Sweet, fucking torture.
I was losing control, and shit was about to get embarrassing.
I cupped her shoulders and pulled her upright. “You’re killing me right now.”
“You’re taking too long to get naked!” Lifting her knee, she slid her foot between my legs and pushed my pants to the floor.
“What’s the rush?” I asked, cupping her cheeks and pulling her face to mine. “We have all night.”
Her wild, fiery eyes filled with nervous anticipation. “Kiss me,” she begged.
I obliged, working her mouth—soft, slow, unrelenting—until she relaxed.
Her lids fluttered open. “Pinch me.”
I slid a hand down to her ass and pinched. “It’s not a dream, babylove.”
“I’m scared to death I’m going to wake up and you won’t be here.”
“I’m here. I’m real. I’m yours. I’m all yours.” I kissed her again, this time locking my arms around her waist and lifting her off the floor.
Her legs curled around my hips. Fuck, I loved when she did that. I walked to the bed and carefully laid her down beneath me. On reflex, I swept her hair off her face. That fucking gorgeous, perfect face. Round, and soft, and turning a lovely shade of red, for me.
I danced my fingers over her shoulder, then down her arm. Touching, exploring, savoring the perfect moment, her flawless beauty. Shivers wracked her body when I lightly brushed my knuckle over the curve of her breast. When I flicked my tongue over the pebbled nipple, she bucked beneath me, arching her back, begging for more.
I slid between her legs, and she tensed, one hand gripping my hair, the other fisting the sheet at her side.
“Relax.” I kissed her belly and teased my finger through the neatly trimmed pubic hair.
I moved down further, anxious to taste her arousal. Eager to memorize the one part of her body I’d never had the honor of fully exploring. I kissed the spot above her clit and she gasped and trembled. Then I pressed harder, inhaling deep and slow.
Sweet mother of mercy. Her musk made my head spin and my cock swell.
I was barely hanging on as it was, and when she tilted her hips and ground her pussy against my face, I lost control.
I was out of control. Out of my mind. Completely, unabashedly unfettered. I ground against him, greedy, craving more. Tango Rossi made love to me. With his mouth, his tongue, his moans. Sweet Jesus, the man worked me into a frenzy.
Licking, swirling, biting, sucking. He devoured me, driving me to the brink before backing off, slowing down, leaving me delirious with want. He shoved his hands under my thighs and clamped one around my hip, pinning me to the bed. I grabbed his other hand, lacing our fingers, squeezing, holding tight to keep grounded.
He latched on to my clit and sucked hard. My hips jerked off the mattress, my body no longer under the control of my brain, but one hundred percent responding to Tango’s unspoken commands.
He released me, and cool air replaced his wet, warm tongue. I stared at the ceiling, then squeezed my eyes closed and drew in precious oxygen.
“Look at me,” he rasped, crawling over me.
I met his gaze as he reached between my legs and swirled a finger through the moisture. “Mmm. You are so ready.”
I’d never been more ready. For anything. Ever.
“I don’t have condoms, Slade. I’m clean. But if you want to stop, we’ll stop.” He dropped a cinnamon bun kiss to my lips. Warm and sticky and so damn sweet.
“Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
“Thank fuck.” His erection bobbed against me, and my body reacted as it always did in his presence, arching into him, seeking more. He reached between us, and positioned himself, rolling his hips, coating himself in my moisture, teasing my clit with the head of his cock.
My eyes wandered downward, but his words stopped my perusal. “Have you used the ridiculous dildo that’s hiding in your closet?”
Heat slammed my cheeks. I nodded yes.
“Pleasured yourself with it?”
“Yes.”
“Fucked yourself?”
Oh God. I would have been humiliated had I not been so turned on, the way he worked himself against me while he questioned. “Yes,” I somehow managed to mumble.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“Once a week, twice a week, five times a week?”
“Tango. Please. You’re killing me.”
“Tell me, babylove.”
