When Angels Fall

by AJ Hampton

  His feline, suddenly starved, surged to the surface, no longer satisfied to wait. Peter forced the leopard into the back of his mind and concentrated on Eva. He spread her legs wide, exposing the hidden treasure. The slit of her pussy glistened with arousal.

  “You are so Goddamned beautiful,” he whispered, lowering to lick a line from the bottom of her entrance all the way up to her clit, her delicious taste an explosion on his taste buds.

  “I ache; please, touch me,” she said.

  More than happy to oblige, he pushed one finger into her core, and then two, needed to feel the ripples of pleasure when he made her climax. He settled his mouth against her and the world faded away. One lick at a time, he brought her higher and higher, satisfying her in tasting every inch of her pussy. He listened for the change in her breathing, the subtle tightening of her vaginal walls. He’d made her come enough times to know she was close. Not yet. Against her clit, he made tight circles with the tip of his tongue, backed away at the first pulses of pleasure.

  Again and again, he brought her close, drew her back, and then started over. The slow, hard pumping of his fingers changed. No longer teasing, he flicked the hard bundle of nerves, sucked. Her inarticulate moans grew louder, louder, louder, and then she was crying out his name, her hips thrusting.

  Not until he milked the very last drop of her pleasure did he remove his jeans, the only barrier keeping him from shoving his cock inside her. Naked, skin slick with a fine sheen of sweat, he settled above her.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked, smoothing her tangled curls from her face.

  “Yes.”

  He cupped her thigh, squeezing the flesh before bringing it around his waist, opening her to him. Bending over her, he found her mouth and thrust home. Liquid heat sheathed him from base to tip. Flesh against flesh. No barriers. She gasped, her hips lifting to bury his shaft deeper. Sensation gripped him, had him pulling out and slamming forward. Damn it, she was wet and slippery and so fucking tight.

  He broke the seal of their mouths and thumbed her wet lower lip. His body tightened at the sight of her beneath him. Unblinking, she stared up at him, her dark, sensual eyes smoldering with pleasure. He drank in her flushed cheeks, swollen lips and lowered lids. She was a fantasy come to life.

  Their gazes never parted as made love to her. With each thrust the pleasure ebbed and flowed, started something he wasn’t sure he could stop. He took his time with her, let their coupling draw him into a place where only sensation mattered.

  Every touch heightened his awareness. Almost absently she stroked his shoulders, neck and back, as if she couldn’t get enough of him. He lowered his mouth to hers, coaxing her tongue out to play. The wet, gentle slide made him groan against her, thrust just a little faster.

  In response, she clutched his back, her nails scoring his skin, a delicious bite of pain he’d missed when tying her up. He hadn’t wanted the intimacy then, but now, now everything was screwed up and he was so fucking lost it seemed nothing could bring him back to reality. Her soft lips caressed his sweat-slicked skin, had his hips pumping in a deeper, faster rhythm. Desperate to touch her, he cupped her breast, her throat, stroked her shoulders and arms until he brought her hands over her head.

  Words formed in his head, and he struggled to hold them back. No longer in control, they spilled free, his confession ripping through him. “You undo me.”

  Her slow, intimate smile stole his heart. Palm to palm, he laced their fingers together, uniting them as one. They never stopped touching, kissing, rocking against each other. Only when she cried out, her body tight in the grip of another powerful climax, did he give up the fight for restraint.

  The leopard surged forward but Peter had enough control to keep from shifting on top of her. His thrusts sped until he pounded into her welcoming body, the animalistic urge to mate too strong to ignore. He released her arms to grip her hip. His other hand found her breast. Holding her in place, ensuring she wouldn’t run, he let himself go.

  Ecstasy drew her name from his throat, over and over again. He said that and so many other things.

  “I’ll never be able to leave you,” he growled against her mouth, his low voice foreign in the darkness. “Fuck, Eva, what have you done to me?”

  A tear rolled from the corner of her eye. “Then stay.”

