by Angel Payne
They hissed in unison. He finished his in a rough rasp. “You feel that, sweet peach? That’s my cock, wanting you. Needing to be inside your beautiful cunt. Craving to fuck you, fulfill you…”
Her eyes flashed open. Her lips parted, abandoning her resistant scowl. “Yes…”
Gone was his grin, as well. How could he concentrate on his goddamn face, when hers was one of the most captivating sights he’d ever beheld? He’d been lucky to see many world treasures in his travels across the globe, and now one more—this moment with her endless eyes, yearning lips, and shimmering skin—was added to his list.
“Not exactly the words I was hoping for, sweetheart.”
A heartbeat of silence. Followed by the next, exploding with her growl. “Aggghhh!”
He cocked his head. Arched a brow. “Nope. Still not right.”
“Are you freaking kidding—”
A tight moan eclipsed the words, as he again slid his throbbing length along her pussy.
“Beg, Brynna.”
“Screw you.”
That’s the idea, little fox.
No need to state the obvious. He’d just show her.
Two shoves sent his pants and briefs to his thighs. With equal thrift, he tore open the condom packet, then rolled the latex over his crown and down his shaft. There’d be no need to add any of Dax’s quality lube to this picture. Every layer between Brynn’s thighs was shiny with the dew of her arousal, jerking his erection tighter every time he stared at that perfect pink bloom.
Like now.
With teeth clenched against the pressure that now consumed every thought in his head and beat of his heart, he eased just his tip into her folds. Instant heat. Perfect tremors. Soft temptation. Fuck. Fuck.
The same word exploded off her lips. Rhett angled in, capturing the syllable with a wet but fast kiss. She sounded just as delectable with the breathy follow-up. “Shit. Shit! Ohhhh!”
He ground off another layer of tooth enamel but managed a controlled reply. “It’s yours, peach pie. Just ask for it.”
Her head kicked back again. She scratched up his spine, burning his skin with the tracks. “Oh my God. It feels so good!”
He teethed the side of her neck. “Still not right.”
“Damn it!”
“Beg.”
She bit fully into his. “Give it to me.”
“Beg.”
He pushed in by another fraction. Managed—barely—to keep his groan contained. Sweet fuck, he never thought he’d be battling his own lust like this. His body seemed a foreign thing, a gleeful executioner set on killing him in the most excruciating way possible. His balls screamed. His thighs shook. But he wasn’t so far-gone not to notice how his control, of himself and her, was taking her pussy from a simmer of arousal to an oven of need. Beneath her riotous glare, she was relishing this as much as him.
“Damn!” Her legs hiked up, gripping his waist. “Oh, damn!”
He teased his cock into her by half an inch more. “Just one word, sweetheart. Give it to me.”
She gritted out a gasp. One more. Then finally cried, “Please. Please. Does that make you happy, damn it? Please, Rhett. I need it—now. I need you.”
He tilted his head in, releasing a grateful growl against her ear. “Oh, my little peach.” Not nearly as much as I need you.
One slide, and his sex was buried completely inside hers.
One sigh, and she clenched him even tighter.
One moment—that wrenched them both from passion to oblivion.
Hands greedy and urgent. Mouths open and hungry. Muscles straining and seeking.
Instincts commanding.
Gazes twining.
Spirits joining.
“Oh…God.” Brynna’s face distorted, as if his cock had turned into a spear. The clench of her sex told him that was far from the case. That her wince was more the protest of her psyche, reached as it never had been before. And how was he so damn sure? Could’ve had something to do with the mirrors he now beheld in her eyes, reflecting only one thing back at him.
His own soul.
He’d experienced mortar attacks that were less unnerving than the recognition. It damn near terrified him, as he watched her head twisting back, struggling to hide her face in the pillows.
“No.” He followed the harsh husk by hurling the cushion across the room. Just as fiercely, he yanked her face back toward him. “Now I’m begging.” He plunged deeper, driving to mark as much of her inside as well as out. “Don’t look away. Stay with me, Brynna. Take all this from me, as deeply as you take my cock. See how beautiful you are to me. See everything you do to me.”
