One-Eyed Jack (The Deuces Wild Series Book 3)

by Irish Winters

  Snaking both hands around the strong column of his neck, she pulled him in close, wondering where her mashed paper coffee cup went. Her backside ended up on the counter. Had Zaroyin closed the door behind him? Must have. The only light in this stuffy, overheated closet came from somewhere below. But where had the elastic she’d bound her hair with this morning gone? Why were his hands cupping her jaw like he needed to hold her still to kiss her? And why, oh why does he smell so good that I want to eat him up?

  Thrilled at the mingled fragrances of midnight, clean linen, starch, and manly deodorant in her nose, Roxy’s lips and tongue took another delicious tour of his mouth, hungry for whatever this was. She’d never—NEVER—gone from zero-to-sixty this easily, but her motor revved hot and ready for the finish line now. Lust for another taste of his potent lips, for the scrub of his five o’clock shadow on her chin, roared through her veins like a stiff shot of bourbon. No ice, just a pyroclastic, out-of-control spark that rendered her pliable, and apparently, flammable. Everything he did made her so damned hot.

  Frantic for the touch of more skin on skin, her fingertips skimmed over his shirt and slid easily into the front of his jeans. He accommodated the forbidden foray by clenching his stomach muscles and offering more room to maneuver. Bravely, she took hold of him.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. The man went commando, tripping her circuits once again. She licked her lips. Zaroyin was as hard as steel, damned thick, and ready. Every last feminine muscle contracted in anticipation. She’d barely rocked against his hips when a firm, masculine hand settled at the small of her back, pressing her firmly where he wanted her to go.

  Roxy hadn’t been involved with any guy, much less been this horny, in a long time. Yet here she was, on the verge of detonating from just the taste of his wicked tongue, and how he’d taken charge of her body without asking. Why had she let him? This hadn’t ever happened before, but having her hands on him, giving back as good as she got? There was no way she’d put the brakes on now. Together, they were high-octane fuel on the verge of blowing this concrete building in the middle of the District sky high.

  Growling now because she couldn’t wait one more second to get this show on the road, Roxy trembled. “Please,” she whispered, her voice ragged and needy, so unlike her. If this was going to happen, it had better happen fast. Now. Before she changed her mind.

  Zaroyin growled back, her breasts flattened against a very muscular chest. Easing away from her mouth, he bowed his forehead to hers, panting in her face even as she gripped his cock.

  “Shirt off. Now,” he rasped, sliding one palm from her back, past her belt, and into her pants. Her shirttail ended up by her shoulder blades, when, without asking, he shoved her bra up with his free hand. He inhaled deeply as his nose skimmed over the plump swells of her girls while he squeezed her ass. “So sweet. So damned sweet. Coconut lotion, huh?”

  “Y-yeah, yessssssssss,” she sputtered despite her sex-crazed haze. For some unfathomable reason, it pleased her that he’d noticed. Just as quickly, his breath whispered over her feverish skin, fanning the flame in her blood, and she lost her mind again.

  With a groan, Roxy tipped her head back at the pleasure zinging between her nipples and her core. But when he drew one aching tip into his fiery mouth... When he suckled and nibbled... When he moaned as if he’d just inhaled a box of chocolates instead of her sensitive flesh…

  The burgeoning fireball at her core sizzled into blinding fireworks, and she was a goner. Roxy wrapped her legs around his hips and ground herself against him, and…

  The most intense orgasm screamed up her spine, shattering every last personal boundary she’d ever set in her life, and her best intentions along with them. She hung on tight while her world shattered around her, blowing itself outward, then, just as quickly, pulling itself back in with one crazy reverse fireworks show.

  Like a gentleman, Zaroyin swallowed the scream that breached her lips, but h-h-holy hell. A tsunami of aftershocks roared through her. Clenching her. Gripping him. He groaned like a big cat. A sleek, powerful cat. As she settled back to earth, his lips peppered her chin and neck with melt-in-your-mouth kisses, grounding her. Man, could he kiss. Soooooooo good. Maybe too good to be true.

