Bolt Saga, Volume 2

by Angel Payne

  “Fuck.” I take the chance to fling the expression back as an amazed gasp while boldly exploring the sleek, sculpted lines of his torso. His perfect V of a form, so familiar yet so new. The little things are what memory makes fuzzy, even after just five days. The way his nipples tighten when I caress his hard pecs. The sharp rolls of his hips as I graze down his abdomen. The beads of sweat along his eyebrows as he struggles to hold himself in check.

  “Christ, Emmalina.” He fans the words, heavy and hot, across my forehead. “I’ve missed you.”

  I’m not surprised when he pushes me the remaining two feet back until I’m sandwiched between the wall and him. “I missed you too. So much that I dreamed about you.”

  “Oh?” His grunt is deep and low and arrogant. “And what was I doing…in your dreams?”

  “Hmmm.” I issue the sound as he reaches in, releasing the buttons of my jeans with swift, smooth twists. “A lot of stuff…like this.”

  He growls softly and plunges a hand down, skirting past my panties, until cupping my damp, trembling mound with his sure, sultry touch. “I’m not a man of ambiguities, Emma.”

  “No.” How I manage to laugh it out, especially as he parts my lower lips and circles in a long finger, searching for my most sensitive core, is a mystery. “You…you certainly aren’t.”

  “Then don’t insult me with yours.” With his other hand, he guides both my arms over my head before locking them there, his grip across my wrists. “Tell me what I did with you…in your wicked fantasies.” As his mouth descends toward mine, he spreads heat across my entire face. “What I did to you.”

  Okay, I’m not laughing anymore. I’m barely breathing, for fear that he’ll stop bringing my body such consuming shudders and my senses the perfect plummet of surrendering to him…being filled and invaded and completely swept away by him…

  Especially as he spills a sizzling snarl against my lips, hitches a knowing grin, and jolts my pussy with a shock of sheer electricity.

  Chapter Two

  Reece

  “Oh, my…hell!”

  I watch her face as the words tumble from her lips—unable to tame the cocky chuckle that bursts from my own. “Oh, Velvet,” I admonish. “I’ve already gotten a few good peeks at hell. This is nothing like it.”

  “Good to know.” She nearly runs the words together before succumbing to more needy pants. “Just…just don’t stop. Holy shit. Wh-What…are you doing to m-me?”

  I smile down into her face, taking in every inch of her mounting desire. Primal victory fills me. The quivers of her lashes, the blooms on her cheeks, the sweet parting of her lips… All of it tells me how. “I fine-tuned a few things while you were gone.”

  Her gaze pops open, narrowing on mine with startling clarity. “You— You did what?”

  I grin, cranking up the smugness. “Okay, it was more like…practiced. Taught myself some modulations.”

  “M-Modulations. To your fingers?” When I nod, she swallows hard. “I’m not sure whether to be excited or scared.”

  At once, her confession thickens my blood. It’s heaviest inside my balls, which throb beyond the realm of blue—and not helped by the words I issue in reply. “What’s wrong with both?”

  Emma’s pupils dilate. She inhales and then exhales, her breathing jumpy. “Is that what you want? For me to feel both?”

  It’s not the answer I expect but maybe the one I need. Now that Bolt is taking a break—perhaps retiring for good—it’s been difficult to fight off some bizarre shit in my brain. Okay, maybe not so crazy for any other guy, but my entire life, I’ve never been “any other guy.” As a kid, I was the family’s signature troublemaker. When carnal knowledge became an actionable thing, I became the jet set’s signature womanizer. For the last year, Bolt has been my hell-raising outlet—but in putting even him aside now, who am I?

  Not Mister fucking Rogers, that’s for damn certain.

  But not the guy who’s going to let the Consortium slink away quietly into the good night either. They’re still out there, maybe everywhere, contemplating whose life they’re going to fuck up next. Using Angelique La Salle and others like her to lure unsuspecting schmucks into their laboratory of horrors and then ruining those lives. And yeah, maybe ending a few. Hanging up Bolt’s leathers doesn’t suddenly preclude me from doing the right thing. The necessary thing.

