Ultimate Sins

by Lora Leigh

  That body-clenching, flaming, complete-destruction-of-the-mind pleasure that she’d only found in Crowe’s arms had to be within reach.

  It was right there.

  “Crowe, please!” she gasped, fighting to twist in the grip he had on her hips, tortured, desperate to meet the chaos reaching out for her.

  And still, it remained just out of reach.

  Torturing her.

  Teasing her with that elusive promise of rapture. Hinting at the burning pleasure that was becoming more addictive to her than any drink or drug could ever be.

  Just as quickly as she was pushed to that brutal edge, his tongue retreated, his lips leaving the desperate ache between her thighs as he rose between them.

  One hand gripped his cock, his fingers guiding the heavy stalk of flesh as he came over her. As he fit his hips between her thighs, his gaze locking on hers, Amelia felt her breath catch.

  Fiery hot, throbbing, pulsing with demand, he felt so much fuller, thicker than ever as the flared crest pressed against her opening.

  Tilting her hips to him, her gaze following Crowe’s as it slid down the center of their bodies, she watched—

  Her breath caught, a whimper leaving her lips as the dark, flushed cockhead began stretching her, parting the sensitive entrance as he began working it inside her.

  The swollen folds of her pussy flared out around it, cupping the very tip of his cock until it penetrated her. Slick, glistening with her juices, the snug flesh of her entrance began cupping the crest little by little as he worked it against her.

  Sensual flames ignited as she struggled to accept him, her sex tightening, clenching then releasing around the wide crest working its way into the suckling heat.

  Lifting her knees to grip his hips, Amelia was unable to turn away from the sight of it. She could not help herself as she both felt and watched the steady impalement of her pussy. The blistering eroticism of the act amped her own arousal to a height she couldn’t have imagined reaching before.

  She wasn’t going to just fly into release when it came. When it came, she was going to explode into it.

  “Fuck yes,” he moaned, a dark, rough groan that caressed her senses as the head of his cock disappeared inside her greedy flesh.

  Where it was stopped by the heavy, flexing muscles inside her sensitive vagina.

  Not that Crowe was about to let that actually stop him.

  The pleasure increased for both of them as she was forced to stop watching the penetration, her head falling back and a cry whispering past her lips.

  “Fuck me,” she moaned, her need for him obliterating everything, anything else. “Please, Crowe. Hard. Fuck me hard. Now.”

  She wanted that bite of pain. She needed to feel it, as she had before, as his cock slid inside her hard and fast.

  “Are you sure, baby?” His lips fell to her neck; he was unable to watch himself possess her for even another second but desperate to tease them both with the pleasure just a little longer. “Are you very sure this is what you want?”

  “Damn you, fuck me,” she cried out.

  His hips stilled, bunched.

  “Yes. Yes.” He was going to give it. She could feel him tensing, preparing to surge inside her.

  There was no way to prepare herself for the coming sensations. Pleasure. Pain. A fiery combination of both sensations so extreme she knew a part of her wouldn’t survive it.

  Blazing.

  The first, hard thrust buried him only inches inside her, not even half of the hardened length of his cock filling her. It struck a match to the already fiery wash of feelings and sent ecstatic pleasure careening through her body.

  Before she could process one sensation, he retreated then returned, amplifying it, throwing her so hard, so fast into another level of sensation that she couldn’t even process the full scope of how each felt.

  They clashed together in burning, surging waves of pleasure so extreme that pleasure and pain merged.

  Stretching, agony and ecstasy, burning heat and a heavy, erotic stroke that almost eased it, then suddenly made each sensation glow brighter, erupt with greater intensity than any other time he’d touched her.

  Her hips writhed beneath each heavy thrust, her breath rasping in her throat as she gasped, whimpered, and couldn’t find the breath to cry out.

  All she could do was hold on to Crowe and pray she lived through the ride.

  Coming over her fully, he let one hand grip her thigh, his elbow braced at her shoulder, as his powerful knees spread her thighs wide. His knees dug into the bed, his muscular hips powering every fierce penetration of his body into hers and pushing her closer to an edge she was already poised to race over.

