by Maria Luis
And for the length of time that it took for me to have her coming all over my cock as I drove her to the brink, I could pretend, at least, that I wasn’t a man leashed to death.
On the heels of that thought came another: “Your ID says you’re twenty-five.”
She didn’t shirk under my stare. If anything, her chin shot up in that increasingly familiar way of hers and her shoulders squared off like she expected a fight. And that, that was the reason I’d thought of nothing but her since we met. I wanted that fire underneath me, above me, giving as good as I gave to her.
“I am,” she said, her hands at her side, fingers lax. “I have my own reasons for keeping my hymen.”
Her lips quirked, and I got the impression she was waiting for my reaction. But I’d spent years battling my emotions into submission, and I’d be damned if I paraded them before her now.
Softly, I drawled, “And let me guess—those reasons aren’t going to be shared with me?”
If possible, her chin kicked up another notch. Any more and she’d be nose to the sky. “They won’t be,” she confirmed with narrowed eyes.
Avery Washington was a challenge wrapped up in temptation, and against my better judgment, I stepped forward. She surprised the hell out of me by meeting me halfway, her face lifting so that the sparse moonlight highlighted the bridge of her nose and the high crests of her cheeks.
“Are you scared?” she teased, one hand lifting to tug playfully on the front of my sweater. With her other hand, she held her index finger and thumb close together, millimeters apart. “Maybe just a little terrified that you’ll get attached to me after you take my virginity?”
The thought alone shouldn’t turn me on. It shouldn’t, but there was no denying how my cock leapt to attention at the mere thought of having her crying out my name and no one else’s. Possessing Avery when no one else had ever had the chance . . . Christ, there was nothing I wanted more than to mark her as my own. A kiss to her neck, another to her inner thigh. I’d make it so damn hard for her to even look at another man without remembering me claiming every inch of her.
My voice sounded like gravel when I ground out, “You’re assuming that I still want to fuck you.”
Her fingers danced from my shirt down to my belt buckle and then pressed the heel of her hand against the crown of my cock.
A curse sprang from my lips at the same time she said, “Some part of you still wants to fuck me, and I vote that we let him do the talking.”
I caught her wrist, angling her hand so that it rested vertically alongside my hard-on. “You’re playing with fire.” Fuck, I was playing with fire just considering this at all. I wanted what she offered readily, her hazel eyes burning with desire as she stared up at me. I wanted to forget the hell I’d reentered the moment I’d walked into my apartment to find Ambideaux sitting at my kitchen table.
But, hell, she was a virgin, and there was something inherently wrong about taking that from her. I didn’t deserve what she offered, and yet I couldn’t imagine walking away.
Letting her give that innocent part of herself to someone else . . .
No shot in hell.
“Do you get that?” I demanded harshly. “You do this with me and there aren’t roses waiting for you on the other end of tonight. It’s fucking,” I said, “and there won’t be a damn romantic thing about it.”
The heel of her hand inched over to drag along the base of my dick, and, holy hell, but my body grew taut. Strained. Heat trailed along my spine, and I thanked God for self-control when she whispered, “Maybe I want to be burned.”
For my entire life, I’d straddled the fence. Saint. Sinner. I lived and thrived in the murky area in between, always cautious to keep looking forward.
One glance back and I’d end up dead with a gun trained between my eyes—a real possibility now that Ambideaux had waltzed back into my life and demanded his due . . . in blood.
I stared down at Avery, and squashed caution beneath the toe of my steel-toed boot. She was twenty-five, an adult, and if she wanted a good, dirty fucking, then I was more than happy to deliver. She’d regret it later on if she ever attempted to peel back my layers of police uniforms and badges.
That man—the man I’d been from the age of sixteen when I stole my first life—would turn her stomach. Right now, I was badge-less, anyway. More sinner than saint.
But there wasn’t a single inch of me that could turn down the chance to go up in flames with the woman currently determined to light the matchsticks.