  Finding them.

  And taking them down.

  But Emma doesn’t—and won’t—know that.

  Which has led me to dealing with a question I know nothing about.

  Does she still want me, even without the danger high I once brought?

  Thank fuck, the only answer I observe across her face is an unequivocal yes. Even better? For some reason I might not ever fathom, she’s still, blatantly, all in on seeing my danger factor. Her body shivers from it. Her skin pebbles from it. Her chest huffs, frantic as a virgin in a horror movie, from it.

  Ensnaring my attention downward by the second…

  Wondering if other parts of her are just as clear about her fear. And needing to find out.

  I slide my hand down from her wrists. Hook one finger, then two, into the V of her sweater, which aligns with the hammering pulse at the base of her neck. Revel in how that rhythm speeds up—just before I fire up the ends of those two fingers and cut them through her clothing like scissors of fire. With another flick, I decimate the center point of her bra as well.

  “Oh, my God,” Emma grates. It hasn’t escaped my attention that her hands have remained where I ordered them, over her head against the wall, even though I’ve just undressed her from the waist up using my fingers like kinky lightsabers.

  “Was this what I was doing?” I spread my fingers into the valley between her exposed tits, brushing lightly so all she feels is something like heightened static charges. “In your dreams…was I doing things like this to you?”

  She shakes her head. Wets her lips. “Even my dreams weren’t this good.”

  Another answer that exceeds my dreams too. “Good,” I snarl, sprawling fingers completely over one of her breasts, letting the tiny charges fan out over her flesh as I take her mouth in a hot, open kiss. She groans into me and bucks against me, increasing the friction of my buzzing fingers across her engorged clit, especially as I push her hood aside and rub directly over her most vulnerable nerves.

  “Reece!” She openly writhes now, nearly climbing me like a wildcat. Her head is tucked beneath mine. She rolls and thrusts her hips. “Holy shit, please!”

  “Please what?” My taunt is quiet but serious.

  “You know what.” She angrily juts her crotch against my hand. “I need this. Damn it, I-I need to—”

  “I know what you need.” My tone broaches no argument and receives none from her lips—though she still combats me with her body, arching and lunging and gasping. “But I also know what I need.”

  “Anything.” She lowers her hands to my shoulders, digging in her fingers to affirm her point. But does she have any damn idea what I’m about to ask?

  I don’t think so.

  I step back, putting a few feet of distance between us, and hook my fore and middle fingers into my front pocket to hide their glow. I attempt not to think about what kind of hypocrite that turns me into in the eyes of karma, as I stand here with my fucking fingers in my pants getting ready to issue this kind of an order to my proud, kick-ass goddess of a girlfriend.

  But I’m going to do it anyway.

  Because deep down, I think—I know—it’s what we both need.

  “Go inside,” I finally murmur. “Into the bedroom. Then take off the rest of your clothes.”

  An impish smile takes over the lush lines of her lips. “And wait for you in bed?”

  I don’t return her expression. I keep my own features on strict lockdown, even while pulling in a measured breath before expelling it with just as much control. “No. You’ll wait for me on the floor. On your knees.”

  EMMA

  I wish I co
uld say this doesn’t turn me on.

  With any other man, it probably wouldn’t. Likely wouldn’t. It’d be thirty-one flavors of weird, slathered in an inch of uncomfortable and topped with a glob of whipped nerves.

  But this is Reece. The man who’s given me more. So much more. Most importantly, the more of himself. Of his heart and soul and life.

  But not right now.

  Not during any second of any minute since I’ve been back in California.

  The conclusion is a clanging truth in my mind as I enter the villa’s huge bedroom, where a four-poster king bed is centered on a blue and cream rug in a Spanish-style pattern. Capping one end of the rug is a built-in fireplace, in which flames already crackle against the logs. California or not, this is the Santa Barbara coast, so it’ll be chilly tonight.

