His hands led the way, burning a trail up her legs. He held her thighs and spread them, gazing unabashedly at her femininity. That jaw, always so tight, hung loose, and he pulled his lower lip into his mouth, scraping it with his teeth. The bed dipped under his weight as he eased onto the bed, nudging her legs farther apart with his shoulders.
Baine’s gaze held hers for a moment before his head dipped and his velvety tongue met her slick, smooth labia. His scruff abraded her puckered rim while he explored her lips, delving in, skipping across, lapping up. When he sucked her clitoris into his mouth Sloan gripped the sheets, looking for something to hold her on the bed while the tumult of sensations threatened to bow her off it.
He latched onto her clit, laving it with his tongue while he eased a finger, no, two into her wetness. Baine massaged her deep, his fingers curling and flexing. Like a damn dog, she panted as the world shrank even further. Only the sensations left. Only the ecstasy. When he levered her butt with his other hand, gaining better access, Sloan rocked her hips, shamelessly fucking his face. Baine groaned in response. His grip moved to her hips and his fingers bit into her skin as he pulled her hips to his mouth with punishing strength. When one of his fingers strummed across her anus, she screamed her release into the air.
His tongue rode out each spasm, lapping at her tender flesh and wringing every drop of pleasure she had to give. Utterly spent, her body went limp, except for her chest, which heaved in oxygen.
Contentment washed over her in a wave as Baine’s arm encircled her middle and tucked her protectively into the lee of his chest. Though his still-hardened penis nestled against her cheeks, he gave her time to recover, brushing his fingers through her hair.
When his fingers migrated to her breasts, desire roared to life inside her belly as though it had never been appeased. Sloan ground her ass over his erection.
“Not gonna complain about my little fingers again?”
“Never,” she breathed.
A laugh shook Baine’s body as well as the entire bed. “Good.”
“But,” she added, “I am interested in your longer and much thicker appendage.”
The words had hardly left Sloan’s mouth before she was turned onto her belly. Baine’s arm secured across her chest and his hand gripped her shoulder while the other stretched up her arm and entwined her fingers. The wide head of his dick slid easily between her closed legs in the mixture of saliva and her juices they’d created. It buffeted her opening, but didn’t enter quickly.
Gradually, inch by provoking inch, he pressed into her. The heat of his heavy thighs finally rested on her bottom as his cock pierced her core. He stilled and touched his forehead to the side of her head. “You do the damnedest things to my control.”
The compliment of his meaning made every feminine cell in her body sing. “I’d be right there with you, if you’re going to come like a minute man.”
He groaned. “Oh, you will come with me.”
Yes, she would.
Baine hadn’t moved since he’d burrowed into her pussy. Still her core pulsed, milking his shaft, revving her engine that threatened to roar over the finish line before the race had gotten good and started. Hell, one glance over her shoulder at his muscles all drawn tight in pleasure spiked her needle hard.
His forearm tightened around her, anchoring her for a slow withdrawal then his driving thrust. Sloan met the impact with an arching lunge of her own. Slapping flesh echoed in the large room. It mingled with lust-labored breaths. A cry of rapture.
The pace rose. Each erratic heartbeat brought another shockwave of pleasure as Baine’s cock tantalized her G spot. Each forceful impetus scraped her already sensitive nipples and engorged clit against the harshly woven bedding.
Sloan clamped down on Baine’s hand and rocked her hips. “Don’t stop. Oh God, don’t stop.”
He nipped her ear. “Only when you make me.”
“Never.”
“Fu...cking works for me.”
The growling groan of his voice sent Sloan reeling. Her wet walls convulsed, frantically hugging and releasing Baine’s thick erection. A long, strangled moan signaled her nearing orgasm.
When the rolling pleasure ebbed, Baine pulled back and rolled her to face him. “I want to see you,” he said before spreading and entering her once again. He dropped to his elbows, snuggling their sweat steamed chests together, and his hands smoothed through her hair, nestling against her temples. After three glorious rocks inside her body his jaw tightened. His eyes closed and his head rolled back. Muscles danced under his skin as his entire body tensed and curved.