  He shook his head, brought his damp forehead against hers. “You know I can’t.”

  She tilted her head and sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. Their tongues tangled. Her nails drew down his back, bit into skin, then added pain—the last spike in his coffin. Pleasure ripped through him. The head of his cock swelled, knotted inside to ensure a successful mating. He jerked, a full-body shudder stealing his breath as his semen jetted deep. The fluid made her wetter, encouraged the shallow thrusting of his cock to slide faster.

  Locked inside, he could do nothing but ride out the nearly painful sensations of bliss. She milked him dry, took his seed, and claimed his soul.

  * * * * *

  He didn’t remember falling asleep, didn’t remember curling his body around his female and holding her close. When he woke, the room was darker than the abyss he’d fallen into. The only sounds came from Eva’s even breathing and their echoing heartbeats. He raised his head only enough to look at the clock. Midnight.

  He jolted, shaking the sleep from his head. Damn. They’d been asleep for hours. All the plans he made while sitting in Becca’s family living room went to shit. He should have never touched Eva. He should have sent her to bed and waited. Tonight he planned to prove Grady was the murderer. When he was through disposing of the asshole’s corpse, he planned to break Eva’s heart.

  Eva stirred. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice a sleepy murmur.

  “We fell asleep,” he said, already gingerly untangling their limbs so he could sit up.

  He ran a hand down his face, stiffened when Eva pressed her lips against the middle of his spine. He scooted forward a little, just out of range. The separation started now. The bed dipped and before he could get up, the hard tips of Eva’s breasts pressed into back. Her hands caressed his shoulders, moved down until they rested flat on his chest.

  Picking up her wrists, hating himself for it, he removed her touch and rose from the bed. “I’ll take the first shower.” He didn’t look back, couldn’t.

  “I understand.” Her voice was soft, too soft, as if maybe she hadn’t meant for him to hear.

  A half hour later he sat at the breakfast table, dressed from head to toe in black, prepared for their BE at the police station. Eva walked in, her golden curls darker against her dark sweater and jeans. Not making eye contact, she sat across from him, the scraping of the mug he pushed across the table the only sound. In silence, they drank coffee. This appeared to be a habit between them.

  He had no experience ending relationships, not that he and Eva were in one. His dating rap sheet consisted of one-night stands he never had to deal with the next day. Looking away from the black liquid in his cup, he focused on the woman across from him.

  “Look,” he started.

  Her gaze flicked up. The skin under her eyes was puffy and red, a sign she’d been crying.

  “It’s okay, Peter. We were both emotional. We can chalk up what happened to letting the situation getting away from us. We don’t need to talk about it.”

  She was giving him an out, one he should take.

  “After I take care of Grady, I’m leaving. What happened last night can’t happen again. Won’t happen again. If you turn up pregnant,” his chest tightened at the thought, “then you’ll come to Montana. I won’t do to my child what my father did to me. We can still fuck if you want, but it won’t be sweet and tender. I’m a ride ‘em hard and fast kind of a guy.”

  Eva set her coffee cup to the table, slow, steady, a pretense of calm. Rage danced in her eyes and changed her scent to something dark and alluring.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  He narrowed his eyes. “For what?”r />
  “For reminding me that you are a complete and utter bastard.” She rose from the table. The hand she pressed to her lower stomach shook. “I’ll be in the car when you’re done deluding yourself into thinking you’d have any part in my child’s life, or that for one minute, I’d let you take care of me. Fuck you, Peter.”

  Stretching his legs out under the table, he pressed his mug to his lips and watched her walk away. The instinct to chase warred with his need for distance. The front door slammed shut and he sipped his coffee, allowing himself just a few more minutes.

  All of this would be over in a few hours. An ugly truth that had his jaw popping. Walking out on Eva might quite possibly fuck him up more than it would her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Eva stared blankly out the truck’s window, barely saw the trees whizzing past. Every breath fogged the glass, obscuring her view to the outside world. The cold nipping at her ungloved fingers was inconsequential. She didn’t hear the radio. Even the ache in her chest and the slow burn in her belly didn’t distract.

