by Desiree Holt
"I can't believe you were just in the neighborhood."
Rina stared at the lean, hard-faced man standing in her doorway. He was the last person she'd expected to see in San Antonio late on a Saturday afternoon. Or any other morning.
"Are you going to let me in, or should I stand here and give the neighbors something to gossip about?"
She stepped back and gestured him inside. He closed the door behind him, standing so close to her she could feel his body heat.
She shoved her hands in the pockets of her cutoffs. “So, what are you doing here anyway?"
"I have a letter for you from John. You know we can't just send it through the mail."
Her heart skipped a beat. “Is he okay? Nothing's wrong, is there?” She swallowed the fear that always rode just at the surface. She and John were both fully aware of the incredible danger in his job.
"No, he's fine. Just ... off on a mission that will keep him out of touch for quite a while.” He pulled an envelope from an inside pocket of his black windbreaker and handed it to her.
She nearly grabbed it from his hand and ripped it open. Then, realizing she didn't want to read it with McCall watching, she rushed to the kitchen.
"I don't suppose you've got a beer I could drink while I'm standing in the hallway?” he called after her.
Her cheeks heated. Where were her manners? “Sure. Come on in.” She pulled a bottle from the fridge and twisted off the top. “Um, why don't you take it out on the patio? It's really nice out there this time of day."
He gave her a lopsided grin, a rare expression on his usually grim face. “I can take a hint. Let me know when you're through reading."
The letter was only two pages, but Rina read them over and over. John couldn't give her any details about his assignment, so he filled the pages with idle chatter and reminiscences. Since the death of their parents five years earlier, they'd made every effort to stay connected. In fact, it was their death in an explosion at the American University at Beirut that led to John's decision to join the task force.
Rina sat for a long time at her kitchen table, just holding the letter, squeezing back the tears at John's, “Love ya, Dusty,” visualizing his face, and whispering a silent prayer for his safety. As she stood to carry it to her den and lock it away with the others, she realized she'd left McCall sitting outside for more than an hour. His beer was surely long gone, but he'd sat patiently waiting for her to finish.
Sliding open the patio door, she stuck her head out. “Sorry. I didn't mean to take so long."
He unfolded himself from the lounge chair. “No problem. But I'll take another beer if you've got one."
"I have a couple of steaks in the freezer if you'd like to stay for dinner.” Now where did that come from? Invite McCall—the original granite man—for dinner?
He stared at her, as stunned by the invitation as she was.
And suddenly she wanted him to stay, a connection to John she could hold onto a little longer. “Please."
He studied her as if wondering what trick she had up her sleeve. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. Thanks."
It was already well past six o'clock, so she took the steaks out and stuck them in the microwave to thaw, then began to gather ingredients for a salad. McCall sat at the kitchen table, drinking his beer and watching her with silver eyes that seemed to see right through her. He wasn't one for casual conversation so she worked in silence, acutely aware of his gaze on her.
As she went about her prep work, she wondered what on earth had possessed her to invite this man to dinner. He was the most antisocial person she'd ever met. She wasn't even sure he liked her. But he was a connection to John and somehow she felt she could touch her brother through him.
She'd lit the coals in the barbecue on the patio before starting the salad. As naturally as if they did this all the time, McCall grilled the steaks while she finished the dinner preparations. She didn't know if McCall was a wine person—she actually knew almost nothing about him except that he was the senior member of the team and the one John worked with the most—but she pulled a bottle of her favorite white from the fridge anyway.
Okay. We'll eat dinner. I'll pump him for information about John. He'll avoid all my questions, leave, and that will be that.
He answered her questions about John in short, terse sentences, but at least he could assure her he was alive and well. And maybe that was all she could hope for.
"Why do you use the name ‘Rina'?” he asked in an abrupt tone. “Why not your full name? Sabrina."
She shrugged. “When I was a toddler I had trouble saying the whole name. All I could get out was Rina, so it stuck.” She gave him a lopsided grin. “Shorter to sign in books, too."
Silence descended on the table again.
"So tell me about your family,” she said finally, searching for a topic of conversation.
He shrugged. “Not much to tell."
"I don't even know where you live when you're not, um, working."
"D.C. But my folks have a place up north."
"Do you get to see them often?” God, this is like pulling teeth.
"Not as much as I'd like. My sister, either."
He had a sister? “Does she live up north, too?"
"Yes. She's a physical therapist at a hospital near there. She's living with my folks right now."