It was her decision to push. It was my decision to take.
“Bring me back to your place,” I told her.
Flashing me a brief smile, her remaining nerves only evident in her hazel eyes, she turned on her heel without another word. I followed behind her, watching her six, feeling the noose of damnation tightening around my neck.
Say no.
Turn back now.
Don’t take what doesn’t belong to you.
I didn’t say no.
I didn’t turn back to the club.
In my life, I’d only ever taken what didn’t belong to me, and Avery was no different.
We didn’t speak as we cut through the darkened French Quarter streets, over from St. Phillip and onto Dauphine. But the increased distance quieted the music from Bourbon, and I craved the noise—to both swallow my thoughts and demolish my guilt.
Avery kept pace ahead of me, and by the time we stood on her front steps five minutes later, she only twisted around to say one thing: “Just so you know, in case you’re having any doubts, I want this.”
Whether she said it for herself or for me, it didn’t matter.
The door creaked open and Avery gestured for me to step inside first. The front parlor was dark, not a single bulb lighting the space.
“Third floor,” Avery told me, her hand grazing mine as she slipped around me once again. “No elevator.”
Our shoes echoed off the stairwell as we wound our way up, my gaze on her full ass, her face tilted up.
Thirteen more steps and we were at her front door.
Ten more seconds and she slid the key into the lock and pushed it wide open.
Three more deep breaths before it closed and I was on her again, like a savage born of the wilderness. Her mouth parted beneath mine, a feminine moan slipping between us, her hands finding purchase on my shoulders.
She wanted the devil, and that’s exactly what I’d give her.
“Bedroom,” I grunted, my hands going to her tight ass so I could lift her up into my arms. She weighed close to nothing and if she wasn’t holding onto that hymen of hers after all these years, I would have torn off her jeans and fucked her against her front door.
Her teeth nipped at my lower lip. “Right behind you.”
I spun around, my gaze searching the shadowed room for the door. I caught sight of the sofa, the blankets, the pillows. The sheet used as a curtain just beyond the couch. Something told me that Avery didn’t live here alone, and that the bedroom wasn’t where she tucked into bed each night but rather on the couch.
I wouldn’t embarrass her by bringing it up, though, and I carried her into the bedroom that wasn’t hers and then set her down on the queen-sized bed that wasn’t hers either.
She lifted up onto her elbows to watch me at the foot of the bed. “Condoms are in the nightstand,” she said, nodding her chin in the general direction.
I kicked off my shoes, then pulled my sweater over my head. “We don’t need one of them yet.” Undoing my belt buckle, I popped the button of my jeans and then leaned forward to strip off her boots. “Get rid of your shirt, Avery.”
Hazel eyes blinked back at me before she jumped into motion, her sweater sailing across the room and her arms looping behind her to pop open the clasp of her bra. The black satin slipped down her shoulders, revealing sun-kissed breasts and dark, rosy nipples.
My cock strained at my jeans, and I ignored the bastard, choosing instead to appreciate the sight of Avery almost
naked. Fucking gorgeous. Her dark hair, her flushed cheeks, the tantalizing glimpse of her tits.
On my hands and knees, I moved toward her. Straddled her. Pressed her hands to the mattress on either side of her head. Lowered myself and caught one perfect nipple in my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip until it pebbled, and Avery whimpered loudly.
Asshole that I was, I devoured those sounds and relished how her nails bit into my knuckles as I restrained her. Asshole that I was, I imagined that the sounds she made were for my ears only—and that they’d never be heard by another man.
Asshole that I was, I gave one last swipe of my tongue against her nipple and then shifted upward to capture those moans completely. Absorbed the way her chest reverberated with them, her pleasure so acute, so vibrant, that I felt like an addict and dove back in for seconds.
I stripped off her bra, hooking it by the middle and tossing it over my shoulder. Her chest heaved with uneven breaths, her one freed hand sinking into my hair. Her nails raked down my skull until she was palming my neck in silent encouragement for me to keep going.