“A couple times a week.” I was a vibrant young woman. A woman with a hearty sexual appetite who believed she’d never have a man to share her bed with.
Was it pathetic that my only experience had been with an anatomically correct piece of rubber? I didn’t think so. I sure as hell wasn’t going in search of mindless sex with any guy just for the sake of sex. Like I had time for that, anyway.
“It’s been inside you?” he asked with a throaty groan.
“Tango. Stop.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. It’s so fucking hot. I’m gauging how careful I need to be. I don’t want to hurt you.” He leaned closer, tickling my ear with his lips. “Who did you think about when you pleasured yourself?”
Oh, jeez. Such a man. He knew the answer. He knew everything about me. I snapped my hand around his neck, tangling my fingers in the hair at the base of his skull. “Like you don’t already know. It’s always been you. Now shut up and fuck me already.”
Holy shit. His eyes darkened. Jaw clenched. In one stroke, or slam, rather, Tango Rossi filled me. Deep. Full. Thick. Hot.
Definitely not my vibrator. Nothing like it. Not even close.
I cried out, and he swallowed my moan with a kiss. The weight of him, the heady weight of the moment, the fullness, the burn and stretch, it was too much. It was not enough.
He didn’t move, only studied my face, lips parted, eyes molten. The sting of rising tears threatened to ruin the mood. Until his own tear landed on my cheek. Then another.
I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, then brushed his away with my thumb. “Tango.”
“Shh,” he silenced me. “No words. Please. Just let me feel you. Let me love you. No words.”
I pulled him down for another kiss, losing myself in the way he loved me, worshiped me, with his tongue and lips. He started moving, pulling out the slightest bit, pushing back in, deeper each time. Slow. Gentle. Moving his hips in his signature style. Making love, with lips and fingers. I softened and relaxed beneath him, giving in to the burn. The pain. The sweet, sweet agony.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice raspy and thick with emotion.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I’ve never been more okay. Don’t stop.” Please God, don’t ever let him stop.
His thrusts grew stronger, and he caught my hand and stretched our arms over my head, squeezing tight, rocking, thrusting, loving me.
My free hand smacked to his tight ass, and I loved the way the muscle flexed and rolled under my fingers. He danced his lips down my neck, behind my ear, licking, sucking, nibbling.
And then he whispered to me in Spanish, words that sounded beautiful and heartfelt. Words he struggled to speak through hitched breaths and moans of pleasure.
I’d conquered the pain and started moving with him, as much as I could with his heavy body pinning me, grinding me into the soft mattress. With every down stroke, he struck my clit, twisting and rolling and sparking waves of ecstasy.
My hands were everywhere. Tango was everywhere. Exploring, caressing, teasing. Making amends for every day we’d lost.
Our eyes met briefly—his liquid, mine leaking down the sides of my face. Then he was gone, sliding down my body. He sucked hard on my clit. Swirled his tongue around and around the hypersensitive bundle. He sucked again, nearly killing me. I exploded, died, arched off the bed, trembling, spasming against his mouth, ripping at his thick hair.
Before I crashed from the high, he was back, pounding into me, hard and fast.
His elbows braced my sh
oulders, his hands in my hair, his forehead to mine.
Thrusting. Rocking. Fucking. Oh God. I was finally, finally making love to my Tango.
Trembling hard, he captured my mouth with his and kissed me, devoured me, and came undone, came inside me with a deep, guttural moan.
When he collapsed at my side, sweaty and spent, he cupped my cheek, turned my face to his, and continued to love me with his eyes. Communicating everything he couldn’t verbalize.
We lay naked. Breathing. Burning. Crying.
We were beauty—raw and bleeding, regretting wasted years, grateful for what lay ahead. He cried, I cried. We purged, and apologized, and promised. Forever, forever, forever.
“I’M GOING TO MISS YOU something terrible.” Maurice shook his head. “Who will I share my mornings with now?”
“I know where you live, Maurice. Maybe I’ll come to you for coffee from now on.”