She didn’t utter a word. She didn’t have to. She simply reached out as he had, framing the side of his face too…his mirror.
And she obeyed him. Beautifully. Oh, God…so perfectly.
She barely blinked as he lunged harder, filling more of her, fucking until the slaps of their bodies resonated against the walls. Rhett watched her just as intently, taking in the rhythm of her breaths, the little furrows beneath her eyebrows, the hardness of her nipples—
Until he knew it was time.
One dip of his hand against the very center of her pussy. One more.
On the third, she was completely his.
“Holy—Rhett!”
He let his senses drown in her scream. Let his cock rejoice in her climax. Finally surrendered to the whorl of his own lust.
The world turned to fuzz. His balls surged with heat. His vision turned blinding white as the climax roared through his dick. He came in bursting torrents, each yanking him deeper beneath the undertow. He wondered if standing upright would even be possible in a few minutes…making him realize he didn’t even care.
Sure enough, the sentiment became prophecy.
Aside from a reluctant pull from her body then a lunge to lob the condom at the waste can, he was not interested in moving from this bed—or anywhere less than a few inches from this woman’s delectable nudity. He leaned his head on an elbow while wrapping an arm over her waist, letting his thoughts stay just as tangled. There would be more than enough time to yank the shit apart later…to berate himself for once again pouring too much of himself into a “relationship” that was nothing more than an episode of fantastic sex.
And damn…
It had been fantastic.
Couldn’t be any harm in addressing the obvious. “I’m wondering how a guy expresses thanks to the power of a million.”
Her kiss-stung lips inched up. “Damn it. You stole my line.”
He chuckled. She giggled. After a moment, he sobered. Brynn followed suit again. “What?” she prompted, eyes narrowing.
He shook his head. Cocked another smirk. “Nothing. It just feels good to hear you laughing.”
“Why?”
“Truth? I was a little worried about an elephant in the room. A big, black-haired Cajun one.”
He wasn’t sure how she’d react to that. The way she firmed her face, along with tucking a pillow to raise herself a little closer to him, was encouraging. “I’m a grown woman, Rhett. I harbored no illusions about what Rebel and I shared during the plane ride this morning—or what this was, between you and I.” Her lips quirked. “Let’s face it. You’re both damn delicious heroes, and my weakness for military sugar is legendary. All circumstances considered, my willpower is zilch right now. Zoe herself would tell me I’m allowed a stress-induced cheat day, especially with two such cooperative…treats.”
Though she ended it with a more pronounced giggle, he didn’t miss how her lips faltered when mentioning her friend. On top of his post-sex high, she struck him with a fresh jolt of awe. She was pretty fucking astounding, having left everything behind to help save Zoe. As a soldier, it was his job to do this all the time: his life got dropped, often with just a few hours of notice, for the sake of missions. But she was a civilian, with a job, a home, and college classes, perhaps even a pet and family nearby. Damn.
Against every prote
st of his logic, he adored her a little deeper. Sealed the deal by leaning back over her, dipping his lips to hers in a long, wet, lingering kiss that had them both breathing hard by the time they pulled apart. “You’re a pretty juicy lollipop yourself, Miss Monet,” he drawled. “And damn if I don’t want another lick already.”
“Mmmm.” She lazed back with a come-hither smile. “Don’t think I wouldn’t take you up on that offer, Sergeant—if we didn’t have a teammate to support in another hour.”
He couldn’t ignore issuing the obvious comeback. “You think it would take an hour?”
Her eyebrows arched. “I wouldn’t put it past you, Rhett Lange.” A new giggle spilled out as soon as he puffed out his chest. “Now do you feel better about the big Cajun elephant?”
He rolled her to the side, just enough to retaliate by soundly smacking one of her delectable ass cheeks. Brynn squealed and scrambled away, making it easy to counter with a laugh—all perfect disguises for the actual answer to her charge.
He didn’t feel better about the Cajun at all.
And the fresh twitches in his cock weren’t about to let him forget.
Chapter Seven
‡
HE’S FUCKED HER.
Rebel was certain of the fact almost the second he walked back into Dax’s house, wearily plunking his pack onto the entrance foyer’s terra-cotta tiles.