Laughter climbed my throat at her show of dominance.
I allowed her to have her moment, sucking on her flesh, keeping my gaze on her face.
And then I reestablished that I was king in this bed, in this room, in this so-called Sultan’s Palace.
My hands flipped her over and she released a small shriek. “Asher!”
“Lincoln,” I corrected. I urged her to lift her hips, then freed the button of her jeans all over again. Tugged the denim down the length of her legs. Repeated it all with her matching black underwear. “When I make you come so hard you lose your voice, ‘Lincoln’ is going to be the very last thing you say.”
“Asshole,” I heard her mutter, but she betrayed her defiance by spreading her knees.
Goddamn, she was a sight. Tight, round ass made perfect for the fit of my hands, a slender back that arched as her knees turned outward and her toes curled into the rumpled sheets.
“The very one,” I replied hoarsely.
I palmed her ass, then pushed her all the way onto her knees. It wasn’t in my nature to take it slow, and at the sight of her wet core, temptation rose to thrust into her now, hard, until her moans could be heard in the apartments on the first floor.
Keep your jeans on.
It’d be her only saving grace.
But I did give in to the temptation to discover how she tasted. With one hand to her lower back so that she was arched and ready for me, I nipped one ass cheek, relishing in the twitch of her hips, and then moved south until I inhaled the very scent of her.
“Don’t forget,” I murmured casually, my heart thumping almost violently in my chest, “it’s Lincoln.”
The first swipe of my tongue against her pussy was met with a keening cry that echoed in my ears like a personal trophy. And I sought out to hear it again and again and again. I circled her clit with my tongue, alternating between hard and soft, languid strokes, changing the pace frequently enough to keep her on her toes.
“Asshole,” she whimpered, and I sensed her gripping the sheets.
“Lincoln,” I told her, and then drove my tongue into her sweet heat. I wrapped my arm around her right leg, keeping her locked to me, and then rubbed the sensitive hood of her pussy with my finger as I devoured the very center of her. She tasted like heaven and sin wrapped up in a package that I worried I’d never tire of.
With my fingers and my tongue, I worked her into a frenzy until her ass drove backward, seeking more from me, and I gave her what she wanted. My palm connected with one ass cheek.
“Oh!”
“Lincoln,” I reminded, and then soothed the sting with the flat of my hand. It was all too easy to feel the affect it had on her—her legs trembled and her pussy quivered and either I took her now or I’d be the one coming in my pants.
The latter wasn’t an option.
I left her there, my fingers heading south to yank off my jeans. I’d be damned if I ever admitted to it, but there was no denying the tremor in my hands as I pulled open the nightstand drawer and snagged a condom from the already opened box.
Definitely not her room or her bed, and I fucking hated it that I was about to take her here anyway.
The alternative, however, was to stop and call this whole thing off, and I’d take the gun between my eyes from Ambideaux before I agreed to that.
Rolling the condom down my length, I turned back to the bed to see Avery watching me, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“It’s going to hurt.”
I looked down at my cock, which had never, not once, been described as small. “It might.”
“This is where you tell me you’ll be a gentleman and take it easy on me.”
I’d never be that man for her—a man who knew softness and kindness—and she’d known that when she’d all but begged me to take her virginity anyway. Kneeling on the bed, I said, “You should have picked someone else.”
A small smile lifted her lips. “I’ll remember that for next time.”
Next time.
A time that wouldn’t belong to me. An orgasm that wouldn’t be mine.
“Sit on the edge of the bed.” My harsh command was met with a slow blink, like she was cataloguing the words and trying to make sense of them. Then, she moved into position, right in front of me.
I lifted her legs and settled them over mine, grabbing my cock so that I could run the crown through her wetness. She moaned, and I bit back a groan. “You get one more chance to tell me to stop.”
Avery leaned forward and gripped my dick in her hand, positioning me against her entrance. “Stop talking, would you . . . Lincoln?”
Christ.