  Closer.

  Each hard stroke of his cock shafting to the depths of her pussy dragged an agonized cry from her lips. Pleasure screamed through her. Each penetration ratcheted sexual tension deeper, higher, until every cell was at peak reception, peak sensitivity.

  “Please, please—” She was crying the word, barely aware of it slipping past her lips as a chant, a plea, the only way she had of begging for release.

  “God yes,” he groaned, his breathing rough and heavy as his lips parted at her neck, spreading kisses over the sensitive flesh there.

  “So fucking good. So fucking good and so fucking tight. And so fucking—ah God, Amelia. Baby—”

  His lips reach the uplifted curve of her breast, the brutally tight tip of her nipple—

  Covering the hard peak and sucking it into the heat of his mouth, he set off a chain reaction inside her body that destroyed her.

  The lightning stroke of sensation began at her nipple, struck with brutal pleasure to her womb, her tightening pussy, then the painfully swollen bud of her clit.

  Each strike of agonizing pleasure sparked a reaction until that chaotic abyss she’d been reaching for so desperately finally enveloped her.

  Sensation shot from her sex through the rest of her body. It exploded, blazed, exploded again and surged through her like a tidal wave.

  Ecstasy tore through her system at the impact.

  Complete. Perfect. Pleasure.

  Rapture.

  Her eyes flew open. Her gaze caught with his, locked, widened, and felt that rapture detonate as two hard, deep thrusts buried Crowe to the hilt inside the tightening flesh, the milking, fluttering waves of her release trigging his own.

  Fiery jets of semen ejaculated fiercely inside the sensitive depths of her vagina. Hard waves of pulsing sensory overload had yet another wave of sensation trigging through her body.

  It was brutal.

  It was a swirling, whirling storm of orgasmic bliss. And she knew, after being taken, possessed, and completely overcome by such ecstasy, she would never—no, she could never be the same again.

  CHAPTER 26

  He was supposed to teach her a lesson.

  Sitting next to her on the bed, Crowe gently cleaned the semen from the inside of Amelia’s thighs after using the damp cloth to erase the drying remnants of their perspiration from her slender body.

  She was asleep.

  Son of a bitch, the second he’d forced himself to ease from her, long after her pussy had stopped throbbing and pulsing around his cock, she’d slipped into a sleep so deep he wondered if she ever slept when she was alone.

  Or did she lie awake in the bed, as he’d seen her in Kimmy’s room, staring into the darkness, wondering when the monster would strike?

  Crowe pulled the sheet and quilts over her body, then tucked them over her shoulders before rising from the bed to find his clothes.

  His next stop was the security control room where Cameron, Jase, and Ivan were still working with the security system. Mike had been either a genius or a fucking moron; Crowe couldn’t determine which. Either way, he had created more problems than the three techs could figure out together.

  Ivan Resnova had become their protector. His money and the tech gurus he had at his command had saved their asses more than once since the Resnova f
amily had come into Brute Force. Add in Crowe’s military knowledge, Logan’s surveillance abilities, and Rafer’s knowledge of the mountains and tracking skills, and they were steadily tracking Wayne Sorenson and ensuring he lost each hidden haven he thought he possessed.

  They’d nearly caught him at the last one. High above Sweetrock, Wayne had installed a telescope in the window of a small hunting cabin and managed to find a direct line of sight to front door of the house.

  The house was the first one on the corner of the last block before you headed out of town. Running deep and hard in a series of heavy ripples and light rapids, Sweet Water Gorge opened and leveled off outside town, while the heavy course of water continued to flow past within sight of the house.

  Directly across from the house a path had been clear cut halfway up the mountain by a logging company intent on building a road through the trees it intended to log. John Corbin had produced a deed to the mountain that trumped the one the logging company possessed. It had effectively ensured the company was driven straight out of the county and the mountains were left almost as pristine and gorgeous as they had been before the company arrived.