  And there’s my custom-made reminder, right on time.

  Chilly.

  It’s the exact word to describe what I’ve been sensing from the man for the last three hours. On an afternoon when we should be plugging back into each other via every circuit we’ve ever connected together, a lot of those breakers are still dark and jammed. He’s turned on the lights but not the heat.

  He’s the Reece I knew before he laid Bolt’s mask in my hand.

  Before I knew he’d been managing a hotel by day and saving a city by night.

  Before I knew that on any one of those brazen Bolt missions, he might not come home—because the nutwings who’d turned him into a real-life freak were still determined to recover their exotic escaped test animal.

  Before he’d finally realized he had to stop.

  But what if he hasn’t? What if, for whatever insane reason, he’s put the leathers on again and isn’t telling me? What if he’s turning our reunion sex toward some kinky fun in order to disguise that fact? A blindfolded girl can’t see battle bruises.

  By the time I’ve written that full scenario in my head, I’m already on my knees at the foot of the bed. But fuming about it isn’t an option because every molecule of air in the room changes as the man enters the room, shutting the door with a dominant whomp, though his steady stare never leaves my naked, trembling form.

  He swipes a hand toward the entertainment console against the wall. At once, haunting synth beats fill the room like drops of nighttime rain. I hate him and love him at once for the selection. He knows all about my shivering attachment to this song by K.Flay. It’s about beauty in blackness, salvation in silence, brightness in fading…

  It’s about how I feel when I lose myself in him. Am repowered by him.

  Exactly what he’s ordering me to do right now.

  His stance says it, with his bare feet on either side of my knees. His body says it, the ridges of his abdomen flexing as I look up. His whole face says it, with his steely jaw and flaring nostrils. At once, my nipples turn into points. My limbs turn into melted arousal. My pussy turns into a needy puddle.

  And that’s just the start.

  Because then he parts his perfect, full lips and states in a clipped, low baritone, “You’re mine right now, Emmalina. Completely. Fully. You exist to please me…and I to please you.” He cups my chin, fingers pushing at my jaw with defined command. “Your eyes say yes. Now let your mouth do the same.”

  “Yes.” My own tone is nothing but a rasp. Dear God, how he spins me. And how I crave him for it.

  He tightens his grip. “Say all of it.”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “I exist to please you.”

  He curls his thumb up, rubbing over my whole bottom lip. “Good girl.” Then he pulls down a little until my mouth parts for him. A quiet hiss escapes him. “Very good. Fuck, how you drive me crazy with this mouth.”

  Long seconds pass. The song throbs into a chorus. He keeps tracing my mouth with the pad of his thumb. I fight the need to get lost in his seductive rhythm, which would mean closing my eyes—but I must keep looking for even the smallest nick, cut, or bruise that’ll give his ruse away. Yet as the minutes pass, that becomes harder and harder to believe. The only energy I receive from him is open, heated desire. The only darkness in his gaze is that of his mounting, consuming lust. He’s a tangible presence in the very air I breathe, the atmosphere pressing in on me…

  Fading me.

  Encompassing me.

  Giving me up to him.

  The song thrusts on. Neither of us say a word, though as he shifts his other hand to the back of my neck, I already know what he wants. I move before his touch mandates it, pushing my ass off my ankles until I’m in an upward kneel before him…

  With my face in front of his zipper.

  I’ve never felt so mighty in my life.

  Yes, here on my knees. Yes, at the feet of a man. But not just any man. This is him. My man. The one who visibly shakes from the mere force of my stare. Whose abdomen clenches as my gaze roams upward, becoming a relief map of muscle and sinew. Who grunts with primal pleasure as he ensnares my uplifted hand and guides it toward the buckle of his belt.

  Who parts his beautiful, sensual mouth on just two growled words.

  “Do it.”

  Then three more, as soon as I’ve unlatched him, unzipped him, and set his erection free.