He didn’t make a sound, but Sloan saw the triumph in his face a second before he collapsed atop her.
The best laid schemes
Of mice and men go often awry.
And leave us nothing but grief and pain.
23
There was no better gift in the world than the one Sloan had just given him. Power and money meant nothing. Her trust, her heart—they enriched him. Filled the blistered, gaping wounds he hadn’t even realized he had. Made him more than his father’s son. A genetic defect. More than a trained killer.
Baine rolled off Sloan. Abhorred as he was to leave her tight body, he didn’t want to kill her with his bulk. Hell, after two minutes without oxygen a person could end up with brain damage, and it’d been about that since the most intense orgasm of his life had nearly taken his. The errant shooting star still skewed his vision as he cracked a lid to watch Sloan’s reaction when he pulled her against his chest and pillowed her head on his shoulder.
Her almond eyes widened and her hands fumbled from her hair to her heart where they clung together. Then, in a flash, the uncertainty vanished. If he hadn’t been looking he’d have missed it altogether. She snuggled into him and entwined her legs with his. Possessiveness and Neanderthal delight swelled his testicles.
He flipped the overhead light off then hugged her body close. Another thing she’d given him. Sure, he’d had her in the carnal sense before. But tonight, she’d surrendered her body to him, to pleasure and love with no doubts, restrictions, or qualifications.
In turn he’d given his as he’d never relinquished it before.
And now that they were bound to each other, he had to protect her gifts. Trust. Heart. Body. Easier thought than done in the precarious situation they could both easily drown in.
Baine smoothed a hand over Sloan’s tousled hair, down her taut back and muscular thigh. He’d always been a man for soft curves and a little extra cushion, but his raging hormones and the prize in his arms had swiveled his head. Both of them. The woman was no slouch. Just like his, her body was a precision instrument, crafted to go where no one else could, do what few could, and kill with ease. A double win for Baine. With her, he could lose control. Something he’d never allowed himself. When lust flipped the switch on his brain, he didn’t fear breaking her. Plus, she could handle herself in life and death situations with wicked grace. Which is exactly where the fuck they were.
“I should go. You don’t seem like the type to let the ladies sleep over, and we don’t want anyone to think this is anything special. Not that it is. Or. Not that you think—"
“You are very special.” He wagged a finger between them. “This is very special. And on occasion the ladies have stayed over.”
She drew away from him ever so slightly—like his words had hurt her. He couldn’t help but smile. “Easy there. They only stayed over because they were too doped to leave. And before you ask, no, I didn’t take advantage of them.” Laughter shook him, not for the first time in her presence. Yet another thing, an amazing thing, she did to him.
“What?” she asked, jabbing a finger into his side for emphasis.
“We’re more alike than you realize, love. That stunt you pulled with Kobi? It’s my trick for dealing with Devereaux’s whores.” His laughter moved down deep in his belly. “Except, I don’t trash the room or mess with their junk.”
He got a light fist
for that one.
“You watched,” she squealed in a whisper. “Why am I at all surprised?”
Baine caught her hand in his and drew it to his chest. “Hey, turnabout is fair play. Kobi bugged my room first and you stole my moves. Had to hold it over your head because you may have executed it better than me.
“Now get comfortable. You’re not going anywhere.”
Before long her breathing evened as she drifted off, her delicate fingers wrapped around his hand. After her limbs sagged, he waited ten minutes then carefully eased from the bed and enveloped her in the blanket from the foot of the bed. He retrieved the holster he’d hung on the desk chair earlier and left one pistol on the nightstand for Sloan. The other he kept lightly in his grasp.