“I would love to continue our morning visits. And I’ll hold you to it.” He pursed his lips and pointed a shaky finger at me. “What will you do with yourself? Work a regular nine-to-five? Get a new place?”
I topped off his java and parked my butt in the seat across the table. “I’m not sure. I love this place. It’s my home, ya know? I’m sad, but it’s kind of exciting, too. Sky’s the limit. I could go back to school, or maybe find a smaller place, open a coffee shop. I’ve got some soul searching to do, that’s all I know for sure.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Anyway. I’ve got time to figure it out. Mr. Rossi has wanted to get his hands on this property for decades. He paid more than I was asking. Wanted to make sure I didn’t consider other offers. I never have to work again if I don’t want to.”
Maurice chuckled. “You’re the hardest working person I know. I can’t imagine you would last long without something to do.”
“My house needs some major repairs. That could keep me busy for years.”
Maurice tore open a sugar packet and emptied its contents into his cup. “How’s our Kim doing?” he asked, swirling his spoon through the hot drink.
“She hasn’t woken up yet.” I rubbed at the gnawing ache in my stomach. “Her mother said Kim was on a date the night before her attack. Some guy she’d met online. I don’t know if the police have questioned him.”
My gut tightened when I registered the growl of motorcycle engines outside. I hated that I still had that reaction after all these years. I shot a glance out the window, and my world stopped spinning. It was the man again. Tatted, skinny, dark glasses, leather vest.
Flanked by two larger bikes carrying gargantuan and grotesquely hairy men, he appeared small and deficient, somehow, but intimidating nonetheless. They didn’t get off their bikes. Didn’t turn off the engines. Only studied the building for what seemed an eternity, then drove away, no drama, no trail of dust. Slow and steady.
“Slade?” Maurice asked, voice stronger than normal. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Do you know those men?”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “No. No. Just don’t like seeing them in our town. They’re bad news.”
Prickly bumps covered my arm. When Charlie’s deep voice travelled over my shoulder, I damn near jumped out of my pants.
“They came in here a couple days ago,” he chimed in, placing Maurice’s muffin on the table. “Said they were traveling through. One of ‘em looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.”
I looked up to find Charlie wiping a leaky eye with his apron. He hadn’t stopped crying since I broke the news about selling. Charlie was family; he’d helped raise me, and he couldn’t understand why I’d sold The Stop. I could never tell him, either. He’d have no trouble finding another job. It was no secret he was the best chef in town.
“Did they cause any trouble?”
“Yeah. One of ‘em hit on Margie, grabbed her ass. That’s when I took over servicing their table. They didn’t like that. The smaller one said he wanted to talk to the owner. I told him I was the boss and he could talk to me. They left.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Guess they didn’t want to talk to me.” Charlie scratched his chin. “By the way, got a strange call earlier. Guy asked for you by name. You weren’t in yet, so I asked if he wanted to leave a message.” He picked up a menu and fanned himself.
“And?” I asked.
“He yelled a few profanities, then said, Tell Blondie to answer her fucking phone.” His deep dimples came out to play. “I let him know what I thought of his message. He yelled some more, then hung up.”
I wanted to jump up and hug the big, protective lug, but I knew that would trigger more tears. I didn’t have the heart to put Charlie or my customers through such a scene. I laughed, until it dawned on me what Charlie had said. Tell Blondie to answer her fucking phone. Blondie. Oh, fuck a duck.
Dane was the only person who’d called me Blondie. In a panic, I had tried to contact him when Tango had first come home, and when I’d started seeing Slayers around town. I had given up after twenty or so attempts. Figured his number had changed. Maybe it’d been him trying to call my cell, the number I’d ignored because it was unfamiliar. Unease slithered through me like an oily snake. I patted down the pocket in my apron, searching for my phone. It wasn’t there.
Rocky burst through the door. Messy hair, dirty face, two different colored socks. “Mom!” He skidded to a stop and held his palm in the air for a high-five. “Hey, Charlie.”
