Blind Rage: Team Red, Book 4

by T. Hammond

  “Babe, if you ever decide to marry me, I’ll insist on eloping. No way in hell I’ll chance you getting cold feet and changing your mind.” He hugged me, burying his face in my hair. “One day, Babe. When you’re ready. I want a ring on your finger and our names blended together.”

  I closed my eyes and imagined the possibility of marrying Bastian. Maybe. Probably. Crap, no doubt he’d eventually wear me down.

  “Close your eyes, Babe. Get some sleep. I guarantee you won’t get any tonight,” he promised.

  I drifted back to sleep. Eventually.

  ****************

  “So what color polish do you want for your nails, Teresa?” Cyndi asked, buffing the tips to a rounded oval.

  “Clear or nude, either is fine, Cyndi.”

  “No, it’s not. You’ve finally let your nails grow out again. I want to see some color. Paint ‘em Fire Engine Red, Cyn,” Janey overruled.

  “Teresa?” Cyndi asked.

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever. Blind girl. Don’t care,” I effected a bored tone.

  “You care. She’s finally gonna kick Bas’ tires and take him out for a spin,” Janey announced gleefully, loving the car analogy I’d started earlier.

  “Really? Lucky girl,” Cyn crooned suggestively. “I saw him at the hardware store last week. Boy howdy, did that man grow into a gorgeous handful. I love the hair, it was loose and down around his shoulders. He was rockin’ some sexy five o’clock shadow too. The taller guy with him looked like a model. And lord have mercy, when the taller guy started walking, I almost came where I stood.”

  “David,” Janey and I said concurrently.

  Janey continued, “Dark hair, hazel eyes, and a hip rolling walk which makes a woman think of sex?”

  “Yep. That’s the guy,” she confirmed.

  “He’s Bastian’s business partner,” I explained.

  “I could have stared at his dimple all day,” Cyndi gushed. “And, holy hell, it was stud-a-palooza at Home Depot that afternoon. Every aisle was sporting a sexy, well-built guy. Best day ever for buying paint.”

  I had to grin at the mental image. Confident the studs in question were Wild Horse escorts.

  We chattered away about Cyndi’s kids, three daughters, and Janey recapped the highlights of her Christmas vacation—the re-telling was just as comical the second time around.

  After nails were done, and we bore the painful indignity of body waxing, we were off to the masseuse for some serious relaxation. It was almost three-thirty by the time we arrived back at the house. I’d broached the subject of pregnancy somewhere between facial masques and hair treatments. Janey was surprised, yet thrilled with the news and promised to buy a couple test kits on the way home, after she dropped me off. Janey confided she and Ken wanted lots of kids, and while this wasn’t planned, it wasn’t unexpected as they had an accident with a condom the night before they caught their plane back east.

  I was nervous and excited about tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I could hear the sound of his breathing. Slow, calm. Each exhale lifting the fine hairs on my nape. The steady cadence of his breath, a contrast to the rapid, deafening pounding of my heart. Tender hands, cupped my shoulders, holding me pressed, shoulder blades to sternum, against Bastian’s chest. “You’ve kicked the tires, and fueled me up with a great meal. Are you ready to turn the key, Babe?”

  My pulse hammered, as I considered the next step in our relationship. I wanted him so badly but I also wanted it to be perfect and natural. My reply must have taken too long because Bas whispered in my ear, “We can simply sleep and hold each other if you’re not ready, Babe. I told you I’d give you as much time as you needed.”

  “I don’t want to screw this up, Bas. What if the sex sucks? What if you’re disappointed? You’ve waited so long. What happens if I don’t meet your expectations? Geez, Bas, what if we don’t fit?” The last question, addressing my fear of his generous dimensions.