It had started as a tickle in his ear during the mission, niggling him in the Rhett Lange subtext he knew better than anyone else. Unlike the overplayed Brit slang that had defined their earlier comm check, Double-Oh checked in with him for the op itself with a tone that was all talk show host congeniality, even when relaying the “fun” little tidbit that the Verge complex had sprouted a pair of guard dogs for the night. Thank fuck for the animal tranq syringes they’d added to the just-in-case pocket of the mission pack. A pair of well-aimed shots ensured the pooches napped during the rest of the time it took for him to disable the three yard cameras, hotwire the loading dock security panel, and set the camera inside the main building.
He’d barely broken a sweat—until that moment.
Right after Rhett’s all-clear for the camera, confirming the device was powered and working correctly, alarms honked all over the complex. Somebody inside hadn’t been happy about him murdering the yard cameras, so quickly informed fifty of his dearest buddies. A smoke canister had already been at his fingertips. While setting it off provided the diversion he needed, it also sent the guards running toward the hole he’d carefully snipped in the back fence in order to get into the place. He’d groaned softly then barked at Rhett to punch the proper buttons in order to make Plan B happen.
Plan B. Fuck.
He hadn’t expected it to be a shred of fun. And damn it if he hadn’t learned to peg most of his life expectations just about right.
As he straightened from dropping the pack, the verification of his accuracy bled from him—literally. The second Rhett doused the power grid the Verge complex belonged to, he’d handed Reb a ticking time clock. Only thirty seconds until the backup generators revved to life. Half a minute to sprint for another section of the fence and hurl all the way over—between the lines of vertical barbed wire at the top.
“Oh, thank God. You made it!” Brynn rushed across the living room, arms stretched toward him. Like the wrung-out idiot he was, Reb stuck up both thumbs—deterring her from fully embracing him. That seemed just fine by her.
Surprise, surprise.
“Welcome back, partner.” Rhett drawled it in an awful twang as he moved up behind her, though his gaze conveyed genuine affection. Could that have had anything to do with the hand he pressed to the small of Brynna’s back, the dude’s version of draping a letterman’s jacket over her shoulders? Of course, Double-Oh hadn’t worn anything other than Gucci or Burberry before he’d accepted his commission—not that Brynn wouldn’t be content with those, either. She accepted his contact without a flinch, settling in with ease, as if knowing she’d be thoroughly cherished in that embrace.
Surprise fucking surprise.
The words resounded through him, their echoes stained in bitterness. He didn’t like any of this—what Rhett had pulled or his reaction—and showed it with a dark scowl that matched the twelves places he was really bleeding.
He had no right to the anger. More importantly, it had no right to him. If Saul Stafford had taught him anything in life, it was the pitfalls of attachment, devotion, and caring too much. They all led to nowhere but life with a hooch bottle for a best friend, gazing at a swamp full of gators with a heart full of heartbreak. Hadn’t this afternoon’s misere in the kitchen proved as much? He’d tried, damn it. For the first time in a very long time, he’d ventured out on a cliff of risk and invited Rhett to join him, to fly from the ledge together. And he’d expected something other than the bastard’s shut-down…why?
That answer didn’t matter.
The truth was…he hadn’t expected this.
Despite his fight, more frustration flew in. Anger joined it. They settled on his shoulders and camped there like a pair of cemetery crows.
Fine, assholes. You want to hang out? Be my guests.
The beady fuckers turned into his best amis, as he fixed a dismal stare on Rhett. “Good to be back, partner.” He glanced lazily at Double-Oh’s possessive hand, now winding around Brynn’s waist. “Anything…interesting happen while I was gone?”
At least he could look forward to Rhett’s squirm. Even if it was just for a few seconds, he’d revel in it like—
It never happened.
“Holy crap.” Brynn lunged forward, yanking on both his arms. “That shit on the fence didn’t just slice apart your clothes!”
This wasn’t helping. Goddamn, no. She wasn’t supposed to be affecting him like this, simply with the concern in her touch. And the anxiety in her eyes. And the frenzy of her cute little tongue, all over her berry-dark lips.
