  She climbed out mechanically, listening to Damien’s smooth voice as he talked casually to the valet as if he hadn’t just shot her to the moon fifteen seconds before. Trying not to wobble on her feet, she took the strong, steady arm he offered and managed to walk shakily alongside him into the restaurant.

  Emma’s coconut Gulf shrimp was divine, but after that orgasm, anything would have been. She learned that candlelight did amazing things with the depths of Damien’s eyes, as if they weren’t already hypnotic enough. But the magic of the evening cracked and shattered when he leaned closer to her and said, “Your brother came by the club last night, looking for you.”

  Emma sighed, inwardly saying farewell to her pleasant post-orgasmic glow. Maybe she shouldn’t have done it, but she’d blocked Ben’s number in her phone. She had absolutely nothing to say to him, and figured it would be a long, long time before she did. “Really.”

  “Yes. Stacia managed to get rid of him.”

  “He’s my brother and I know I’m supposed to love him. But he’s such a damn moron. I’m sorry, Damien. I know part of the bet was for him to never come back.”

  “Oh, he won’t,” he said with a coldness that made icy fingertips walk down her spine. “He’s banned from the premises. I don’t want him back there. Ever. Are you avoiding him?”

  “Yes. I’ve blocked him.”

  “He said he’s been trying to call you.”

  “I have nothing to say to him.”

  “I completely understand that, but I might need for you to talk to him, at least occasionally. If he’s a ticking time bomb then I need to know.”

  “Keep your enemies closer?” She sighed, then took a sip of her water. So much for wanting to forget. “All right, I’ll unblock him and see what the hell he needs. As if I’m not doing enough already.”

  “Maybe he only wants to check on you. I’m sure his ego is bruised.”

  “I wish more than that was bruised. He needs a good ass-kicking.”

  “That can always be arranged. And might be, if he tries to come back. Jake is on alert.”

  “Damien . . . I’m blowing off steam. I can’t have him physically hurt. God, that would put my poor mother in her grave.” She dropped her head into her hand. “Why can’t he just go away and leave us alone? Or be normal?”

  He was silent for a long time. Rarely—practically never—did she get any glimpse into what he might be thinking, but she knew something was roiling inside him. He straightened his napkin and fiddled with the silverware, then said, “Nothing will ever be normal. I know you don’t want to hear that.”

  Surprised, she lifted her head. “No, I don’t, even though I know it’s probably the truth.”

  “I have some experience myself dealing with an addict. My mother. Nothing ever changed in our lives until she shot up with too much heroine and died in her bedroom while we were at school.”

  His expression was shuttered. If he said she was like looking through glass, he was opaque, a blank wall. “I had no idea,” she breathed, desperately searching for some clue as to what he might feel about that.

  “Don’t say you’re sorry for my loss or anything banal like that. It was no great loss.”

  “Damien . . .” Speechless for a moment, she dropped her gaze and drew a breath before meeting his eyes again. No wonder. No fucking wonder. This explained so much it was as if a veil had been lifted from her eyes, but she didn’t feel equipped to deal with something of this magnitude. “I wasn’t going to say that. But I am sorry for whatever you went through. How old were you?”

  “Fourteen.”

  She couldn’t imagine. So she didn’t even try. No wonder he’d damn near bitten her head off that day she’d asked him about his parents. “Your dad?” she ventured, hoping she didn’t get a similar response.

  “Not in the picture. None of our dads were. Mike and Zane and I all have different fathers, but don’t ever call us half-brothers. What we lack in blood we make
up for in shared experiences.”

  That was so amazing it almost brought tears to her eyes, that these three boys had bonded together so closely, that one of them had taken the initiative to raise the other two when they lost their mother. “Mike probably took care of you for a long, long time,” she said.

  “Zane and I both. He took beatings meant for us. I watched him get in the faces of men twice his size. That didn’t last long, because he was bigger than most of them by the time he was fourteen. After she died, he worked and fought in the streets and damn near killed himself to keep us together and out of the system.”

  “And that’s why you’d rather adopt than have your own kids,” she said.