  She still had her pants on, but he hadn’t yet undone her belt. Tears sprang to her eyes. The tenderness of his mouth roving over her sweaty skin made her cry, and that was a first, but wow. If he could do that to her with just his mouth, what would the throbbing beast in her hand do? Did she dare find out?

  Breathing as hard as she was, Zaroyin cupped her ass in his large capable hands. Drawing back to release her death grip on his manhood, she pulled her hand out of his pants and snuggled into the crook of his neck, content to breathe the musky warmth of him into her soul. Yet she couldn’t sit still. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, and that was another sensual discovery. He’d cut it short since she’d first met him, bristly short. The prickles parted as she stroked and petted, her poor heart pounding from the quickness of her most excellent orgasm ever.

  I don’t know how you did that to me, wow, oh wow, oh wow. Let’s do it again.

  All the while, Agent Zaroyin held her carefully, almost reverently. For as big as he was, the man was uncommonly gentle. Refined. Almost timid. After the way he’d dragged her into this closet, she’d expected to be naked, her clothes hanging off the rafters, and on her knees by now. Instead, she was mostly, still dressed. The tender, semi-polite way he handled her made her feel—precious. Delicate. As if she were fragile, which Roxy Thurston most certainly was not.

  But she was grateful for his strength at the moment. With her heart hammering like it was, she couldn’t have stood on her own two legs if her life depended on it. She wanted to stay where she felt—safe.

  Roxy swallowed hard, her throat gone dry and her morals shredded. Never before had she done anything like this. Why’d Zaroyin affect her like he did? Why this man? This wasn’t just a make-out session. This was mind-blowing sex in a closet.

  It all started when he’d wrested control from her back in the bank. Had he used his psychic powers on her then? Was he now? Was that all this was, him influencing her mind just to have sex with him? Was he that powerful or was this some kind of dark magic?

  Okay, erase that stupid thought. Her hands slid over his shirt and down his warm back. For sure this wasn’t just sex, and it wasn’t magic. She’d enjoyed it enough to know Zaroyin wasn’t a jerk that used women. She’d seen him with Bratton, and Isaiah had been the perfect gentleman in every sense of the word. Kind and caring, he’d taken care of everyone with courtesy and consideration, two traits not normally displayed during bank robberies. Diffusing bombs. Stuff like that.

  Yet something was happening, and it had to stop. Roxy wasn’t stupid. She recognized the signs. Somehow in this closet, he’d become Isaiah, not just Psychic Dude, Dumbass, or Mr. FBI. If that meant what she thought it did, this could be very, very bad.

  Special Agent Isaiah Zaroyin might be... Just. That. Good.

  Chapter Five

  Never, as in never ever, had Isaiah done what he’d just done with Officer Thurston. Never! But damn. She’d kept mouthing off at him, egging him on until he’d lost control and reacted. And double damn, the lady could kiss. The first taste of her coffee-flavored lips drove him over the edge of insanity, and that audacious tongue of hers was as pushy as she was. And her hair…

  He could barely make his throat muscles work to swallow. The second those sleek black curls had escaped her hair tie, he lost it. The sensual glide of all that silk through his fingers made him hard as a spike, and those soft, plump breasts smashed against his chest certainly hadn’t told him ‘no’.

  Isaiah knew it then. He might be one of damned few, powerful Level Ten psychics in the world, but Roxy Thurston was dangerous.

  Shifting his hands from her backside to under her thighs, he straightened enough to keep her balanced. While the countertop was clean enough, Isaiah had
no intention of letting Roxy go. Not yet. Not when he still had to face her and admit he’d stepped way out of line with an officer of the law. The consequences would be career ending. This moment was so not his style. Remorse crept up his throat, and yet he knew he’d do it again. In a New York minute.

  “That was damned nice,” she murmured against his neck, her warm, slick lips tracing up his jaw to nibble his earlobe instead of biting it off, which he’d half expected.

  “It was,” he agreed, his legs weak with what he still wanted to do to her. With her. Roxy was as sexually responsive as she was passionate, a tough combination for any man to deny. And at the end of the day, Isaiah was just a man. A very lonely man. He swallowed hard. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology though. I lost my head.”

