Red Zone

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  His touch was slow, languorous, torturous. Delicious.

  “When do I get to learn you?” When do I get to torture you?

  His finger circled her clit, making her moan, then the devil threw himself onto his back beside her.

  “Have at it.” His grin was wide as he clasped his hands under his head.

  Friday glared at him. “That was mean.”

  His look of faux innocence made her want to laugh. He was playing with her, and she loved it. There hadn’t been a whole lot of time to play in her life, and this man made up for it.

  “I got no idea what you’re talking about. I’m doin’ everything I can to please you. I thought you wanted to learn me. All I’m doin’ is accommodating you, chère. You think you’d be a little more appreciative.”

  “You’re a devil.” But excitement surged at the thought of getting her hands on his body. Muscles like those were made to be studied.

  She knelt up beside him, uncaring that she was naked in her eagerness to get her hands on him. He was an all-you-can-eat-buffet, and she was a starving woman. Her eyes roamed over every inch of him. Over the strong line of his throat, across those overly muscled shoulders, down his rippling abs, and then they got stuck on his very impressive erection.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  He chuckled, low and deep. “I find that hard to believe. You’re looking at me like you’re gonna eat me up.”

  She felt her cheeks heat, aware that she couldn’t drag her eyes from his penis. Her mouth actually watered at the sight. It was long, thick, and curved up toward his stomach. A glance at his face told her he was watching her with a mixture of amusement and anticipation.

  “Can I touch it?” Her fingers tingled at the thought. “I’ve only done this once before, and I didn’t get to touch.”

  “You didn’t get to touch?”

  She shrugged. “No, he just told me to lie down on the lab floor and get ready. Then he lay on top of me and we were done a couple of minutes later.”

  He let out a stream of French curse words. “Please tell me he didn’t force you.”

  “No. I wanted to see what sex was like.” She looked up at him and gave him the truth. She didn’t want him to be disappointed in her. “I don’t think it’s very good. Or, at least, I’m not very good at it. You should know that.”

  “What I know is that the guy you slept with was a grade A asshole, and if it wasn’t good for you, then that’s on him.”

  She sucked in a breath as his words flowed straight to her heart. It was clear he meant them. He was also angry—on her behalf. From the throbbing vein at the side of his jaw, she suspected her one and only previous lover might get a visit from Striker. One where he explained exactly what the guy should have done differently. She made a note never to tell Striker his name.

  “Can I touch it, then?”

  His eyes softened. “You can touch anything you like.”

  “Do I have to be gentle?”

  “You planning on bending it in half, chère? Because it sure don’t work that way.”

  “I’m worried that, you know, I’ll hurt you.”

  “Gimme your hand.”

  She complied instantly. He took it to his hard shaft and wrapped her fingers around it—barely. He was wider than her wrist. He covered her hand with his, holding her to him. And then he squeezed. His hips came up off the bed, and he groaned.

  She wondered how he could feel so firm and yet so soft at the same time.

  “That’s how hard you can touch me,” he said hoarsely. He released her and put his hand back behind his head. “That help?”

  “Yes. That was very helpful. Thank you.”

  Vaguely, Friday wondered if anyone had ever written a scientific paper on pressure tolerance in male reproductive organs. Would there be a standard level of pressure one could exert on all penises? Or would each have a different limit?

  “Hey,” Striker sounded amused. “You still with me?”

  She blinked. “Yes.” She still held him firmly, but not as tightly, in her hand.

  “Good.” He closed his eyes. “Then worship me. I’m waiting, chère.”

  What was it about that arrogant amused tone of his that let him get away with murder? She bet he’d charmed his way out of trouble for most of his life. “Does anyone resist that wicked charm of yours?”

  He opened one eye, the one that didn’t show his other half. “Don’t see you complying right now. My cock is in your hand, bébé. You gonna do something about that? And I don’t mean use it as a play mic for singing show tunes.”

  Once again, he’d lost her. “I only understand about half of what you say.”