Lips significantly more swollen between this afternoon and now.
He jerked back. Clenched his hands at his sides. “It was barbed wire, Brynna. I’m fine. They’re surface scratches.”
“Scratches?” she retorted. “You’re bleeding!”
“It happens.” Or so he’d heard. Since he was the guy called to light or defuse the fireworks, he usually strutted in after perimeters had been cleared and barbed wire chopped. That didn’t make him a stranger to his own blood; the shit just usually wasn’t painting zig-zag doodles down his arms and legs.
“Yeah? Well, infections happen too.” She snapped it while grabbing him by a wrist and hauling him around the corner, into the kitchen. He didn’t—well, couldn’t—say a word as she planted him in the middle of the floor, using her other hand to retrieve a bowl and fill it from the faucet. As she started rifling through cabinets, she pointed a finger, sweeping from his head to his toes, ordering, “Off. All of it. Now.”
He frowned. “All of what?”
“Clothes,” she clarified. “Anything that’ll get in the way of my cleaning and treating those cuts—which means you probably get to keep the briefs. Unless you’re commando?”
“Unless I’m—” He could only blame shock for why it came out as a scandalized splutter. But a swamp rat from the land of voodoo and Mardi Gras usually wasn’t stunned for long, especially when a beautiful redhead wanted him to strip.
Especially when an equally beautiful man hovered in the doorway, looking on with a heated, hooded stare.
“Well.” Reb quirked one side of his mouth. “Whatever I can do to make your job…easier.”
Brynna rolled her eyes while plopping a big first aid kit on the chopping block. “Behave, raunch dog.” She smacked the surface next to the kit. “But if you really want to help, park your ass up here. I can get to you better that way.”
“Getting to me. Yeah, that’s important.” He chuckled despite her smack to his chest—though never let the mirth climb to his stare. He reserved that for the evidence of what this moment was really doing
to him…of the weight in his blood, the electricity in his skin, and the crackle in his senses—his body unable to mask its reaction to being near-naked in front of the two people with whom he yearned to be more bare. Ironically, the clinical setting didn’t help. All the kitchen’s pristine surfaces only gave him ideas of accessibility lines for licking and sucking, of perfect angles for bending…and fucking.
He stuffed the thoughts away. The heavy silence that descended over the air didn’t help. He considered humming but all the songs that came to mind were from the soundtrack he’d played in the car on his way back in from Austin: Creole tunes in husky French, most evoking images of the nastiness he struggled to silence.
Damn it.
As Brynna started dabbing at the final cut on his right arm, he couldn’t help at least one teasing murmur. “That’s the way, cher. Get me allll clean.”
As he’d hoped, she spurted a little laugh. As he’d expected, still no reaction from the brooder in the doorway.
“Allllll clean?” Brynn’s teasing echo carried mystery laced with warmth. The woman should’ve really considered screwing the psych degree and just setting up shop in a tent with some tarot cards. “You realize, Sergeant, that’s like a leopard asking for stripes?”
He smirked. This time, he did let the humor reach his eyes. “Would you expect any less, minette?”
She soaked some fresh gauze in alcohol and bent over his leg. “If you shut up now, I won’t make this hurt—much.”
True to her word, she dabbed at his thigh with gentle care. As Reb stared at the top of her head, it was impossible to fight off the new erotic images, heartless with their invasion. Fantasies about how she’d look in just about that position…taking his cock into her mouth. And damn, he’d make her take it deep. And hard. Maybe he’d even make her gag, but an irrevocable instinct told him she’d like that, too…a certainty he hadn’t even had this afternoon. No, this was a new revelation about her. A new element exposed in her.
A part of her that Rhett had awakened.
Well, that sealed the deal. The bastard had fucked her, all right. And yeah, that still rankled, in its eerie way…just not as much when he imagined himself in the picture, too. Fuck. What would happen if he and Double-Oh ever shared a woman? No, not just any woman. It’d have to be this woman. Would Brynn let them command her like that? If he saw Rhett naked with her, would he be able to keep his hands, let alone his thoughts, in all the “right” places? What if Rhett restrained her, spanked her?