  “Stop. Seriously, slow down. You’re making this so much harder than it needs to be,” he soothed. “First, you won’t screw anything up. We’re doing this together, between the two of us, we’ll get it right. Second, I hope it sucks. I hope it blows and licks, too. I’m really looking forward to the sucky parts,” he joked. “Third, there is no way I could be disappointed, Teresa. I love you. We are meant to be together. Four, you’ve already met all my expectations. And on the flip side, what if I don’t meet yours? And five. I absolutely, positively guarantee everything will line up perfectly, fit snugly, and you will love every inch of me when it slides into you. A promise, Babe. I won’t hurt you—I could never do that. We go at your pace, and we only go if you’re sure you’re ready. I’ll always wait for you.”

  “Damn, Bastian. How could I not have seen you for the man you are? So many wasted years. I love your heart, and your faithfulness, and your courage.” I turned in his arms, facing him, physically and emotionally. “I love you. I want to make love to you, Bastian. I want to strip you down, and explore every inch of this beautiful body.” I ran my hand lightly over his chest, and leaned forward. “I want to breathe you in, and learn the sounds you make when you’re excited, and when you come.” The last, whispered in his ear.

  “Fuck, Babe. You pack a punch. I’ll give you whatever you need. All you have to do is ask for it, or take it.”

  I ran my hand over his pectorals, meeting at the center, over a line of buttons. I flicked the top button open, and slowly worked my way downward, tugging the hem up, out of his pants. My knuckles brushed over the taut rise beneath his jeans where his erection threatened to break free. “Fuck me, Babe. Do that again,” he pleaded, rolling his hips forward into the pressure of my hand. The moan torn from his throat was one of the sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard. Full of a need he wasn’t embarrassed about. Confident enough in us to let me hear the intimate sounds of his pleasure. His desire heightened my own.

  Spearing my hands under the flaps of his open shirt, I pushed the sides apart, over his chest and shoulders, down his arms to his elbows. I left the shirt in place, loving the thrust of his chest with his arms tangled in the sleeves, held behind his back. I took advantage of his imprisonment, running trails of biting kisses over the smooth, heavy pads of muscle.

  By happy coincidence, I found a nipple. Remembering Bas’ response when I’d bit him through his t-shirt one morning, I scraped my teeth over his pec until I could latch on to a tightly drawn aureole. With a hiss of indrawn breath, he pushed into my mouth, encouraging a sharper bite. Without conscious thought, I obliged. Then I soothed with the flat of my tongue, learning Bastian liked a little pain with his sex. I liked teeth too.

  Bastian surprised me by accepting a passive role, not struggling out of the shirt I used to bind his arms. It seems I’d made a lot of assumptions about this man, and was constantly surprised when he stepped outside the stereotype I errantly labeled him with.

  I took my time, licking, nipping, and sucking from his very sensitive neck, to his even more sensitive nipples. His chest was hairless, but I was pleased with the tease of wispy hair circling his bellybutton before trailing down toward his groin. As I’d come to appreciate from Bastian in other respects, he was generous with his responses, arching into my hands and mouth, spilling curses and moans as I discovered the secrets of his body.

  Finally, I slid the shirt off, over his wrists, pulling his face to mine in a passion-filled kiss. Tongues tangled, and teeth clashed, as we sought to devour each other. Freed, his palms slid over my belly, then my ribs, finally dragging my cashmere sweater over my head. “Abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous,” he praised as he revealed bare skin. I’d left my bra at home. My mouth was captured, once again, in a carnal dance. Bas angled his mouth for a firmer fit, parting his lips—enough to swipe his tongue across the seam of my mouth, before sinking deep to taste my passion.

  Weeks of restrained intimacy made us eager. We fought to explore each other, mouths fused, barely separating long enough to draw breath before join
ing again. I whimpered, he moaned. I strained, he pushed. I melted, he hardened.

  Suddenly impatient, my hands dropped to the buttons of his jeans, practically ripping the fly open in my haste. Before I could plunge my hand through the opening, Bastian lifted me high, and tossed me on the bed with a delighted laugh. “You are not going to rush this, Babe. Slow. Easy. You can plan on an hour or two of foreplay.” He swiftly unfastened my jeans, yanking the fabric down my legs. Apparently not satisfied with my level of dress, he then hooked his fingers and plucked off each of my socks, leaving me dressed only in a delicate lace thong.