  “Touch me, or I’m gonna end your turn and go back to playing with your sexy little body.”

  “You think my body’s sexy?”

  “You’re holding my hard-on in your fist. It didn’t get like that by accident. You caused it. Now, are you gonna do something, or what?”

  She let go of him as she grumbled about his attitude. She pushed his thighs apart and climbed over his leg to kneel between his knees. Oh, this was a much better view. Her fingers squeezed thigh muscles that made her want to weep, then made her want to investigate why she’d had that reaction. She shook her head. This physical stuff was too confusing.

  “I’m still waiting,” he said.

  “Stop pressuring me. I’m deciding.”

  His body was perfection, and she hardly knew where to start with him. But her inexperience was making her worry. Striker was her first official naked man. Well, outside of her genetics classes in college, where they had dead bodies to study. Did dead bodies count? She shuddered, hoping they didn’t.

  “I’m almost afraid to ask what you’re thinking.” He brought her attention back to him. Before she could answer, he held up a hand. “No. Don’t. I know whatever it is, it’s gonna lead us down some weird path and away from the good stuff. Just get your head in the game and touch me. You got one more minute before I give up and go back to playing with you.”

  “You are so impatient,” she complained.

  He arched an eyebrow at her and waited.

  She looked down his beautiful body and felt completely out of her depth. There wasn’t an inch of the man she didn’t want to experience. Well, maybe a couple. She eyed the diamondback tattoo.

  “Maybe you should get rid of your snake before we have sex. I don’t want him watching us.”

  He heaved a sigh. “First, we ain’t having sex. Right now, we’re having nothing because you’re too busy stalling. At this rate, we ain’t never gonna have sex. Second, the talking handbag is out cold. Nothing’s gonna wake him up.” He leveled her with a stare. “Now. Do. Something.”

  “Fine!” With an irritated scowl, she leaned forward and took the head of his cock into her mouth.

  “Fuck!”

  His hips came off the bed, and his arm shot out from under his head. She felt his fingers tighten in her hair as she cataloged the sensations she was experiencing. He felt spongy and satin smooth. She tested the taste with her tongue, twirling around the mushroom-shaped head—salty, a little bitter, but not unpleasant. Striker groaned. His hips flexed, making him slip from her mouth.

  “Stay still,” she ordered before sucking him back into her mouth. This time she kept a firm hand wrapped around his shaft to stop him from sabotaging her play time.

  With another lap at the crown of his penis, she decided she liked his taste. Although, it probably would have been more addictive if it were sweet rather than salty. Or flavored. Oh, chocolate would be great. She wondered if she could manipulate male genetics to make him taste chocolatey.

  “Stop doin’ fucking science experiments in your head and suck!”

  She frowned as she twirled her tongue around the satin skin. How did he know what she was thinking? Was it a gift the mutated DNA gave him? Could he hear her right now? Striker? She thought hard. Can you hear me?

  “That’s it!” He arched up, grabbed her
under her arms, and tossed her onto her back beside him.

  He pinned her with a leg over her thigh. She tried to decide his emotion, hoping it wasn’t anger or disappointment. To her confusion, he mainly seemed frustrated and amused.

  “I did it wrong, didn’t I?”

  His eyes crinkled. “What were you trying to do exactly?”

  She felt her cheeks burn. “I thought that was obvious. I was trying to give you pleasure, um, orally.”

  He let his head fall, his eyes shut, and his shoulders began to shake. Was he laughing at her? This was mortifying.

  “I told you I’d never done this before.” What did he expect? Did he think all women were born knowing how to have sex? It wasn’t like she’d taken a class on it. Were there classes in it? A distance learning course would be perfect. She could do it while she was stuck in Striker’s lair for the next year. If she didn’t die first, that was.

  “And I’ve lost you again. You are murder on a man’s ego. I can honestly say I’ve never had this much trouble keeping a woman interested when she’s in bed with me.”