In the inky darkness Baine made his way back to the bathroom, his balls swinging freely. He scooped up the monster of a gun his grandfather, Desmond McCord, had commissioned for him after his mother’s murder. Too damn bad the old man hadn’t lived to see its completion. The torment of his only child’s murder had ushered him into an early grave, taking the best example he’d had of a gentleman, leaving Baine without any family.
But he wasn’t alone. Not like Sloan had been for all these years.
He had his surrogate family. Easton Wells, his grandfather’s butler and Baine’s lawlessly adopted father, kept him towing the line. When he stumbled on the line he could always count on his sister, Magdalena, Easton’s daughter, to pick him back up, kiss his cheek, and shove him on. And when he crossed it he could always count on Law to kick his arse straight.
It made the corner of his mouth knot, thinking about everyone in the manor calling his rough-and-tumble friend by his given name, Lawrence, something he hated almost as much as Baine hated being called Kendrick. Well, maybe not that much. Still, they had no way of knowing they demanded tea and tarts from a man who could kill them with one bare hand while never jostling the spread on his tray. The sly son of a bitch wasn’t blood. Thank God for that. He was, however, the only thing that had kept him from an all-out rampage in the fallout of learning of his father’s treachery.
Better than family, Law was a colleague, housemate, and friend. Fate brought them together in college. Two hungry dogs competing for the top rank at Cambridge. Too damn bad they got beat out by a pompous-ass tenth-generation law grad.
Baine shoved those thoughts aside as he stepped inside the closet that he’d grown to think of as the Batcave, only not nearly as cool. No, he couldn’t break into Devereaux’s office. The man was at this very moment sipping brandy in his study, probably pondering the massiveness of his power and fortune as was his evening ritual. He could, however, break into his computer.
In less than ten minutes Baine had changed the log alert’s time of failed attempt to properly frame Kobi, seeing as he and Kobi were the most likely suspects and Baine had an alibi. Hell, he even had proof by way of Kobi’s video tapes.
Lightness wiggled about his chest as he pulled his alibi into his arms where she belonged.
She scooted into him. “Wow, your skin is chilled,” she murmured.
“Yeah, sorry. I had some stuff to take care of.”
She didn’t ask what he’d been up to which spoke volumes about how much she trusted him. Sloan slipped her hand down his stomach and wrapped her hot little hand around his growing cock.
“I know just how to warm you.”
24
Devereaux sipped the last of the gold liquid down and placed the empty glass on the table between him and the massive portrait of his bitch of a wife. “Not so pretty now, are you, darling?” He didn’t know why, but a large part of him reveled in this daily liturgy. Hateful worship of the woman who gave him the tiny foothold he’d needed to ascend the pyramid of power, who’d later tried her damnedest to toss him from its summit.
The delight came in knowing she’d failed. In knowing no one could topple him after this transaction. He smiled as he thumbed open the cigar box, cut and puffed the Gurkha to life.
“Now to work, darling. The money won’t make itself. Though in your case it did. I work hard for what I want. What I deserve.”
At his desk, literally fit for a king, King Edward VII to be precise, Devereaux opened the black laptop, swirled the touch pad, then froze. Every muscle in his thick body flexed at the alert that flashed red across the screen.
Devereaux loved women. He glorified them with his cock. Any time. Anywhere. But he’d never allowed himself to get enthralled with one. Fuck, one was hardly enough to sate his appetite. Not even his sweet Elizabeth. The disloyal wench.
The first year of their marriage had been, well, a sham. He’d wined and dined her, treated her like a Disney princess, until the pre-nup met its expiration date and her money became his. Happy anniversary, sweetheart.
He bet she’d rued the day she signed up for foreign studies, bringing her into his grasp. At the time he’d been the son of a wealthily oil tycoon. Only he knew his father had pissed away the family fortune at the tracks while his mother whored it away, buying houses and cars for her young lovers.
It’d been up to him to make his way in the world.
Africa seemed the perfect place to set up shop. With the unstable governments, corruption, and insatiable demand for weapons, all he’d needed was capital.
Thanks, sweetie.