More silence. And somehow a certain tension that she couldn't identify had crept into the air. Whenever she looked up from her plate McCall's silver eyes were fixed on her. If the situation were different—if he was different—she would have said his gaze was devouring her. But she had no idea what was going on in his steel-trap mind.
For a brief, mad instant she wondered what it would be like going to bed with McCall.
Are you crazy? The man is an emotionless machine, and a member of your brother's team to boot.
She poured herself another glass of wine with a hand that trembled slightly. McCall picked up on it and narrowed his eyes, but she managed to lift her glass and sip the liquid without spilling it.
Get a grip, Rina.
At last, the meal was over and McCall helped her clear the table. She poured the last of the wine into their glasses.
"Thank you for dinner,” he said in a formal tone.
"You're welcome."
McCall put his wine glass down on the counter, and without warning, reached for her, brushing his lips against hers. Just a brief contact, but it seared her down to her toes. Her bones felt as if they were melting, and she could have sworn the ground shifted beneath her feet.
Move, her inner voice commanded, but not one of her muscles would obey.
He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, an artist's stroke painting the surface. A tiny sound whispered from her mouth. As if it were a signal he was waiting for, he captured her in a kiss so hot it burned her lips. His hands cupped her face, holding her in place while he fed on her, his tongue pressing inside and tasting the texture of her flesh.
She gripped his wrists but not to pull them away. She couldn't have broken the kiss if someone paid her to.
Time stood still while he devoured every corner of her mouth, his fingers lean and hot against her cheeks. When he lifted his head, his silver eyes had darkened to almost black.
Rina felt dazed and weak.
He studied her face, his breathing uneven. “Two choices. Either tell me to leave or tell me where your bedroom is."
She had trouble getting the words out. “Upstairs. Last door on the right."
He kept his eyes riveted to hers, something unidentifiable lurking in them. “I won't hurt you."
Her breath caught in her throat. “I didn't think you would."
"All right, then."
He lifted her, as if she were weightless, and took the stairs two at a time. Inside her bedroom, he set her feet carefully on the floor and drowned her in another of his kisses. With his mouth still fused to hers, he backed her up to the bed, sliding his hands under her T-shirt and cupping her breasts.
&
nbsp; Rina thought she might faint, his touch was so arousing. Her panties were soaked enough just from the kisses that she was afraid the evidence of her arousal would slide down her thighs. She was hardly aware of him lifting the T-shirt over her head, unclasping her bra, and tossing both to the side.
"Jesus.” His long fingers plucked at her nipples, teasing them into diamond-hard points.
When he lowered his mouth to take one nipple between his lips, she nearly fell backwards. The wet heat of his mouth made her nipples throb. He moaned softly against her flesh, the sound reverberating through her body.
"I think we have too many clothes on.” His voice was heavy with desire. He made quick work of her shorts and thong, guiding her onto the bed before stripping off his own clothing. He reached down and snapped on the bedside lamp.
Rina's eyes widened as she took in the lean, fit body with its matte of dark hair curling on his chest. It arrowed over a flat abdomen to his groin, forming a nest around the most impressive erection she'd ever seen in her life. The flat head of his cock was a deep purple and ropy veins pulsed beneath the skin. The sac of his testicles rested against his thighs, heavy and tempting.
He lay down beside her, pulling her into another hot kiss, one hand caressing her breasts, gliding over the slope of her flesh, rasping at her already swollen nipples. When he moved his mouth to bite gently on one of them, her insides convulsed.
One arm slid beneath her, arching her back to give him better access to her breasts while the other hand traced feathery patterns over her belly and down to her mound. When one finger parted her labia and stroked the already-slick flesh, she whimpered and lifted herself into his touch.
He was like a tiger unleashed. Feral and hungry. He touched her everywhere and with a need so great it shocked her. His skin was hot, burning her, and her own hunger rose to meet his.
With one last, brief thought for her lack of sanity, she fell into the maelstrom his touch created. Her pulse throbbed in her everywhere. A lightning storm couldn't have generated more power.
His mouth nibbled, sucked, his tongue licking a trail over her feverish skin from nipples to cunt. He was a master of torment. If she'd been able to think at all, she'd have wondered how this grim, silent man had become such an accomplished lover.
Her nipples felt as if they were bathed in liquid heat, each nip of his teeth sending jolts directly to her womb. His fingers parted the lips of her sex, tracing a line from end to end as he focused on her breasts. When he slid two fingers into her waiting heat, the tips curled to search for her sweet spot. His thumb pressed on her bundled nerves, massaging with a steady stroke.
"God, you feel good,” he breathed. “You are so wet it feels like heaven. I'll bet it tastes even better."