  “Really? Now we’re going to talk about your many other women?”

  He ignored her. “You’re thinking too much. Sex is about feeling.”

  “I was feeling you,” she protested. “With my mouth.”

  “I don’t mean touching, I mean experiencing. You sat there with my cock in your mouth for about five minutes doing nothing. You didn’t move. You just sat there. Your brain working so hard I could almost hear it. What the hell were you thinking about?”

  Her cheeks were really burning now. “I was wondering if we could communicate telepathically. And…” She looked away from him, but her view was filled with overdeveloped shoulders instead. It didn’t help. “I was wondering if it would be possible to tweak your genetics to make you taste like chocolate.”

  There was a pause before his whole body started shaking. His forehead fell to her shoulder, and his laughter was deep and hard. Friday lay there, enduring his amusement and wishing she hadn’t bothered to touch him in the first place. This sex thing was far too complicated. She should leave it to the professionals.

  At last, Striker moved back to look at her. His eyes were sparkling, and his smile was wide. “I can see that big brain of yours is apt to derail us if we let it. I don’t think you’re ready for touching without supervision, so this is how we’re gonna do things—”

  “I don’t want to have sex anymore,” she interrupted. And yes, she was pouting. “I don’t think it works for me. I’m fairly certain I won’t enjoy it and you won’t, either. I think we should forget about the sex thing and concentrate on the research part of the deal.” She thought about it. That seemed a tad harsh. “We can kiss,” she amended. She liked his kisses, and he hadn’t complained about hers. Yes, kissing would be okay. “But nothing else. I don’t like sex. I’ve tried it, and it was awful. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. So, do we have a deal?”

  “Oh, we have something, that’s for sure. I just don’t know what to call it yet.”

  With that cryptic statement, he closed the gap between them and covered her mouth with his. His lips were soft and firm and delicious. Yes. She could do kissing. But nothing else. And then his hand slid down her throat to cup her breast, and Friday thought maybe she could do that, too. But nothing else. And then, his tongue delved into her mouth, and she lost track of all her thoughts. When he pulled away, she mewled her annoyance—sounding more like a disgruntled kitten who’d lost its favorite toy than a full-grown woman.

  “From now on…” His voice was rough against her lips. “I’m in charge in bed.” He cocked his head as though thinking about it. “And out of bed, too. But definitely in bed. You can touch me all you like, but you don’t get to take over.”

  That didn’t sound fair at all. “Why not?”

  “Because the only way we’ll get your brain to shut down long enough for us both to enjoy this is if I make sure you’re too lust-dazed to think.”

  “I’m not sure I like your attitude.” Although, she couldn’t exactly disagree with him.

  “Bébé.” He nuzzled at her throat, pressing into her and making her breasts flatten against his firm chest. Her hips rose up to meet him. Why did it still feel like there was too much distance between them?

  “I want to touch you, too. You said I could play.”

  “Oh, you can play. You can touch me all you like. But you’re a beginner, bébé. Your brain short circuits your body when you try anything beyond your level. Until you’ve reached the advanced level, you can only play when I’m touching you, too.”

  He bit the muscle where her shoulder met her neck and she gasped. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder.

  “That doesn’t sound fair.” Her protest was breathless and distracted.

  He kissed his way up her throat to her ear. “Don’ worry, you’re a fast learner. You’ll reach the advanced level in no time at all.”

  Her body was undulating beneath his. His touch making her lose track of reality. She wanted to float away on the sensations he provoked. She actually had to fight to think straight. “Is there a textbook on this?”

  He pulled her earlobe between his lips and nibbled. Oh! Why did that feel so good?

  “I’ll find one for you,” he whispered against her ear, making her gasp.

  His voice should be outlawed. It made her blood turn to molten honey.

  “One what?” She arched her neck, exposing her throat for him.

  “Exactly.” He nibbled along her jaw and down her throat.

  She hooked her leg over his thigh. She needed. Oh, how she needed.