She’d hated him, no doubt. But his son and her fear had kept her in check. He’d taken her inheritance and business boomed. Sure his hands were dirty, but that was in his blood. He only molded his pitiful DNA to suit his needs.
And now pussy made one of his guys do something stupid. He highly doubted any cunt was that good. Then again...
Perhaps he’d see for himself.
25
I know where he keeps the codes! Sloan bolted up in bed at the startling realization. The rich sunlight pouring from the French doors temporarily blinded her sleep-hazy eyes.
“What’s the matter?” Baine’s voice rumbled beside her, bringing into focus the second and third revelations in under a second. I slept. I slept with Baine all night. Well, almost all night.
She squinted and blinked the indulgent room into view, settling first on the ornately carved wood ceiling then the thick draperies clothing the large panes of translucent glass. Waking up in an unusual place was unsteadying enough. Add to it a bedfellow and the stunning realization that she held the answer to all their troubles, and her typically agile mind addled.
Baine’s soft touch beckoned her to face him. Loving reassurance floated in his brilliant blue gaze. Instantly the tightness in her chest eased and every doubt receded from her brain. This was it. Love and long sought vengeance.
He smiled and chucked her chin. “You scared the shit out of me.”
No lie. The Glock in his hand said as much. Baine released a long breath then returned the firearm to the nightstand, placing it barrel-to-barrel to its mate. Easier to reach the grips, just in case. She smiled at their like-mindedness and tackled him, catching him about as unaware as she’d ever have opportunity to.
A deep rumble filled the room as his arms enveloped her and he rolled. In a slick move he lay atop her. The covers entwined among their legs. His mussed hair and short beard gave him the look of a mountain man, not the refined Englishman he’d passed for last night. And oh the gods, that body of his. She worked around fit men every day. Fit for action. Carved by discipline. Finely honed. Just like Baine. But only his face, his love, his body made her drip with desire.
“You went from holy shit to light as a feather in two seconds. What’s up?” His full lips pursed as he tried to work out the angles.
Ready to scream it from the rooftops and at the same time terrified at the ramification three simple words could have, Sloan’s heart flip-flopped in her chest. So, she went with safe...safer…which would surely get a similar reaction. “I know where Devereaux keeps the codes.”
Baine straightened his arms and loomed over her, eyes clouding. “So, you didn’t really trust me.” His word
s were soft. His features angry.
“What?” Of all the things for him to say to that, questioning her trust in him wouldn’t have made her list. He turned away from her, swinging his feet to the floor. The muscles in his back flexed as he made a move to leave the bed over a big, huge misunderstanding. “Wait,” she commanded. “You don’t understand. I haven’t been holding out on you.
“Look at me,” she pleaded.
After an excruciating pause, he turned. Pain drew his face. And that was his own damn fault. Sloan left her elbows and perched on her knees in the middle of the bed, ready to have an eye-to-eye conversation, as Ryan called it.
“You want me to trust you. And I do. Yes, it was hard fought, but under these circumstances you can’t blame me. Caution is only natural in people who’ve dealt with the kind of shit we’ve endured. But you’re going to have to trust me.
“This is a two-way street, Londoner. I don’t know where it’s going and my hands tremble at the thought of finding out. I’ve been on my own for a very long time. For a girl who doesn’t scare easily, traveling this road without you is far more frightening. So, like you asked me last night, do you trust me?”
His full lips pressed into a thin line. His chest rose and fell several times. Sloan’s pulse roared in her ears as she waited, like it only did when she was helpless to stop something horrible from happening. The longer he stayed silent the thicker her dread became.
Finally he spoke. “Only now can I realize how truly difficult I made things for you. You’re right. Trust doesn’t come easily for either of us. And I have way more facts to base my decision on than you do.” He hooked her hand from her thigh and brought it to his lips. “I trust you. I’m sorry. I...it just hurt, when I thought you’d lied last night.”
Enemy Mine (The Base Branch Series Book 1) Page 13