  Her stupidity was the only thing of matter. How had she managed to fall for the one man in the entire universe who was unwilling to accept love? If she were pregnant—nope. She wasn’t going to think about the life growing inside her. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Emotion gripped her heart, squeezed, and threatened to send her into cardiac arrest.

  The heartache snapped into rage. Her throat burned with the unsaid words she wanted to hurl, the blame she so desperately wanted to lay at Peter’s feet. He’d done this. He’d made her feel this way. She was such a fucking liar. He hadn’t done anything to ensnare her heart. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead against the smooth, cold window. The frigid stabs penetrating her skin helped.

  The cognizant part of Eva’s brain told her she was being irrational. There’d been no romance between them. No flowers. No false pretenses. Only a hot, branding lust she’d never forget. He’d deceived her. Humiliated her. Hell, at almost every turn, he’d been an asshole.

  And, that’s when it hit her. Almost.

  He’d let just enough emotion slip through his control to leave her grasping at straws. Classic. Peter, the big tough man with his scars that ran deep, had revealed just enough vulnerability for her girl hormones to grab hold and make her think she could fix him. She was probably one of many who’d tried and failed. She almost laughed, would have if she weren’t afraid she might cry.

  “We’ll park at Lost Isle, cross from there and break into the police station.” Peter’s deep, husky voice penetrated her internal monologue. “We should be able to get inside through one of the windows in the back.”

  She didn’t bother to look at him. “Fine.” Her voice cracked.

  The truck rolled to a stop in the empty, shadowed parking lot of the town’s only bar.

  “Eva,” Peter started.

  She held up her hand. “Don’t.” He’d already said everything that needed covering.

  Without another word she and Peter stepped into the cold. Her untamed hair blew in her face, the still slightly damp strands freezing in thin icicles. She’d forgotten her hat and, as the chill stole across her neck, she realized, a scarf as well. A shiver danced through her, chattering her teeth.

  “Here,” Peter growled.

  She looked up, watched with confusion as he tore off his black, lightweight beanie. He stepped close. She wanted to snuggle into the heat of his body’s warmth. Their legs brushed. Her curls blew across his chest. His gaze met hers and it was the first time he’d really looked at her since the kitchen. She expected remorse, or some other lingering emotion from their intimacy last night.

  His eyes were cold and distant, directly opposing the way he carefully settled the knitted cap over her hair and ears. The dull ache in her chest sharpened. He stepped back and shoved his hands into the pockets of the black jeans encasing his long, muscular legs.

  She should be focusing on what a stupid plan breaking into Grady’s office was. Instead, the only thing she could think about was why it hurt to breathe when it wasn’t her chest that was broken. The rapid, swirling snow concealed their footsteps, leading them across the street. Through shadows, they made their way down the deserted street to the police station at the end of the block.

  The building was empty and still, much like the rest of the main street at two o’clock in the morning. Peter pressed his ear against the wall, listened, his enhanced hearing presumably scanning for life. He pulled away with a nod. “We’re clear.”

  Not bothering with stealth, she moved to the back of the building. She trailed her hand across the cold, brown brick, its rough texture a nice distraction. Behind her, Peter moved silently, the heat radiating from his body the only clue he was there. She passed four windows countersunk into the wall, stopped under the one in Grady’s office.

  “Now what?” she asked, looked up at their only chance inside the building.

  He stepped forward, his shoulder brushing hers, and glanced at the window. Her heart sped. She drew in a deep breath, closed her eyes as if it would keep his scent from invading.

  “I’ll boost you up,” he said, his voice snapping her eyes open.

  Hands cupped together, he motioned for her to put her boot into the step he made. With no other real way to scale the wall, she reluctantly pressed one hand on his shoulder, the other against the wall. The moment she placed her foot in his outstretched palms he pushed her up, into the air.

