Forged in Desire

by Brenda Jackson

  “I’ll make it pleasurable for you.”

  He didn’t doubt that. The mere thought of just how pleasurable it would be had blood gushing through his veins. Instead of saying anything, he picked his jeans up off the floor to pull a condom pack out of his wallet.

  Moments after sliding on the latex, Striker made the gesture that started it all by extending his hand to her. She took it, and immediately red-hot sensations shot all through him. He tugged on her hand and brought her close, almost plastered to his chest. The feel of her nipples pressing into his skin almost sent him over the edge right then and there.

  He whispered close to her ear. “And now for the pleasure I’ll always make sure you get.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  SHE DEFINITELY KNEW what to expect, Margo thought as Striker eased on the bed with her. The only thing she wasn’t sure of was just how he planned to go about it. She’d discovered last night and this morning that he had an innovative mind. One filled with a number of erotic ideas. Whether he knew it or not, he was opening her up to a whole new world. One she’d never thought of embarking on before.

  Thanks to Striker, sex for her was no longer out of sight and out of mind. Around him it was in her thoughts constantly. How could it not be when she was around such a handsome, buff and virile guy twenty-four hours a day? And then there were those looks he would give her when he thought she wasn’t looking. The ones filled with heated lust, strong desire and powerful yearning.

  His body straddled hers, and when he captured her mouth in his, she moaned on contact. He had the ability to take kissing to a level that was outside of her realm of normalcy. He was using the force of his tongue to release desire she felt in every part of her. It was evident that he wasn’t holding anything back. Neither was she. She never knew how enjoyable kissing could be until Striker. The way his tongue was swirling around hers, dominating and plowing her with relentless strokes, she couldn’t help but groan. He was immersing her in sensations so strong she was on the edge of passing out from sexual overload.

  He unhurriedly ended the kiss but continued to lick around her mouth for a while before leaning back to stare down at her. She wondered what he was thinking. If the same sensations were overwhelming him like they were her.

  “Mercy, Margo. You’re beautiful from your head to your toes.”

  His words, spoken in a deep raspy tone, penetrated through the sensual daze that had overtaken her. She had no problem returning the compliment. “Thank you, and I think you’re beautiful too.”

  She really meant it. Although she was well aware that men didn’t think of themselves as beautiful, in Striker’s case, there was no help for it. But if he preferred her using words like handsome, striking, gorgeous or attractive, then she would.

  He smiled, and she thought the same thing she’d thought earlier. He didn’t smile enough. Smiling made him even more beautiful. A part of her was glad she was the one who’d put the smile on his face.

  His gaze shifted to her breasts. They hardened beneath his stare. Her breath caught when he lowered his head and captured a nipple in his mouth and began sucking on it. The suction was so intense she could feel a pull in the area between her legs from the force of it.

  He went to the other nipple to give it the same torment, and within seconds she was moaning his name just like she’d probably done in her dreams. She was in such a sensual state of utopia that she hadn’t realized his mouth was traveling down from her breasts until he’d lifted her hips to place her legs over his shoulders. Before her mind could fully comprehend what he was about to do, his face was there, within mere inches of her womanhood.

  “Damn, you’re wet,” she heard him say in a throaty voice just moments before he gave her a quick swipe of his tongue. Then another. “I love your taste, Margo. And my tongue wants a deeper taste than before.”

  Deeper than before? She wondered how that was possible when she recalled how deep his tongue had gone the last time. “Is that possible?”

  He lifted his head from between her legs just long enough to grin at her, wink and say, “Trust me, it is.”

  When he lowered his head again, she felt him continue to lick her, using the tip of his tongue to greedily whip around those areas he was parting with his fingers.

  “I love this here,” he said, inundating her clitoris with several flicks of his tongue.

  “Do you?” she asked, barely able to respond and wondering if her eyes were rolling in the back of her head. She felt her hips moving with each flick of his tongue and couldn’t stay still even if she wanted to.

  When he sucked her clitoris, she screamed his name. But he didn’t let up. As if her clit was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, his fingers parted her even more and he used his other hand to lift her hips. She could feel his tongue actually going deeper, licking all the way and applying a hard suction to certain spots.

  It was as if he knew just those areas of her body that would make her shatter. As if he was fine-tuning her for both their pleasure. How could any man possess both a fierceness and gentleness when making love to a woman?

  Suddenly she couldn’t think any more as her entire body exploded into what seemed like a million pieces, with each piece sensitive to his touch. Before she could get her second wind, he came up over her and entered her in one hard thrust.

  She was pinned to the bed as her head thrashed from right to left and she felt an intensity of pleasure she hadn’t thought was possible. She was convinced this degree of ecstasy could only come from Striker. He knew just where to strike, for how long and how deep. The man was perfection in the bedroom.

  And then he took her mouth again. It happened again, this explosion more powerful than the last. She felt her entire body shaking from one end to the other. She clutched the bedcovers, trying to keep everything from spinning. Too late. It was as if her entire body had blasted off into outer space.