“Hey, Rockster.” Their hands met in a loud clap. “I need help in the kitchen. Did you read my mind?”
“Just came to see Mom. Tango said we had to say hi before we went to the beach.” Rocky wrapped his tiny digits around Charlie’s chunky forefinger and pulled him toward the back. “Can I make a milkshake?”
“Sure, kid. Long as you make me one, too.” He chuckled, and they disappeared behind the swinging door.
I unfolded from my seat just before Tango entered. Unfortunately, when Tango Rossi entered a room, I was safer being seated, on account of the wobbly knees and all, and I was forced to grip the back of my chair.
He wore a faded graphic tee, moss green, that dialed-up the heat factor of his eyes by a few thousand degrees. Khaki-colored cargo shorts hung low on his waist. Our eyes met, and he smiled, warming my soul. I could swear, angels sang when he smiled.
Several different voices called out greetings to him as he came my way.
“Hey T!”
“Tango, how are you doing, man?”
“Good to see you, Rossi.”
I didn’t look to see who was talking because I couldn’t peel my eyes from the beautiful beast stalking me. A man on a mission.
“Babylove,” he half growled, pulling me into his arms and tucking his face into my neck for a nibble.
Tingles of pleasure, and plain-old, silly, girlie giddiness tickled my skin, head to toe.
“Have you danced today?” he asked and connected our hands before twirling me around once and lifting me completely off my feet to kiss me deep. In front of everyone.
Oh God, there went my legs, clamping around his waist like they had a mind of their own. My arms followed suit, snaking around his neck. Heat filled my face, but I ignored the applause, the lewd words of encouragement, while Tango carried me to my office, kissing me dizzy, announcing to the world, or at least our little corner of it, that he was mine and I was his.
He kicked the door shut behind us and reached back to turn the lock. Then he spun and slammed my back to the wall. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Rossi.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m tired, but happy as—”
“That’s not what I meant,” he interrupted, sliding a hand under my butt, his fingertips grazing the sensitive spot between my legs. “Down here. How are you feeling? Are you sore?”
Gulp.
I fought to maintain composure. “You can’t strut into my diner, carry me away from my customers, then feel me up in my office. It’s very unprofessional.”
“Aw, hell. We gave ‘em a good show. You’ll probably get better tips. And FYI, I plan on feeling you up every day. Several times a day. Now, you didn’t answer my question.”
“What was the question?” I asked, grinding my hips against him.
His lips quirked in a wicked display of pleasure, and he pressed me harder against the wall. “Let me rephrase. How does your pussy feel today, Miss Mason?”
My heart pounded a sporadic rhythm.”Mmm. Dirty talk. I like it.”
“Careful, babylove. You’re being a tease. Dangerous territory.” He pressed a kiss to my neck then nibbled a path up my jaw.
All at once, my office became too hot, too small, and void of oxygen. I was happy. Euphoric. I didn’t know what to do with so much joy. I couldn’t possibly process this overload of bliss, and I feared I’d burst, splattering tiny pieces of myself all over the walls and furniture.
I coiled my arms around Tango’s head, clung to him, and mumbled into his hair, “Is this real? Please tell me this isn’t a dream.”
“Slade.” He wiggled free from my vice.
I cupped his face, brushed my thumbs across his cheekbones, marveled at the flesh and blood beneath my fingers.
Tango closed his eyes and sighed before opening them again. “You are all I’ve ever wanted. I finally have you. I’m never letting go.”
“Oh crap. Let me go.” Slade wiggled free.
“Mom. Mom. Let me in.” Rocky yelled from the other side of the door. “Tango. Open up. I made you a milkshake.”
I held her for a few heartbeats longer before relinquishing control. Slade dropped her legs, sliding down my body, rubbing me wrong in all the right places.
I straightened her shirt and dropped a kiss on her nose before opening the door. My heart burst at the wonder in the giant green eyes that greeted me.
Truck Stop Tango Page 21