  “If it ever comes to that.”

  “Waiting for the right woman?” It was out of her mouth before she knew it, and she couldn’t possibly begin to unpack the meanings behind all the emotions it brought to the surface, so she shut them out, every single one.

  “I wouldn’t say I’m waiting.” An odd smile clung to his lips. Then he lifted his glass to his mouth, and it was gone.

  “I think you’re one of the most complex people I’ve ever met.”

  “Really? I think I’m rather simple.”

  “Please. I feel like a rat running through a maze looking for the cheese when I’m dealing with you.”

  That made him laugh, and a genuine laugh from him was like angels singing. His perfect, straight white teeth framed by those sinfully shaped lips, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

  Not only was he going to kill her, he was going to own her immortal soul afterward.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He liked how she leaned on him as they left. He could grow to like too much about her—it was the very reason he didn’t want her sleeping in his bed. Once she was gone, he didn’t want to have to adjust to her warm body not being there beside him in the night.

  Always plan ahead.

  She was quiet on the drive home, probably digesting all she’d learned tonight, and he left her in peace for the time being. It was a lot to digest, and he’d barely shared the tip of the iceberg with her. His past was what had made him who he was, for better or worse, but that damn sure didn’t mean he liked to revisit it. Mike always said Damien’s itch to travel came from being confined in the four walls of their shared bedroom growing up, with the ugly peeling wallpaper and water stains. He was probably onto something, but that itch mainly came on him when he’d been letting himself remember it too much. Like now.

  Losing himself in a beautiful body was a good way to scratch that itch, too. By the time they got home, he was hard for her. Hell, he’d been hard most of the night, just from the way she’d moved so desperately against his fingers in his car. From how wet she had been from the first moment he’d touched her.

  And now, standing in his living room, her gaze met his shyly and he felt a beast grumble from its cage inside him.

  “Were you that wet all day?” he asked, the bluntness of the question widening her eyes. He watched that succulent bottom lip tremble.

  “Yes,” she admitted steadily.

  “Are you still?”

  “Yes.” Now there was a tremor in the word.

  He stepped to her. “That’s how I want it,” he told her, while her eyes flickered back and forth between both of his as if they were searching desperately for something. “And now, I want you to go to your room, take off your clothes, and wait for me.”

  “Leave on the shoes?”

  She remembered. Good girl. But even better would have been for her not to have to ask. “Leave on the shoes.”

  Licking her lips, she turned and headed meekly up the stairs, her ass swaying seductively in the tight confines of her blue dress with every step. Damien wiped a hand down his mouth hard, trying to get a grip on his own ragged control. Christ almighty, she was perfection.

  And then he made her wait, pouring himself a glass of scotch and checking in with Stacia. All was well, drinks were flowing, attendance was at capacity. Couldn’t ask for a better night, especially considering what he had waiting upstairs.

  Throwing back the last of his drink, he went up and opened her door, finding her lying on her side naked and facing him, her red hair loose around her head. But it was the curve of her hip that immediately drew his eye, in such ideal proportion to her little waist, the perfect curvature calling to his hands. He shut the door behind him while she watched him without speaking, but he heard her breath hitch even from across the room.

  “I want you up on all fours,” he told her.

  Now her breathing quickened, but she moved to obey, bracing herself on her slender arms. Her hair fell around them in luxurious waves. Man. Life was good.

  “You looked beautiful tonight, Emma, but I think you were missing an accessory,” he said, reaching into his pocket as he walked over to her. He could practically feel the energy vibrating around her body. She gasped his name as he grabbed her hips and hauled her around so that her ass was in front of him as he stood beside the bed. Then it was his turn to lose his breath. She hadn’t lied; she was still wet, glistening, pouting. He couldn’t resist trailing a finger through and getting a taste while she shuddered.

  “What accessory?” she asked then, her voice muffled by the bed. He could still hear the suspicious anxiety in it.

  He reached down to show her what lay in the palm of his hand, watching her eyes as she inspected it. A certain resignation passed over her, and she turned her face into the duvet. “Oh God.”

