by Lisa Hughey
Needed him to fill that aching, lonely place.
He jerked up her dress and pulled down her panties, her bare ass hanging in the cool air of the hotel room. His hot, thick fingers skimmed over her ass and delved into her weeping pussy.
Rissa fumbled with his pants. Wanting to do the same to him. Bare his ass and cock for her touching pleasure.
He held her so tightly she could barely breathe and she didn’t care. Breathing was overrated.
Pleasure cascaded through her, and fireworks detonated behind her closed eyes as his rough fingers caressed her. He dragged his fingers through her folds, coating them with her arousal. She was drenched. So wet that his fingers slid right in.
God she was so close to coming all over his hand.
Rissa moaned against his throat. So hard to concentrate. She pulled down his zipper and reached into his briefs, just like she’d done earlier today. Except now, for her, he was as hard as the club the cop had used to nudge them into the squad car. She curled her fingers around his fat, smooth pole and rubbed the tip of her thumb over his head. Moisture coated her hand and she knew he was as on edge as she was.
She shoved his khakis down until they were around his thighs, and gripped his ass. They rocked against each other as the frenzy inside built to a deafening fever pitch.
She nipped her way along his strong jaw until she hit his earlobe. “Please.” Fuck me.
She was begging and she didn’t care.
Their position was too awkward to move from, especially with John’s pants constricting his movements.
“I need you inside me,” she demanded. “Now.”
“Fuck, Rissa.”
A visceral thrill raced through her as he groaned her name. Her sex was a gaping, empty vessel that only he could fill. They needed to stay right here and slake their thirst. Her brain desperately searched for a way to make this happen. Now.
John took a careful step back. “No,” she moaned.
But then he spun her around so she faced the barstool she’d been perched on. With rough, impatient hands he grabbed her hips.
“Yes.” Rissa figured out what he wanted and bent over, stuck her ass in the air, giving him access. “Do it.”
She hated that she couldn’t see his face, but when his fat head rubbed at her pussy all thoughts disappeared into a puff of lust.
Her sex clenched, trying to suck his cock inside her by sheer force of will.
“Stop being so gentle. Fuck me,” she commanded.
John slammed inside.
God, he filled her up. His thick staff invaded, conquered, and her body surrendered like a maiden to a marauding Viking.
He dominated, shoving into her with sharp, short thrusts. Every slam of their bodies hit that spot inside her and supercharged her pleasure. Rissa gripped the edge of the seat and rammed back against his thrusts as he pounded into her.
Her ass slammed against his belly, his balls slapped against her pussy with each bang.
The rest of her body was still completely covered. The cushioned seat of the barstool abraded her tight nipples. And even with her heels on she had to stand on her tiptoes for the perfect angle.
John grunted with every rock and thrust of his hips. Pressure built inside her until she exploded in a fiery mass. White lights sparkled behind her closed eyelids as her body imploded in a spectacular concussion of sound and sensation.
Euphoria fizzed in her bloodstream, the culmination of all those lovely pheromones. Rissa sagged against the seat of the barstool. She rested her cheek on the cushion, her chest heaving and her breath coming in quick pants.
Still buried deep inside her, the root of John’s cock pressed relentlessly against her clit. He jerked as he came, brutal jets shot inside her, his orgasm pulsing vigorously against her sensitized channel. He continued to pump into her, and another climax rolled over her.
She had never come so intensely in her life. A swell of gratitude and thick strong emotion crowded her, making it difficult to breathe.
Out of her peripheral vision she watched him stiffen. Remorse and revulsion stole over him. She knew he was going to pull away a moment before he withdrew from her body.
Sticky semen trickled down her leg, like the hope and gratitude trickling from her heart. Until another more practical thought entered her mind. They’d had unprotected sex.
She was on the pill. But still, not the brightest move.
She lay there, not wanting to face him. Not wanting to see the loathing in his eyes. He’d been pissed. Not horny. And still she didn’t necessarily want to see the condemnation on his face. Not wanting to be hit with what was sure to be an emotional blow.
She knew he’d never hit her physically. But words could damage more easily than tissue and bones.
“Fuck me.” He stumbled away from her and put his hand out to steady himself on the breakfast bar counter.
She refused to play the wounded victim. “I believe those were my words.”
John flinched.
Rissa pulled up her thong and pulled down her dress. She could cover her body far more efficiently than she could protect her heart.
But slowly she stood and faced him.
His pants hovered at mid-thigh. His cock was still semi-erect and glistened with her juices in the low light of the kitchen.
The evidence of their mistake and their passion was enough to have her knees dip. He was gorgeous.
But that wasn’t going to get her out of this sudden awkwardness.
“Nothing like angry sex to take the edge off.” Rather than pretend that hadn’t just happened, she was going to shove it in his face. Show him that she was fine. That she wasn’t figuratively shattered and lying naked on the cool ceramic tile.
She’d deal with the fallout, no problem.
Holy shit. He’d practically mauled her. John yanked his pants to his waist, he needed to get the fuck away from her.
Her words, angry sex, rolled through him in a tide of shame.