Shifting, he knelt between her legs and, with his hands cupping her ass, lifted her to his mouth. The moment his lips closed on her, she spasmed, her inner walls fluttering. He held her in a firm grip as he teased and tormented her until she felt as if flames were licking at her. His tongue glided in and out, scraping over every inch of her wet channel.
He was voracious, eating at her like a starving man. When her first orgasm rolled over her and she poured into his mouth, he lapped greedily at her juices. When the spasms slowed, he began again, lapping at her, stroking her with his tongue, driving her up the erotic spiral of hunger until she had no control of her own body. Again she convulsed, hips jerking in his grasp, the walls of her sex grabbing at his tongue as she shook uncontrollably.
And still he worked her relentlessly. When the third orgasm overtook her, she shattered completely, every muscle in her body clenching, the flesh of her pussy quivering. Splinters of her consciousness tumbled through the air, and colors flashed behind her closed eyelids.
Finally, he lowered her hips to the bed.
Exhausted, she lay back on the pillows. Surely now he would give her a moment to rest.
But rest wasn't in McCall's vocabulary. Moving up, he straddled her so his swollen shaft bobbed at her lips.
"Take me,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “Let me feel your lips on me. Come on, Rina. Suck me with that hot, sweet mouth. Just thinking about it is driving me crazy."
Automatically, she opened her mouth. Taking his shaft in one hand, he guided himself past her teeth until he was pressing on her tongue. She began to drag on him with her lips and swirl her tongue around the velvet flesh covering solid steel. Her fingers wrapped around him to give herself better leverage. His testicles pressed against her chin as she pulled and sucked, his taste a heady flavor.
"Stop.” Abruptly, he jerked away.
"What..."
"I'm so ready, and I don't want to come in your mouth. Not this time."
He shifted off her and, with practiced ease, flipped her over to her stomach, tugging her up to her knees. His fingers slipped into her, gathering her moisture and painting it on the tight ring of her rear opening.
She shivered. “McCall?"
"I don't have a condom with me so we have to improvise. You'll like this. I promise. Trust me, Rina."
He began working first one, then two fingers into her rectum, preparing her, one hand on her belly, holding her up tight to him. She tensed at his first invasion, muscles clenching to shut him out.
"You've never done this, have you?"
She shook her head.
"Take a deep breath,” he told her and pressed the head of his cock against her puckered opening.
At first it burned, his penis so big and thick it stretched her unbearably. But then, with a tiny pop, he was past the entrance and moving steadily to fill her. The burn turned from painful to delicious as hot and cold chased through her system, igniting nerves she didn't even know she had, setting the pulse in her womb to throbbing with a deep, insistent beat. Whatever functioning brain cells she might have had left disappeared as he pushed her onto a plane of arousal beyond anything she'd ever felt before.
"Breathe,” he told her again.
Then he was all the way in, pumping his cock in a steady rhythm, the thick length rasping the sensitive skin inside the dark tunnel along the way. His balls slapped against the backs of her thighs, his arm like steel supported her, his hand spread across her belly to hold her to him tightly. She fisted her hands in a pillow and breathed through her mouth as he increased the pace of his strokes. Harder, faster, he filled and retreated, filled and retreated. Up and up the spiral she went again, every muscle quivering, every nerve firing.
His body tightened and clenched, his fingers pressed harder into her belly. When she felt the first splash of his cum, she climaxed, rockets exploding through her and hurtling her into space. The orgasm wracked her body, shaking her even more than the last one. McCall's body pressed into hers as he rode out his own convulsions.
Exhausted and spent, sore everywhere, she simply collapsed. He lay atop her, still shuddering. Sweat slicked their skin, and their hearts beat like kettle drums. She would have easily fallen asleep that way, his cock still impaled in her ass, but he withdrew from her slowly and turned her over.
"Shower,” he murmured.
She shook her head, trying to burrow back into the pillows.
McCall made a sound suspiciously like a chuckle, then simply rose from the bed and gathered her up in his arms. In her shower, he bathed her as one might wash a baby, gently, his fingers probing all the right places, washing away the remnants of the most explosive sex she had ever experienced in her life. When he was satisfied they were both clean, he dried them off with her big towels, carried her back to the bed, and tucked her under the covers. She thought he bent and kissed her, but it could have been her imagination.
She slept dreamlessly and woke feeling pleasantly sore. Her hand stretched out, seeking human flesh, the memories of last night springing to life in her mind, but the space next to her in bed was empty.
McCall was gone.
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