  “Do you want it?” he asked.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Always.”

  “Really?” she glanced back at him.

  “Say the word and I’ll put it away. Or, you can let me show you things about yourself that you never knew. Up to you.” He ran a hand over her smooth ass cheek as he spoke.

  “I’m scared.”

  “I won’t hurt you, Emma.”

  “I’m more scared of the things I never knew.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  She turned her face down again and spoke into the covers. Beneath his hand, she was shaking. “Do it.”

  First, he leaned down and licked her until her shaking turned into a full body shudder, mindful of the soreness she’d admitted to this morning—God, it seemed like forever ago. When she was whimpering and writhing and ready, he straightened and reached into the drawer of her nightstand. The bottle of lube was undisturbed where he’d put it, so she must not have discovered it. She squeaked and tensed as he applied it generously to her puckered flesh, her fists grasping the duvet. When he fit the blunted tip of the silver plug there, she nearly pulled the covers off the ends of the bed.

  “Push against it, doll,” he murmured, his other hand resting gently on the small of her back. “Open.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “You can,” he assured her. “Slow and easy. We have all night.” She obeyed. He met her with gentle pressure, watching her every twitch, waiting for the slightest indication of pain or distress. Except for intermittent whimpers, she gave none. And just when her breath had become erratic and panting, the plug slid home, and it was in.

  “Look at you,” he breathed, stroking her cheeks. A red jeweled heart rested between her cheeks, perfect given her heart-shaped ass. “Fucking beautiful. Don’t move, just feel it.”

  But she couldn’t keep still, shifting weight from one knee to the other. “It’s . . . I don’t know if I like it—” She broke off when he slid two fingers between her folds and into her almost-dripping heat, feeling her pussy flutter deeply around them. Her groan split the air.

  “It feels like you do,” he teased, slowly pulling out his fingers and pushing in again. His cock throbbed. “Do you want to see it?”

  “Is it cute?” she asked breathlessly, and he chuckled.

  “It’s cute, Emma.”

  “How can I see it?”

  “Well, I can bring you a mirror, or I can take a picture.”

  “O
h God, please, no pictures. But this feels too good. I’ll see it later.”

  She sounded so sexy when she was turned on, almost sleepy, although her body was wide awake as he touched her, her pulse raging against his fingers, her muscles fluttering and contracting around him. When he pulled his fingers out and paused, she pushed back on him, wiggling, her throaty little sounds going straight to his cock. He wanted nothing more than to fuck her, feel the pressure of the plug pressing down on him while he was inside, but she wasn’t ready to be filled like that yet.

  “Damien,” she whispered. “Will you lick me?”

  With fucking pleasure. Grasping her hips, he flipped her onto her back while she gasped, pushing her legs high, heels in the air. “Hold them here. Don’t drop them, Emma, no matter what.” She dutifully put both hands behind her knees, panting as she watched him. He held that feverish hazel gaze as he dropped his head and drew her sweet little clit into his mouth.

  This morning, he’d wished he had all day to do this. Now he had all night. He snugged his fingers back into her tight pussy, licking and sucking as she moaned and thrashed and lost her grip on one of her legs, though she quickly reclaimed it the moment he stopped. “Sorry,” she gasped. “Oh God, don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

  Mercy wasn’t something he was likely to give under normal circumstances, but she wasn’t one of his submissives. He had to remember that. She would be so goddamn perfect for it. He lowered his head again, feasting on her sweetness while she thrust against his mouth, her slick walls gripping his fingers so tightly it was all he could do to squeeze a third one in. With his other hand, he gave her plug a series of gentle tugs, careful not to dislodge it.

  It was too much for her. She broke, pulling her legs even wider for him as her body locked up around him and she sang her ecstasy for him. He watched her over her mound, the way she undulated in graceful waves, the way her nipples peaked, and wanted to be inside her so fucking bad it hurt. His balls were full and heavy, his cock throbbing to go where his fingers were. Or where that plug was. But there was another place just as enticing right now.