  “Suck me, Velvet.”

  If he hadn’t dictated it, I would have begged for it—from the second my sights landed on the milky drops at the top of his bulging shaft. What this man’s special body does to that particular fluid… Let’s just say that if the secret ever got out, we’d be stressing about him being hunted by more bastards than the Consortium.

  But right now, nobody gets to have him but me.

  And holy wow, has he been worth the aching wait.

  His moan is music in my ears. His body is fullness in my mouth. His taste is everywhere in my senses.

  As his essence seeps down my throat.

  Then starts spreading through the rest of me.

  Farther. Faster. Hotter.

  I let my moan flow out, swirling in the air with his. I suck him more eagerly, like a junkie after her next hit. Maybe that’s exactly what he’s turned me into, but I’m beyond caring. I need more. The sparks of electricity in my veins are only the beginning of what he can do for me. The fulfillment he can bring to me, from the inside out…

  More. Yes…please…more…

  But suddenly, he’s gone. He pulls away, his snarl buzzing the air in time to the swift violence of motion, leaving me swaying and gasping with a stunned gaze slicing up at him.

  “Wh-What’s w-wrong?”

  Reece stumbles back by another step, shaking his head like the town drunk, returning my gaze with lust-clouded eyes. “Nothing. Fuck. Nothing.”

  “You don’t look like it’s nothing.”

  His jaw hardens as if I really have accused him of being the town drunk—which means I’m officially twelve kinds of confused. Thirteen now, as he shoves his pants to the floor and kicks them toward the corner. There’s not a nick on his legs either. They’re still just the flawless logs of glutes, quads, hamstrings, and calves that I remember—and adore.

  So why is he still as cagey as a fenced-in palomino?

  “I need to fuck you, Velvet.”

  Perhaps because he is?

  “I’m here.” I offer it with all the dedication of my heart—and yes, damn it, the chagrin of my mind. Have I really been mentally chasing him down for some stupid secret when the whole issue was just his unquenched lust? And if so, why did I let my doubts climb so far out of control?

  There’s an answer for that.

  But that’s not a victory that my past gets to claim today.

  I reinforce that out loud by standing with hands spread to my sides in surrender while repeating, “I’m here, Reece. All of me.”

  He really seems to hear the words this time. The storm clears from his gaze, and his cheekbones take on harsher definition against his skin. “Good,” he utters, jabbing his jaw my direction. “That’s very good, beauty.”

  I don’t answer him this time. His praise, verbal
foreplay that could strip a nun from her habit, is clearly still an order too. I’m not left with any doubt of it as he paces back over, circling a finger in the air at the same time.

  “Face down to the mattress,” he growls. “And that sweet ass up toward me.”

  Inside, I melt. Through the room, the music gets louder. A new track starts. A new K.Flay song hits the air with a driving rock beat. The woman’s defiant voice joins in, singing about her man being her citadel, her wishing well, the only high she needs. I whisper along as the drug of Reece’s precome twines deeper into my bloodstream. I’m warm all over, languid as the setting sun outside but sharp and aware as the stars taking its place.

  Especially when Reece moves up behind me, his cock sliding against the valley of my ass.

  At once, every nerve of that crack, as well as the tissues throughout my pussy, spark to life. Quivering. Pushing. Swollen. Hot…

  “Ahhhh!”

  But then not hot. Drenched in slippery cold…a substance he spreads deeper into my ass…until his fingers guide the slick stuff to the tight opening between my cheeks.

  Then all the way inside.

  “Ohhhh!”

  “Velvet.” His voice emulates the word, rough but soft, as I turn my head in time to watch him squeeze the lube container again. After a moment, my rosette is given a new bath of the cold fluid. My back tunnel is stretched to accept more of it, a strange contrast with the heat flowing through the rest of me. “Relax for me,” he exhorts. “Get ready for me.”

  I bury my face against the bed again. He’s being poetic, but his words might as well have come with a written decree and a court order. He’s really going to do this.