  “Striker?” It was a plea for something she didn’t fully understand and instinctively knew he could supply.

  “Don’ worry, bébé, I got you.”

  She ran her hand over his smooth head, searching for hair to cling to and finding none. Somehow the frustration of not being able to hold his hair made her need heighten. She moaned as his mouth moved down her body to her breasts, tasting and biting and kissing. Her skin was on fire. She felt like she was burning up from the inside out.

  “Please, Striker, please.”

  She didn’t know what she was begging for, but he did. He captured her nipple with his mouth and sucked hard, pressing it against the roof of his mouth.

  “Yes!” Her back arched, offering her body up to him.

  Her mind was filled with fog. But this fog wasn’t cold and isolating. It was a warm, delicious mist that carried her away from everything except his expert touch. She floated on sensation, desperate for more. Nothing had ever felt this good. The press of his body against hers. The feel of his wide, strong hands holding her firmly, anchoring her lest she float away entirely. And his mouth. His mouth was wickedly wonderful. He was a master at giving pleasure, demanding she take what he gave her, demanding she enjoy everything he did to her. And she was more than willing to comply to those demands.

  His mouth moved lower as his hands shaped and caressed every inch of her. Little bursts of color flashed inside her eyelids. Fireworks, he was making fireworks. She felt hot. Needy. Desperate for more.

  “Please!”

  His reply was a grunt before he pushed her legs wide and angled his broad shoulders between them. One long lick and she lost her mind completely. She was pure sensation, moving in the rhythm he dictated.

  “So good, so, so good…”

  She couldn’t stop the words or gasps or moans. His wicked tongue teased her higher and higher, making muscles tense and burn, making her feel empty inside, clenching for something that wasn’t there yet and needed to be there soon or she would scream from desperation.

  “I need you.” A sobbing, begging plea.

  “Shh, bébé, trust me. I’m gonna make you fly first. Just let go for me.”

  His words made no sense, yet meant everything to her. She clung to them. Clung to him. She wasn’t sure what part of his body she was holding, all she knew was that there was firm, hot mus
cle under her fingers. She was going to burst. No, explode. It was too much. Too, too much. She felt his lips cover her most sensitive bundle of nerves. He sucked. Time stopped. And then everything exploded in a shower of lights and wails and desperately spasming muscles. She came back down to earth slowly, unaware of anything other than her limp muscles and panting breaths. She shook. She ached. She clenched. And she wanted more.

  Striker’s mouth descended on hers, and he claimed her in a punishing kiss that took everything she had left to give. She felt his body press against hers, covering her with his strength and heat. She fought to open her eyes, managing to get her eyelids up far enough to peer at him. And he was magnificent.

  He held himself on locked arms, making his muscles bulge. His bronze skin held a glittering sheen that made him seem godlike. And his eyes. His eyes held a wealth of promise and depth of need that thrilled her.

  “How do you feel? Tired? Sore? We can stop if it’s too much.” His eyes scanned down her body, hardening at the sight of her bruises. “Maybe we should stop.”

  “No!” She clung to him. “Please, I want this. I want you.”

  It was reassuring to see he was torn, just as desperate as she was in her need for him. His throat flexed. “I’ll be gentle, but if you feel pain, if you want to stop this, we stop. Am I clear?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  The corded muscles in his neck flexed as he lined himself up with her. With energy she didn’t even know she had left, her hands flew to his hips, and she held on tight. She felt every wide, hard inch of him as he entered her. Slow. Sure. Being careful with her. Thinking of her before himself. Melting her heart as he did so. His jaw tightening with restraint was the sexiest sight she’d ever seen. She couldn’t look away. She was mesmerized. Captivated. Caught.

  And then, without warning, his hips flexed, and he surged the rest of the way inside her. Friday clung to him, her fingers biting into flesh. Her head fell back. Her eyes squeezed closed. And a long, glorious moan of desperation and ecstasy left her lips.