  “Me too,” she whispered. The crazy woman giggled, and he hadn’t seen that very feminine reaction coming, either. He’d expected a fight or a caustic comeback. Roxy Thurston was certainly capable of either, but snuggling with him in a janitor’s closet after they’d gone crazy on each other? Not so much.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he told her.

  “You’re right. We’re derelict in our duties.”

  “Both of us could get fired.”

  “Fraternization will get you every time.”

  “We really should stop.”

  “At least, be smart. Someone might catch us.”

  “Professionals. We’re professionals—”

  “Stop it,” she hissed, her fingers tapping at his collarbones to get his attention. “Stop beating yourself up, Isaiah. I couldn’t stop this fire between us any more than you could, so don’t regret what we did here.”

  He smiled at the sound of his name—his real name—on her lips. She was right. The chemistry between them was a mind-blowing flash fire, one that still simmered and could easily snap back to life if he wasn’t careful. “I still should’ve asked. A gentleman always—”

  “Takes care of his lady first,” she finished for him, wiggling her sexy body against his raging hard-on. “And you certainly took good care of me.”

  My lady? Good care? Damned if that didn’t fill Isaiah’s chest with a fierce rush of male pride. “I did?” he asked, easing back to see her in the dim light creeping under the door.

  Luminous dark eyes sparkled up at him, changing her from a pack of red-hot firecrackers to rays of pure sunshine. He was pretty sure she was blushing, the way she bit her lip and lifted one shoulder.

  “Yes, you did, and I’ve, umm, never done anything like this before, either.” Her brows knitted like a guilty little girl who’d been caught with her fingers in the cookie jar. “Honest. I don’t date. Much.”

  “Me neither. I’m not even sure how we got in here,” he told her, racking his brain to remember precisely what happened after he’d claimed that first kiss in the hall. “Do you?”

  She cocked her head, her eyes gone sultry dark as her gaze zeroed in on his lips. “It started like this,” she said as she tugged him down to her level and covered his mouth with hers, her fingers holding him in place.

  Kiss self-control goodbye. Isaiah slipped one hand beneath her shirt and palmed a lush warm breast, the tip still wet from his mouth. For one brief second, he debated the wisdom of sex in a closet on government property. It plain wasn’t smart. But that tender peak had just pebbled into a hard knot under the pad of this thumb. With the sultry scent of Roxy and coffee in his nose, Isaiah succumbed to temptation. Thinking was way over-rated anyway.

  Shoving her shirt up and out of his way, he had that tender nub between his lips and teeth in a hurry. Nibbling and suckling, lathing and moaning, he drew her breast into his mouth until she jerked against him and mewled, “More!”

  Her mews sounded as sweet as a kitten’s and the decision was made. “Not here,” he told her, fighting the storm rising between them while she continued thrusting her hips into him, making him harder than steel and just as dumb. That randy thing in his pants seemed to think it was in charge, and maybe it was. When had everything gotten so out of control?

  “Not now. Damn it,” he hissed, struggling to dominate the caveman instinct to mate and do it now.

  “Yessssssssss, now,” she hissed back at him, matching his thrusts every inch of the way. “I don’t want to wait. I can’t. Hurry.”

  Isaiah lost it. Bending to her will, he undid her belt and unzipped her pants. Fumbling with urgency, he dropped his jeans to his knees. With his back to the door so nobody could see Roxy if they were interrupted, he lifted her plump ass off the counter and fastened her to his hips where she fit like she was made for him. The scrap of a leather thong she wore didn’t stand a prayer of coming between them, but wasn’t that an interesting piece of the Officer Thurston puzzle. This woman was one helluva challenge.

  He tugged it aside. “Hold onto me, babe. That’s the way. I won’t let you fall.”

  With one arm hooked over his neck, she directed him inside her warm, wet body with her free hand. Damn, she was a strong little thing, built of muscle, passion, and a helluva lot of determination. Isaiah growled at the heat and the squeeze radiating off those exquisite female muscles.

  “I think I’m on fire,” he growled. But what a slick, sweet fire she was. So fine...