“Good to know you’re DTF with a cripple to take the edge off.” He hoped the crude sentiment would have her run. But he should have known better.
“You’ve got to admit, you needed it.” She’d angled slightly away from him, so he couldn’t see her face. See her eyes.
You needed it. But she had too. Unless…had that really been what happened just now? She’d taken pity on him? It certainly hadn’t seemed that way, but shit. His perceptions of life were skewed, weren’t they? All his life he’d believed his father was a hero. Then he’d found out the guy was a class-A asshole.
Maybe his entire life had been some kind of disconnect between his wishes and reality.
Because how else could he explain what had just happened? Yes, he’d been pissed.
She’d put herself in harm’s way. And he’d had no fucking idea how to get them out of the situation. Until the very end of their night, when Jack’s pal from Vice came into the interrogation room, he’d really thought they were going to jail. At the very least for the night.
But it turned out their entire booking was for show. The cops had gone through the arrest processes so that whoever was running the stable of prostitutes wouldn’t get suspicious of them.
According to Jack’s friend at the LVPD, they had been trying for years to get something on this ring but couldn’t ever get anyone to roll over on who was running the building. Once the Feds had been made aware that the entire building was basically one big bordello, they had someone on site at the LVPD in a matter of hours.
And finally with the information that Jack had given them regarding Manuel Ortega, they were able to reverse trace ownership of the building back to Ortega.
It was a major break in their case.
John and Rissa had gotten a break too. Anna had not identified either Sophia or Graciela, but her heart rate and temperature had elevated at their pictures, so they now knew that she knew, or had known, them.
Anna was currently in protective custody. They didn’t want Ortega to be t
ipped off.
They were preparing the warrants but because of the scope of the search and arrest, it was going to take a few days to get all their ducks in a row. In the meantime, John and Rissa were supposed to sit tight. But John had no intention of waiting to find Sophia and Graciela.
No matter what the FBI and the LVPD wanted.
“What are you thinking right now?” She narrowed her eyes at him.
“Forget it.” John jerked on his zipper and let the tails of his shirt cover the damp material of his crotch.
“But—”
“Tomorrow I’ll continue the search for the girls.” John didn’t need or want her help.
“You don’t…trust me.” Rissa jammed her hands on her hips, the action strained the material of her top.
John’s dick started to rise at the covered mounds. How was it even possible that he could get turned on by a tight little dress that covered Rissa, when Anna’s bare breasts, right in his face, had done nothing? That pissed him off even more. His body reacted to Rissa’s without any effort on her part, which was why he needed to get the fuck away from her.
“Sure I do.” He shifted his gaze away from her. Away from the temptation. Because as much as he liked her, she didn’t want him for anything other than a quick fuck in the dark.
“Really?”
“But you can stay here and guard Maria,” John said. “It’s going to be hard enough for her as it is, once she finds out that her friends have been basically prisoners all these years.”
Rissa had a pained expression on her face. “We can have Maria stay with Keisha and Shane. Then we can both look for the girls.”
“I’d rather handle this part of the operation by myself.” John shook his head. “One person will be less conspicuous than two.”
They had a very limited window of opportunity. The LVPD could only “hold” Anna for seventy-two hours before they had to release her or charge her. If they didn’t, then Ortega would definitely get suspicious.
Because the doorman refused to take money, the case against Anna was nearly nonexistent, even though she was naked when the cops burst in. There was no evidence to support the solicitation charge, even with Nevada’s loose interpretation of solicitation.
Rissa snarled, “Well, that isn’t very partner-like.”
John retreated a step.
A sharp, stabbing sensation transformed his left quad muscle into an instrument of pain.
He must have made some sound because Rissa’s annoyance shifted to concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He held the groan in his chest and tried to breathe through the excruciating cramp as his muscle bunched into a hard knot and gripped so tight he wondered if he’d ever loosen up again.
Just like his yoga instructor had taught him, he envisioned sending healing breath to the ravaged muscle so it would relax.
Bile rose in his stomach.
“Not nothing.” She fisted her hands on her hips, waiting for his answer.
“Cramp,” he ground out harshly. God, his leg was on fire. “I’m fine.”
She snorted. “Right.”
“I will be in a minute,” he clarified. He was lying through his clenched teeth.
“Bet if I count to sixty, you’ll still be in pain.”
“See you in the morning.” He hoped she’d just go quietly to her room. At the very least the after-sex awkward was gone, replaced by story-of-his-life awkward. And yeah if he had a little pang of regret, he’d squash it.
John didn’t want to pivot around. His good leg could handle it but he wasn’t sure the shift in balance would work for his left.
Piercing pain stabbed through his leg, traveling up his hamstring and zinging his lower back as he backed away slowly.
“How can I help?” Rissa grabbed his forearm lightly.
She couldn’t. No one could. He just needed to get to his bed, and fall back in agony, until the cramps went away. “I’ll be fine.”
John swallowed a sigh of relief when she headed to her room.
He should have thought more about his leg earlier. Today had been much longer than a typical day for him. When he went to work for Jack, he’d have to pay more attention to what was going on with his body.