I sank into her just as she leaned back, doing my best to go slow, to not make her regret giving me her virginity, no matter what she said.
I couldn’t go slow.
My back tightened and my balls drew up, and at the sight of Avery tipping back her head, her neck exposed, her tits on full-display, I lost all semblance of control.
Every. Last. Bit.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, to us both, just before I thrust in deep and claimed her. Mine.
A curse leapt to my mouth. Fuck. She was so tight. Fuck. She was wet, so wet and I was on the verge of losing my damn mind. Fuck, I thought, as she pushed down and swirled her hips, urging me on.
My hands gripped her hips as I angled for a better fit, a deeper reach. Each pump of my hips pulled a moan from her lips. I made it my goddamn mission to hear that sound again, and when she arched her back and gripped the sheets, moaning like she’d never felt better, I did it all over again.
My skin grew tight and the fact that I was already about to come was like a damn death wish—I wouldn’t, not until she came first.
My hand left her hip to circle her clit, applying pressure, keeping my angle all the same.
“Asher,” she cried out at the first hint of pressure, “I can’t. I don’t know if . . . Oh, my God, I can’t—”
“It’s Lincoln,” I muttered, then drew her left knee up, up, up, so that it grazed her chin, “and you can.”
I dominated her that way, owning every part of her, exposing her pussy completely, so that with every glance down, I saw the tight way she enveloped my cock. And when she came all over me, it was exactly how I’d hoped.
A flush spread across her chest and her lips parted and her hands left the sheets to grip my biceps instead.
I wasn’t far behind. I pinned her other knee upward, plunging in deep with every thrust. And, holy fuck, I burst apart almost instantaneously—a growl ripping from my chest, my gaze hooked on her gorgeous face, my hips losing all semblance of an even rhythm.
I never lost control.
Until her.
I collapsed on top of her, then rolled us to the side.
She sprawled halfway across my chest, then tapped me right over the heart. “Avery,” she murmured, half out of breath.
; I blinked, surprise momentarily infiltrating the pleasure. “What?”
“When you come, you needed to say my name.”
I skimmed my gaze over her, taking in her hesitant smile with the realization that I was totally fucked. I was hooked, line and sinker, and that wasn’t a good thing—for me or for her. Not when there wasn’t a damn thing that could come of this, of us.
“I’ll remember that for our second round.”
She nodded shortly. “You do that.” A small pause. “And Lincoln?”
Pleasure smacked me straight in the chest at hearing her say my name. “Yeah?”
“I like it when your dick does the talking. He’s a whole lot better at communicating than you.”
15
Avery
“Do you find it weird living in a place that tourists gawk at daily?” Asher asked as he sat on the edge of the bed, tugging his jeans up his thighs with masculine grace.
And I . . . well, to be completely honest, I wasn’t sure that I was ready for him to leave. It wasn’t that I wanted him to stay, necessarily, but, okay, yeah, I wanted him to stay. Dammit, that was not part of the plan.
With Katie’s sheets tucked against my chest, I watched him pull the denim of his jeans over his butt.
“Avery?”
Startling, my gaze leapt to his face. “Sorry?”
In that familiar way of his, nothing in his expression changed . . . except that, this time, his blue eyes crinkled. Just enough for me to know that he wasn’t completely composed of stone.
His fingers slipping the button of his jeans through the matching hole, he said, “I asked if you find it weird to live in a notorious house like this one.”
Oh. Right.
I shook my head, both to get my brain back in the game and also in answer to his question. “There’s nothing but rumors to it. The sultan being buried alive in the courtyard? Fake.” Holding up my hand, I tucked my index finger down. “The vengeful brother murdering the members of the sultan’s harem and leaving the bodies strewn about the house? Also fake.” Another finger went down. “The blood seeping down the front steps the morning after a horrible storm?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. That part could be true. New Orleans has always been a violent city, even if it has nothing to do with some sort of bizarre mutilation scene in this mansion.”