  “Fire and gasoline, baby,” she moaned, her voice gone breathy and low. She wiggled until there was no more of him to give. “That’s you and me. Burn baby. Burnnnnnnnnn.”

  Filled to the hilt, he eased her up and down until those feminine muscles tightened, squeezing the life out of him—or into him. He’d read somewhere that an orgasm was comparable to a mini-death, but Damn…What a way to die.

  With an unladylike grunt, her head tipped back. He covered her mouth with his as again, he swallowed her scream of release. The heady vibration of it coursed over his tongue and into his throat. The way she bit his lip while panting into his open mouth, triggered his release. At the pinnacle of another thrust, the most delectable fire roared up his spine and through him, wiping out every intelligent, well-thought out reason not to be doing this incredibly insane, intimate, heavenly act with this once in a lifetime lady. Thrusting instinctively, he filled her physically as she filled him. Emotionally. Spiritually. Eternally…

  No other woman had ever touched him at the levels Roxy had just reached. Make that breached. Whether she knew it or not, she’d gotten into his soul with that bossy act of hers. And there he was, one of America’s most intelligent professional FBI agents, a Level Ten psychic for hell’s sake!—having out of control sex with a hot-blooded, passionate woman in a janitor’s closet, without a single thought of protection—for his heart or for the baby they might’ve just made. It was possible. He knew biology, just not how to control it.

  Sweaty now and reluctant to face reality, he let his damp forehead drop to her shoulder. “Condom,” he whispered with regret, still breathing hard. “Damn. I should’ve thought to suit up before we—”

  “That makes two of us,” she huffed, her cheeks pulled back in the smile he felt on his neck. “Don’t worry, Isaiah. I got carried away, too, but I’ve got us covered. I’ve been on birth control since, ah, since I was seventeen.”

  He wanted to ask what kind, pills or that long term shot, but he shook his head against her, instead, still sick at heart that he’d lost control. That he’d been thoughtless. That he should’ve been a gentleman instead of a rutting pig. She deserved so much more. “Next time will be different. I promise. I’ll make it good for you,” he murmured between heavy breaths.

  “Next time?” Roxy tipped back then, her dark brown brows arched and her black eyes sparkling in the dark. Her palms landed flat on his chest, and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. “What? You think this is more than just sex in a broom closet? You think us banging each other like a couple dogs in heat makes us a couple or something? You think we’re more than just fuck buddies?”

  Ouch. He winced at her vulgar rampage of what, for him, had been the most beau
tiful act he’d ever participated in. That word. He used it on occasion, but it sounded so much more crass rolling off her lips.

  For the first time, he pushed into her mind and past her mental defenses. Damn. She had a wall of them. Prickly. Wiry. Snarky defenses. But the scared little girl he sensed on the other side of that wall, the one with two little fists up and tears glistening in her big, brown eyes, that person was not the same face Roxy showed the world.

  Holy shit. This was downright tragic. A long time ago, someone had hurt this defiant woman, bad enough she no longer trusted people. Hence the snark and the tough career she’d chosen. Hence the badassed cop veneer. The self-defense classes and the need to stick close to her neighborhood. To give back. Somewhere along the line, Roxy’d made up her mind she’d never be weak again. Holy shit, indeed.

  Swallowing hard, Isaiah eased back. Some things were worth fighting for, but there were better ways to fight than confrontation and dominance. Pulling all of his compassion into play, he went for broke. “I think what you and I did here definitely makes us more than just buddies,” he said calmly. Letting his gaze roll past her mussed shirt to the juncture of their still very connected bodies, he allowed a small smile at the lovely sight. They weren’t dogs in heat. If anything, this was a once in a lifetime ‘his and hers’ moment to be celebrated, not denigrated or reduced to something less, with crude street slang. “Not that I’m hearing church bells or anything, but you still owe me a date.”

  “I owe you?” she asked as she settled her backside more firmly on the counter. Twisting to the side, she grabbed a handful of tissues from the same box he’d pilfered earlier. With one palm in his chest, she shoved him back, breaking their connection.

  A whine nearly slipped from his lips. He missed her heat and her warmth, and no, they weren’t the same thing. One came from her succulent core, the other from the heart she hid so skillfully from the world.