  And like he’d said, he didn’t let up. He kept thrusting, pounding, holding her hips steady to receive one hard strike after another. The most pleasurable strikes she’d ever received.

  From her Striker.

  She drew in a sharp breath that was quickly absorbed by his mouth. No matter how much they enjoyed pleasuring each other, he was not her Striker. She must never let such foolish thoughts enter her mind. Although he admitted she was now more than a job, she knew all she was to him was another bed partner.

  He released her mouth to let out one huge guttural growl.

  When she actually felt Striker getting hard inside her again, she blinked, thinking she had to be imagining things. But when he quickly pulled out of her and went to the bathroom, only to come back and put on another condom, she knew she hadn’t imagined anything.

  He eased back between her legs and entered her in one smooth thrust. He began moving, thrusting hard, like he hadn’t just had an orgasm moments earlier. She released a needy moan when sensations began building inside her again. How was that possible? Striker Jennings had to be the most virile man she knew. What other man could do this?

  Striker could. And Striker did.

  * * *

  STRIKER GATHERED MARGO into his arms and held her. When had he become such a greedy ass? It was as if every time he was inside her body he felt at home. He felt the need to take her to the heights he’d always wanted to climb.

  While making love to her, he’d felt on top of the highest mountain. On top of the world. Parasailing across the damn Atlantic Ocean. How could any one woman make him feel that way?

  He looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, and she was moaning and quivering. On the second go-round he hadn’t planned to pound so hard. In fact, he’d established a moderate rhythm. His strokes had been gentle and undemanding. But she’d asked, said she wanted hard again, and he’d had no problem giving her what she wanted.

  “Stri
ker?”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s happening to me?”

  He knew why she was asking. “You’re experiencing orgasmic aftershocks.” Orgasmic aftershocks weren’t all that abnormal after an intense orgasm or a series of them. Usually they only lasted for a minute or two. So far hers had lasted for over five minutes now. If a man hit a woman’s G-spot at a certain angle, followed by the insertion of his finger inside of her for further stimulation, it could cause continuous surges of pleasurable sensations. And he’d deliberately made sure she received the full effect.

  “It will wear off in a minute. How do you feel?”

  “It’s hard to explain.” She glanced up at him. “I feel like you’re still inside of me.”

  “I am.”

  “I mean you. Not your finger.”

  He smiled. “Next time I’ll make sure I stay.”

  She finally stopped trembling and tried lifting her head, but it fell back against his arm. She must be drained. “Next time?”

  Striker stared down at her. Had he said that? He hadn’t meant to give her the impression there would be another time for them. When he inhaled her scent he knew there would be a next time. Somehow he would protect her as well as bed her.

  “You’re okay now,” he said, sliding his finger out of her and then boldly licking that finger while she watched. “Delicious,” he said huskily. “Now we’ll shower, but not together. I don’t want to wear you out too much. Besides, I need to call Quasar to bring our dinner and get an update with Stonewall with the relocation plans.”

  “So we still have to leave here?”

  He shifted to face her. “Yes, but you understand why, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I understand. I just wish they would catch the person responsible, put him in jail and throw away the key.”

  “That might happen. I understand the psychic who they didn’t listen to the last time has agreed to work with them again. If the authorities had taken her seriously before, then they would have known they’d been holding the wrong man.”

  She lifted a brow. “She’s that good?”

  “I hear she has quite a reputation and has worked with law enforcement before. Most notably, she worked with the feds to bust up a human-trafficking ring a couple years ago.”

  “Wow. I hope she uses her psychic abilities to bring an end to all the killings.”

  Striker pulled her closer into his arms. “So do I.”

  * * *

  RANDI TURNED FROM the barred window when she heard a sound behind her. The person she’d been waiting for had entered the room. Murphy Erickson. He seemed surprised to see her, and, just like she had requested, he was alone and wearing no restraints of any kind. Other than the orange prison suit, there was nothing to show that he belonged inside these prison walls.

  He looked over at her, and his lips lifted in a curious smile. “Well, who do we have here?”

  Already she was picking up negative vibes and, in a way, that was a good thing. “I’m Dr. Randi Fuller, Mr. Erickson. A psychic investigator.”

  His eyes narrowed. “A psychic? I didn’t ask to see you.”

  “No, but I asked to see you.”

  He glanced around, and when he looked back at her, his face had hardened. “We’re alone. Don’t know whose idea that was, but it was a stupid one. I could kill you. With my bare hands. What do I have to lose?”

  “What you have to lose is whichever body part you want me to mutilate first. Just so you know, I am a fifth-degree black belt. If you try to attack me, I will hurt you to the point that you’ll wish you were dead. In the end, you might very well be.”

  He stared at her for a minute and then chuckled. “You’re kind of feisty, aren’t you? I like you. But just so you know, I don’t believe in your mumbo-jumbo stuff.”