  The bed depressed beside me, and it took a moment to realize, his hand was fisted on the mattress as he bent over my panties, inhaling the scent of my desire. The trailing ends of his shoulder-length hair, tickled teasingly over the soft swell of my belly. He groaned, a sensual sound, “I bet you taste like salted caramel.” His breath hot, he shocked me by biting gently at my clit through the lacy fabric. His free hand pushed my legs apart and he sunk teeth into the tender flesh of my inner thigh—firmly, but not painfully, sucking the skin into his mouth to leave a lover’s mark. Shifting his face a millimeter, he was able to run his tongue along the edge of the cloth covering my mound.

  “I can’t wait. I need my mouth on you.” Drawing the last scrap of clothing over my hips, he sucked in a shocked breath. “Fuck me, Teresa” he exhaled. “You’re completely waxed.”

  He sounded pleased, and I gave myself a mental high-five for making the last minute decision to ask Cyndi for a full wax. Bastian’s weight shifted on the mattress, his callused fingertips delicately traced over the bare flesh. “Oh, Babe, you’re drenched in cream. You’re the most fucking erotic thing I’ve ever seen.” His thumbs circled over the smooth contours of my labia, before he slid one deep into my pussy. With a gasp, I pushed up, forcing the digit deeper.

  With a satisfied chuckle, he withdrew his thumb and rose from beside me, to reposition my body. It wasn’t until he split my legs over his wide shoulders, that I realized he’d knelt beside the bed, with his face between my thighs. Need overcame any lingering traces of shyness in about two heartbeats.

  The next half hour was one of the most intense experiences in my life. Bastian had conveyed he not only enjoyed oral sex, but considered it a necessary element in lovemaking to prepare his partner for the size of his cock. His mouth consumed me. Tongue probing delicately to explore my damp folds; licking in broad swipes to collect the slick juices; thrusting deeply to imitate the act of intercourse. From the tight pucker of my ass, to the bundle of nerves at my clitoris, I was thoroughly explored, and utterly ravished.

  “Oh god, Bastian. No more,” I pleaded, as his teeth nibbled at my throbbing clit, building me into another orgasm. I almost screamed as he thrust two thick fingers into my pussy. My muscles clamped down, as he dragged them out and plunged in again.

  “Almost ready, Babe. Only another thirty minutes should do it,” he teased evilly.

  “Can’t wait that long,” I complained woefully. “Whatever I need, all I have to do is ask—you promised, Bastian. What I need is your cock, filling me.”

  Broad hands scooped under my ass as Bas scooted me away from the edge. “I’ll always give you what you need, Babe.” The sound of his belt hitting the floor informed me he’d finally stripped off his jeans.

  The crinkle of paper suggested he’d extracted a condom, probably from his pocket. “No,” I protested. “Skin on skin, Bas. I’m on the pill.”

  The crackling sound stopped. I didn’t hear his breathing anymore. Bas’ lungs released in a rush, as if he’d been holding his breath. “Never, Babe. I’ve never—ever—had sex without a condom. We do this bareback, and I need a promise…” he waited for me to ask, maybe to make sure I understood this was something which mattered to him.

  “Okay?”

  “I have no boundaries for sex, Teresa; if you have the balls to ask me for it, I’ll try it at least once. No rules, except one. If you get pregnant, you will marry me. Promise, Babe. There’s no other woman I’d take this chance with. Only for you. But, only if you promise. If you can’t agree, that’s okay, I understand, and I’ll use a condom.”

  There we stood. On the brink of a precipice.

  Did I love this man enough to commit to him if there were consequences? I thought of his broad shouldered, thickly muscled body, holding me tenderly while I cried for the loss of another man. This beautiful, long-haired, green-eyed god, who teased me with affection and good-natured smiles. Sebastian Declan was a man I could depend on. I knew he would stay by my side, and never abandon me for being imperfect. Could I see myself with him for the rest of my life?

  There was only one answer. “I promise, Bastian.”