John limped carefully toward his bed, trying to put as little weight as possible on his fully knotted-up leg.
If he could get there and get his prosthetic off, he’d start to feel better. That was his story and he was sticking to it. If sheer determination counted, he’d definitely feel better soon. Hopefully.
His heartbeat thudded in his ears as the wash of pain drowned out everything else. John dropped to his king-size bed.
He closed his eyes and groaned. This was going to hurt like a bitch.
Next to him the bed depressed. His eyes popped open and there she was, holding a large glass of water in her hand.
“Drink this.”
He gulped down the water in one long swallow and shoved the glass back at her. Rissa set the glass on the half wall that separated the Jacuzzi tub from the bedroom area.
But she still didn’t leave.
John figured there was one way to make her leave. His stomach heaved as he unzipped his pants and shoved them halfway down his thighs. It wasn’t lost on him that right this moment his pants were in the exact same spot as when he’d been pounding into her from behind. An easy way to avoid the reality of having sex with an amputee.
She pushed him back on the bed. “Lift your hips.”
The pressure on his leg sent fiery shooting pains through his body but he bit back a moan and lifted up. Rissa eased his khakis down his legs. She knelt at his feet to gently remove his shoes and then slid his pants all the way off.
John curled to an upright position and began the process of taking off his prosthetic. Fuck, the pump to remove the suction seal was on the other side of the bed.
John rubbed his hands down his face and let his breath out in a heavy sigh. “Can you hand me that pump on the bedtable?”
She retrieved the pump and handed it to him silently.
“I’m good now.” But she still didn’t leave.
John began the process of removing his leg, bile roiled in his stomach. This time from an odd kind of fear, rather than pain.
With the exception of that moment in the tub, no one besides his doctors and nurses had ever seen his stump in the light. Yeah, he knew he needed to get over it. But recovery was a slow, one-step-forward, two-steps-backward process. And dealing with someone else’s disgust was pretty far down on his list of problems.
He rolled off the silicone liner that protected his residual limb. John had a myoelectric prosthetic that actually registered electrical impulses from his body and helped with ankle mobility. Although typically more common in arm prosthesis, it worked in his transtibial limb. He finished removing his limb and tossed it on the bed.
Rissa chuckled. “Semper Fi.” The cover for his limb was tattooed with the Marine Corps motto and shield.
“Ooh rah,” John said wryly.
Once the pressure on his stump eased, the muscles of his quad and thigh knotted even more tightly. As if the muscle had been waiting for him to release the suction hold and torture him.
Peppermint, crisp and energizing, permeated the room. Suddenly Rissa placed her warm, oiled hands over the tense muscles. With deep digs of her thumbs she massaged in circular motions, spending most of her time on the giant knot at mid-thigh.
“I’ll smell like a fucking candy cane.”
“But you’ll feel much better,” she argued.
John opened his mouth to grouse some more, but she was right. The peppermint oil had already began heating and warming his muscles, and the knot was slowly dissipating.
She continued up and down the length of his thigh, at one point coming way too close to his crotch. And like Pavlov’s dogs, as soon as her fingers hit a certain point, his dick rose up to show its appreciation of her efforts.
He thought about ignoring his body’s
response. “He likes you.”
“I like him too,” she finally replied. She tilted her head so that her hair hid her face. “Is it okay if I…?”
She gestured to his stump.
Based on the way the rest of his leg was feeling, he thought it might help. But then she’d have to touch it. He actually avoided looking at the severed limb even though he still rubbed the damaged tissue daily to help with nerve endings and scar tissue.
“Yeah.” When she put her hands on him, he moaned.
“It must really hurt,” she murmured.
His mouth quirked. “It’s just a papercut.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what the multiple amputees call my injury.”
Rissa’s melodic laughter wrapped him in joy. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Those guys made his simple amputation easier to bear.
“Roll over.”
“Someone is bossy.”
“Always.” She nudged him. So John finally rolled over onto his stomach. And Rissa began to massage his hamstring. He hadn’t even appreciated how tight he was until she hit a particularly sore spot and dug in.
Rissa had climbed up on the bed and was perched next to him as she worked at the tense muscles beneath her fingers.
The heat from her oil-warmed hands was working on other parts of his anatomy in unsuspecting ways. His erection pressed into the mattress, and he stifled a groan that wasn’t entirely due to the release of tension in his muscles. As she continued, his cock hardened even more.
The room heated, shrank, until breath stopped up in his lungs because the tenor of her massage had changed from therapeutic to long, slow meandering strokes that detonated his brain, synapses firing in a completely inappropriate manner.
Hadn’t they decided the hate fuck from earlier had been a mistake?
Warm peppermint vanquished the last of the stink from the police station. “As nice as this has been…” He began the simple words to get her out of his room. And the fuck off his bed, before they did something they’d regret. Again.
Rissa straddled his thighs, pushed the tails of his button-down shirt up until she could pull the shirt over his head, exposing his bare back. She rubbed her hands over him in long, leisurely strokes. She bent over his back, pressing harder until he could feel her breath on the back of his neck.