  “I’m surrounded by skeptics every day, but it doesn’t matter. In the end, I produce results.”

  He pulled out the chair at the table and sat down. “So what do you think you’re going to get out of me?”

  “Anything you want to tell me.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. In the end, I produce results,” he echoed. “We’re up to how many dead people now?”

  Randi stared at him. He was trying to use her own words against her. How could he talk about those people whose lives he’d help to end as nothing more than a means to an end? She wondered how one man could be so evil. The aura surrounding him was vile and full of dark forces. She could barely stand to be in the same room with him.

  When had it all begun for him? Had it been when his mother’s live-in lover had sexually molested him at ten? Or when his mother had whored him out as a teen whenever she needed a fix? Both scenes flashed in Randi’s mind. She had to get past his upbringing since it was clouding the present.

  “Why kill them? They didn’t do anything to you.”

  Her words, as she’d known they would, put him on the defensive. “They did do something to me. I don’t care if some of them were no more than spectators in the courtroom. They were there to witness what they thought was my downfall. So I’m making sure it’s theirs.”

  “Sounds so sinister.”

  “Call it what you like.”

  “You have inside help and they will be dealt with. You’re not working alone.”

  A sudden thought of approval came into his mind, as if he was proud of the way he had pulled everything together, outsmarting both the FBI and local law enforcement. He would probably shield his mind if he knew just how easy he was to read. Normally, she would rely on the murdered victims to help her tune in psychically to their killers. In this case, she would use the one who masterminded these particular killings. She would tap into Erickson’s thoughts to determine how he’d put such an elaborate scheme together.

  “I know what you’re doing,” he said, leaning back in the chair.

  “And what exactly am I doing?”

  “Trying to engage me in conversation, hoping that I’ll slip and tell you something.”

  Randi smiled. “No, actually that’s not how I operate. I’m hoping your mind is trying so hard not to tell me anything that it does anyway. Telepathy, so to speak. But then, you don’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo.”

  He was silent for a minute and then said, “I’m through talking to you.”

  She had begun to rattle him. “Why? Are you afraid your mind might tell me about Wally Forbes? Or Mack Foster?”

  His eyes widened. “How do you know about...?”

  He stopped speaking, so she finished for him. “Those men from your past? Men who once deceived you? The very first men you ever ordered hits on? And the fact that you’re using the same man to carry out the hits now?”

  Erickson stared at her. “You read some damn report on me. That’s how you got those names.”

  Denial was expected. “You think so? Think back, Mr. Erickson. Your name was never linked to their assassinations. You covered your tracks well.”

  “Then you’re guessing.”

  “Am I?” When she mentioned him covering his tracks, something flashed in his mind. He was beginning to doubt himself.

  “Stop! Stop this foolishness or you will die!” he yelled, coming to his feet.

  “You better hope not. I just got a glimpse into something you probably need to know. You will die before I do.”

  She’d said it so matter-of-factly that Erickson paused a moment. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Are you willing to take a chance on your life?”

  He straightened his shoulders. “I’m getting out of here.”

  Images began flowing through Randi’s mind. He was trying to block them but couldn’t.

  “I’m leaving. Like I said, I’m not telling you anything.”

  He went to the door, bang
ed on it a few times, and when it opened, several armed guards stood there, ready to handcuff him and return him to his cell.

  Randi stared at the door. He might not think he’d told her anything, when, in essence, he had revealed so much.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  MARGO GLANCED OVER at Striker. “Where are we going?” They had left her house and were heading to heaven-knew-where. He hadn’t said, and from the delay in his response, he didn’t plan to either.

  “The less you know the better.”

  She sighed, closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. Her body still felt invigorated. Amazing. It had been close to five hours since they’d made love and every so often she would get the most delicious reminders. He no longer had to touch her to set her body on fire. He could look at her, say something to her in a particular tone and she would be immediately turned on. How was that possible? Her entire body was reacting in ways it never had before.

  Giving in to temptation, she opened her eyes and looked at him again. His eyes were on the road. It was dark, so she didn’t bother trying to figure out their surroundings and location. She knew Striker had things under control.

  Quasar had delivered dinner around eight that evening. And in a move she knew annoyed Striker, Quasar had stayed and eaten dinner with them. She found it almost amusing how Quasar spoke in codes that Striker clearly understood.

  After dinner Quasar had left, only to return hours later with a cargo van. After they put Striker’s car in her garage, automatic timers had been placed on the light switches downstairs in her workroom and upstairs in one of the bedrooms. That way the lights would give the impression she was there.

  In the dead of night they loaded up the van and, with Quasar behind the wheel, they had driven to an empty building where they had transferred the items from the van into an SUV. Now she and Striker were on the road alone. Already they had been driving for close to an hour.

  Her phone rang. Thanks to Bruce Townsend, technology whiz, the GPS on her phone had been disabled to make sure her whereabouts could not be traced. It was her uncle. “Uncle Frazier?”