  He braced his magnificent body on fists set to either side of my head. His mouth locked to mine as he sealed the vow with a kiss.

  He stood, maneuvering my knees until they framed his waist, and my ankles hooked reflexively to hold themselves in place behind his back. Once again, as if to assure himself I was, indeed, ready, Bastian slid fingers into my wet sheath; worked them in a twisting, scissoring motion.

  Bastian rubbed the broad head of his penis through my slick juices, coating himself to ease his way—and mine. Instead of bracing an arm on the bed, he slipped his palm under my nape, sliding fingers into my hair. His weight now rested on the back of his hand, cradling my head.

  Leaning forward, his hot breath mingled with mine. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved,” he confided, as the first inches of his thick cock speared into me. Oh god, he was wide. Stretching me impossibly, I thought, but not, for my body adjusted to accommodate his girth.

  He withdrew, swiveling the head around my swollen clitoris. When my body arched up, he entered me again. “You’re the only woman to feel me bare inside her,” he growled with satisfaction. This time, he continued to fill me using a pumping motion of his hips. I whimpered from the pleasurable pain. The experience excruciatingly intense. Hard. Thick. Hot. My vaginal muscles clamped down as a shudder of desire wracked me.

  “Oh fuck, Babe. Don’t do that or it will be over before I’m buried all the way in you,” he complained through gritted teeth,

  “Can’t help it,” I panted. Where did all the air in the room go? “I’ve never been so full.”

  He groaned again, whether from my statement or the clasp of my body, I didn’t know. Enough of him was buried securely, he no longer needed to guide his cock, and his free hand slid under my ass to tilt my hips as he drove himself fully in, balls deep.

  I came. Harder than I ever had before. From the curl of my toes to the arch of my neck, my whole body shivered from the force of the shockwaves rippling through me. My pussy locked tightly, increasing the friction as Bastian withdrew and pushed forward. Oh. My. Gawd!

  There was no pain; there was only Bas, and a gut-wrenching pleasure which increased as he began to piston his hips. I came again—or, maybe it was simply an extension of the last orgasm. My legs tightened, even as my fingernails clutched and pierced the flesh of his arms; I feared I drew blood, and moved my hands to grasp his shoulders. The sudden force behind his next thrust corresponded with the snarl in my ear, “Harder, Babe. I’m fuckin’ yours, mark me.” The next violent shove of his hips, forced my nails into the muscles of his back. “Yes!” he hissed, enjoying the bite of pain.

  “Only you,” he pledged. And, as my body pulsed around him, his cock jerked a final time before he filled me with the heat of his release. “Finally,” he sighed.

  ****************

  Damn, I was sore. Not that this insignificant detail kept us from exploring every inch of each other’s bodies over a deliciously decadent weekend. Thankfully, Bas’ definition of sex didn’t mean bed play had to end in intercourse. I’d only managed to accept the full length of him once more, last night, after some of my initial tenderness dissipated.

  Holy hell! I could get used to this, to him—all ten and seven-eighths inches of him. He’d lied, I knew he
had. Overruling Bas’ protests, I convinced a confused bellman to find a measuring tape so I could challenge Bastian’s “I’m ten inches” declaration. He may have been ten inches when he and Sherry Dangerfield, the hussy, had measured his teenage erection, but the subsequent years had enhanced the number. Considerably.

  “Happy Birthday, Bastian,” I greeted, rolling over to face him in the huge bed we’d left only a half-dozen times in the past two days; long enough for meals and showers.

  “Thank you, Babe.” Bas leaned forward, honoring the Cardinal Rule of Morning Kisses, with a sweet kiss. “So have you decided if you’ll keep your old, beat up ride? Or do you plan to threaten me with return policies?”

  Smiling, I ran a loving hand over the scruffy hair line accenting his jaw. “No threats. No returns. This customer is one-hundred-percent satisfied with her purchase. I can certainly understand how you earned the nick name, Player, Bastian. Good god, you have stamina!”

  He chuckled at my light-hearted teasing, “The men decided on a replacement for my old call name.”