  Except for that one clear-cut path, which went straight up then stopped. And through that path, Wayne had found the line of sight he needed to watch Amelia the way a cat watched a particularly attractive mouse.

  He had left detailed notes of her movements and months’ worth of insane ramblings written in a wrinkled composition book that looked as though it had been chased through the mountains right along with Sorenson.

  They had scored a major hit against him when they found and struck the cabin. Unfortunately, only minutes before the team had poured through the trees surrounding the cabin, he’d discovered they were coming.

  The back door had still been open. In the cabin they had found the four cameras Wayne had managed to hide by burying the wires several inches beneath the dirt before running them up the trees the cameras were positioned in. The setup had allowed him to glimpse the movement in the forest and escape before the cabin was surrounded.

  But they had his notebook, and they had a hell of a lot of his supplies.

  For a man nearing his sixties the son of a bitch was in damned good shape to have escaped them so quickly.

  Now, if Crowe were Wayne, he’d want plenty of places to hide, and he’d want each of them stocked with whatever he needed. If each of his hideaways was well stocked, then Wayne wouldn’t have to worry about carrying supplies if he had to run. Each of those hideaways would have the same system of cameras as well, though they would be positioned differently. Wayne would want to ensure his pursuers weren’t prepared to evade his cameras if they found another of the hunting cabins.

  If Wayne actually managed to get into the house and Amelia came face-to-face with him, Crowe was terrified Wayne would kill her before they could get to her. Or worse yet, if Wayne managed to find Kimmy.

  It was one of those insane, rambling plans he’d detailed in the composition book: to get into the house, to get Amelia, and—if it appeared he couldn’t escape with her—to kill her before killing himself.

  But that was before Amelia had brought their daughter, and the wife Wayne had believed he’d killed, to the house.

  Until then nothing had mattered to Wayne but taking Amelia.

  Nothing mattered but destroying her.

  Amelia had, as Wayne had written, committed the ultimate sin. She’d not only slept with a Callahan, but had betrayed him for Callahan.

  She had, Wayne had written, loved a Callahan, and for that, she had to die.

  As Crowe entered the communications room, his gaze was caught by movement on one of the cameras. Amelia was leaving the bedroom. Dressed now in loose cotton pants and a T-shirt, she moved to Kimmy’s room.

  Crowe watched as she entered their daughter’s room. Kimmy sat up in bed, a wide smile filled with love on her face. She jumped to her knees in bed and wrapped her arms around her mother.

  Amelia cradled their daughter, her expression so serene, so incredibly beautiful in its maternal grace that Crowe felt his throat tightening with a surge of emotion he could barely contain.

  He wanted to be there with them. He needed to be there with them. The instinct was so deep, so overwhelming he was tensing to turn and leave the room.

  “Mr. Callahan, this damned system is driving me fucking crazy.” Cameron stopped him as he cursed the flickering of another screen, tapped the monitor, then blew a heavy breath of irritation. “Son of a bitch, I even changed the power packs this morning and had new cameras brought in. I swear, I get up with Mike and I’m killin’ the little son of a bitch.”

  “Let’s see if we can figure out what the hell he did.” Biting back the irritation rising inside him, Crowe sat down and powered up the laptop he’d placed there earlier.

  They were running out of time, he could feel it. The knowledge of it tore at his senses and drove him to immerse himself in the electronics that were his first line of defense in protecting Amelia against the bastard.

  The monster.

  “Monsters do exist, son.” His father nodded somberly as he sat next to Crowe’s bed. “But they’re not invisible. They’re right there in plain sight, smiling, laughing, convincing you that they’re not monsters just before they strike.” The weight of knowledge in his father’s eyes convinced Crowe to the soles of his feet that there really weren’t monsters under his bed as his grandpa John had claimed.

  “Why did Grandpa lie to me?” he asked his father, feeling betrayed.

  His father sighed heavily. “Grandpa didn’t lie to you exactly. He just doesn’t know how they hide. I do.”