  “Shit,” she yelped at the unexpected force of his thrust.

  She teetered at the loss of balance. The hand she’d had on his shoulder slipped free. Before she could fall, he caught her around the waist and stepped forward until her breasts pressed against the brick.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  She glared down at him, wondered what the retribution would be if she kicked him the face. “Oh, I’m just peachy, thanks for asking. Next time, maybe don’t heave me into the air.”

  Their gazes clashed, heat igniting. His tongue swiped over his lower lip. Her eyes dipped to the sight, remembered the wicked pleasure his mouth had brought her. Her thoughts vanished when he smirked, casually remarked, “You’re not as heavy as you look.”

  Her eyes narrowed at his attempt to tease. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  His jaw clenched. “Open the window.”

  Pushing at the window, she silently prayed it would open so she could crawl through. She wanted away from Peter and the feel of his hands gripping her hips. Of course the glass pane didn’t budge. “It’s locked.”

  Peter’s low, rolling growl moved up the back of her spine. “Who locks anything in this town? Grady is hiding something.” Without warning, Peter shoved her forward, against the building, a single hand on the middle of her back the only thing keeping her from falling.

  “Oomf.” The air left her lungs and she grabbed the lip of the cold brick sill with both hands to help keep her grounded.

  A long, flat rod found its way under her palm and the pressure against her back vanished as Peter lifted and then set her so she sat on his shoulders. She gripped the top of his head and refused to dwell on how silky soft his hair was. Refused to contemplate the feel of his hands, hot and strong on the outside of her thighs where he gripped her in position. Instead, she concentrated on the object he’d given her. A metal brace from a hanging file folder.

  “You really put a lot of thought into this, didn’t you?” she asked.

  He scoffed, as if she’d insulted his intelligence. “Hardly. These locks are old and simple, hook and eyelet.” Letting go of her legs, he used his hands to gesture at what he wanted her to do with the tool. “Put the metal through the crack between the panes—”

  “I’m not an idiot,” she snapped. “I can figure it out.”

  Biting her lip, she moved the tool through the divide in the glass, felt the resistance of the lock. Applying just a little more force, the hook released.

  “Got it,” she whispered triumphantly.

 
He squeezed her thigh. “Good, girl. Now, crawl inside. I’ll be right behind you.”

  She braced her weight with her hands on the sill. Peter lifted her from his shoulders, pushed with a hand on her ass. In an ungraceful heap, she tumbled through the open window into the pitch-black office. A desk broke her fall along with the sharp end of a pencil, damn near stabbing her back.

  “Graceful,” Peter said as he lifted first his head, then shoulders into the window, his bulk eclipsing the outside world. She wondered for a moment if he’d even fit.

  “Oh, shut up,” she said, and then added, “There isn’t anything under the window, so brace yourself for a fall.” Ha. She hoped he fell on his face.

  Picking herself up, she crawled off Grady’s desk. In the darkness, the only things she could make out were heaps of paper and the silhouette of a large desk phone. She looked around, tried to gauge if anything was different from the last time she’d been there several months ago. The office was small, not much to forget. In the dark, she made out a large, single standing filing cabinet and the half wood, half glass door leading toward the main hall of offices.

  Against the wall next to the door, she flipped the light switch in time to watch Peter land soundlessly on the desk in a lethal-looking crouch.

  “Show-off,” she muttered.

  Without having to say it aloud, they split up, staying at opposites ends of the room. Peter took the desk and she looked through the filing cabinet. Numbers and letters stared at her on shiny, plastic-protected labels. Where were the names? The dates? The folders were arranged by some sort of numbering system she didn’t understand. How in the hell was she supposed to figure out where Greg’s uncensored file was? Surely the folder she’d been given was missing information.

  Behind her, drawers opened, closed, papers rustled together. All noise stopped, as if Peter had frozen in place.