  “Have you seen them?” Crowe whispered, his eyes widening as his father suddenly seemed ten feet tall and as strong as the mountains. If he fought monsters, then Dad had to be really strong, didn’t he?

  “I’ve seen them.” There was a look in his father’s eyes that had Crowe’s heart beating faster. “And they look just like anyone else, son. It’s what’s inside a man that makes him a monster, not what’s on the outside. It’s not the slimy aliens or the hairy wolf men you have to watch out for. Those are for television and for some little boys”—he gave his son a stern look—“scaring their younger cousins with.”

  Crowe got the hint and shook his head. “I won’t no more,” he promised, wanting to hear more about the real monsters. “Did you find a monster, Dad, that looked like me or you?”

  “Not like you, son,” David Callahan promised with a hint of a smile at his lips. “But one that looks like a man. Remember that, Crowe. Monsters walk on two legs, and they’re crafty. They’re real good at fooling even the smartest of men. Don’t forget that. Because sometimes, you don’t realize monsters are stalking you until it’s too late. It’s far better to be smart, to be safe, and to watch for monsters in everyone you know.”

  “Even Logan and Rafe?” he whispered, suddenly wondering if somehow his cousins were monsters.

  He couldn’t hurt his little cousins. He’d promised Dad he’d always watch out for them, and for his baby sister. What was he supposed to do if one of them was a monster?

  His father gave him one of those small, man-to-man smiles Crowe always tried to get.

  “Well, maybe not Logan and Rafe,” his father amended. “It’s hard to imagine a Callahan as a monster, don’t you think?”

  Crowe nodded quickly. “They’re just dumb kids sometimes,” he sighed. “But I make sure to tell them when they’re dumb so they’ll get smart.”

  His father chuckled at that. “You keep doing that, son.”

  Reaching out, his father ruffled his hair as Crowe tried to duck and act like he didn’t want his hair messed up. After all, Kiely Moss down the street really liked his hair when he brushed it just that certain way. But Crowe swore that when his dad did that, he was treating Crowe like he was growing up. After all, hugs and kisses were for moms. Dads patted their sons’ shoulders or ruffled their hair.

  Well, except for dau
ghters, Crowe remembered. His dad said his baby sister, Sarah, would always need his hugs, but he’d wait until Crowe asked for one. That was after Crowe had told him hugs were for sissies, though.

  “Dad.” He stopped his father as he moved to stand up from the bed.

  “Yeah, son?” his father asked softly.

  Crowe cleared his throat, a little uncomfortable, but suddenly overwhelmed by a need he didn’t understand. Refusing to allow his face to go all hot, though, he asked, “Can I have one of those hugs now?”

  His father’s face gentled. Crowe wondered if maybe his dad liked giving him hugs.

  “You sure as hell can, son.”

  Crowe met that hug halfway. Rising to his knees, his skinny arms wrapping around his father’s neck, he felt his father’s strength enfold him.

  “I love you, Dad, but you said a bad word,” he reminded his father, fighting against the tears that suddenly filled his young eyes and a fear he couldn’t explain.

  “I love you, too, son.” His dad’s voice sounded a little strange, like it did when he and Mom had been reading those papers the night before and Crowe had seen his dad’s eyes get kind of wet. “I love you, too.”

  Pulling back, Crowe lay back down, staring up at his dad. The monster slayer, he decided. His dad was a monster slayer.

  “Go to sleep,” his dad told him firmly.

  “Can we go get Mom’s Christmas present tomorrow?” Crowe asked then. “I saw what I want to get at Pierson’s.”

  His dad shook his head slowly. “Not tomorrow, son. Maybe the next day. I have to take your mom to the lawyer tomorrow. But if nothing comes up, we’ll definitely go the next day.”

  “Be careful, Dad.” His dad always said that when Crowe and his cousins went outside to play. “The news said it might snow.”

  His dad smiled. “I’ll definitely be careful.”

  Then he reached over, turned out the light, and, as Crowe watched, left the room.