Ultimate Weapon

by Shannon McKenna

  The decision was making itself, the yearning heat in her body drowning out the fear, the doubts, the never again.

  Oh, fuck it. Why never? Why not? Life was hard and short, and getting harder and shorter every day. And she wasn’t very talented at yielding to pleasure anyway, even if she was inclined to seek it out, which she wasn’t. It was now, or it was probably never again.

  After all, she was trapped in a plane. She had nothing better to do. It wasn’t as if she was wasting precious time she could be using to solve her and Rachel’s problems. So why not?

  Let the man multitask. He was so talented at it.

  He teased her mound, caressing her with his fingertips without penetrating her. “If we had privacy and a bed, I’d strip off those jeans and put you on top of me,” he muttered into her ear. “I’d pull you down very slowly, letting your pussy accept me, a long, slow, tight glide, like a glove on my cazzo. Then I’d grab your hips and fuck you from below while I stared up at your breasts, bouncing above. Every inch of you flushed and hot with desire. Making all the noise you like.”

  She licked her dry lips. “Were you aware that position is for the woman to control? That’s the whole point of it. Guess it never occurred to a prehistoric lunk like you.”

  “You want control, Tamar?” His smile flashed in the dim light. “Fight me for it. I love the way you come around me when you lose.”

  She had to struggle hard to muster her defenses. Particularly with his clever finger stroking tenderly just above the hood of her clit. A touch she could barely feel, and yet . . . oh. She could feel nothing else.

  “I hate you,” she said distractedly. “You need a lesson.”

  “You will be too tired to give me one when I am finished,” he said. “You’ll be so exhausted, you won’t even struggle when I tie you down, to lick your clit and tongue-fuck you into another orgasm. Then I’ll take you again. Watching every detail. The way my cazzo slides into you, those slick pink pussy lips kissing my whole length as I pull out . . . and push in, again and again, ah. The way you take all of me, every last centimeter, until the head of my cazzo is rammed up inside you, against the core of you, so tight, rocking and throbbing—”

  “Stop it,” she whispered. “No more talk.”

  “No?”

  She held his gaze as she popped open the buttons on her jeans, and wiggled lower in the seat to give him more scope. She parted her legs, letting him deeper, and shoved his hand inside her jeans. “Get to work,” she said. “And make it good. Or you’ll pay for your teasing.”

  He took her up on the invitation, sliding two fingers into her cleft. She was so, so juicy and swollen. She moved against him almost frantically, it felt so good, clamping her thighs around him.

  Val curved his fingers into a gentle hook, circling tenderly over the glowing places inside her that were flushed with expectant pleasure while his thumb took care of her clit, doing a perfect little tremolo . . . ah, God, talk about multitasking.

  He slapped the seat divider up and covered her mouth with his.

  He was as talented with his mouth as he was with his hands, but it wasn’t his skill that stirred her. It was the look in his eyes. Not triumphant, or smug, or pleased with himself. Just quietly desperate.

  She closed her eyes, and saw that dream heart glowing in the gentle cradle of his hand. Light shining through his fingers.

  Don’t get squishy about dreams. Dreams will betray you, said a scolding inner voice.

  Don’t ruin this for me, she told it. A little pleasure, for God’s sake. A little bit of pleasure, once in a blue moon.

  She knew the choreography of kisses, just as she knew every other sexual technique, but she’d never felt the raw, driving desire behind a kiss before. The whole point of a kiss. As if there was a precious elixir to be had from the mouth of the other, something they would both die without and only pleading passion could bring it forth.

  She squeezed and writhed, breathless in the dark. He was so good. Perfect. The only thing she would have gladly changed about this moment was that she wanted the thrusting prong of his fingers to be that thick, meaty cock. She wanted to twine her naked legs around him and take him to the hilt, to feel his strength jarring into her with that wild, pounding rhythm that took her breath. She wanted all the room and softness of a big bed to do justice to his outrageous bounty.

  No time to be dissatisfied, though. She was coming apart, tightening around him with every tiny muscle inside herself. Sensations, emotions, welling up together.

  They overflowed, swirling, rushing. Carrying her gently away.

  He lifted his head slowly afterward. There was no need to say anything. The tension in his hand still clamped over her mound, the bulge in his jeans, his dark, burning eyes said it all.

  He fell heavily back into his chair as she got his jeans open. There was a glow of pink on the bottom of the window shade, signifying that dawn was at hand—which meant that a flight attendant could pull aside the curtain and offer them coffee and pastry at any moment.

  She did not care. She wrenched down the stretchy black fabric of his briefs and took his thick, throbbing shaft into her hand with a sigh. Beautiful. Stone hard and broad and swollen, longer than any cock had practical reason to be, thick enough to be a bit of a problem. Overkill.

  She squeezed her thighs around the juicy glow of lingering pleasure as she licked up glistening drops of pre-come. He gasped for air.

  She sucked him into her mouth, relishing the salty taste, the hardness of his flesh, the silky skin, the deep throb of his heartbeat pulsing against her tongue.

  Last night, she’d wanted to assault him with her skill. Now, she just wanted to be so close his pleasure would be her own, every stroke, every moan. She craved that closeness. She’d been alone so long.

  She needed both hands to perform a proper blow job on this man. It was hard just to get his cockhead into her mouth, let alone the rest of it, but with the skillful addition of bold, twisting handwork and a generous amount of slippery spit, that was no problem at all.

  It was perfect, feeling his response, the trembling dig of his fingers into her scalp, the hot, rich male smell of him, the tension in his muscular frame as he bent over her as he built up to it—and a volcanic explosion in her mouth. He spurted an outrageous amount of come into her mouth in complete and utter silence. Such self-control.

  She kept him nestled inside the warm well of her mouth until the rhythmic spurts finally slowed down and eased off. She pulled her head away and admired the gleaming length of him, milking the last few creamy drops of come and licking them up, with tender, teasing flicks of her tongue. The sound he made was almost a whimper. His hands tightened in her hair. They were both damp with sweat.

  She sat up, wiggling back down into her own seat and buttoning her jeans. She pulled her sweater down and her blanket back up. Val tucked his cock into his pants, adjusted his clothes, and fished a bottle of mineral water out of the seat pocket. He presented it to her.

  Nice touch. The least he could do. She drank deeply and pulled her blanket back up to her chin. As if it were any kind of protection from his seductive power.

  “Proud of yourself?” She forced some sharpness into her tone.

  He shook his head. “Humbled,” he said softly. “And destroyed.”

  She was getting embarrassed now, which always made her irritable. “I need a bath in the worst way,” she whispered. “And we have hours of travel time to go. Nor do I have clean clothes to spare.”

  “Sorry, Tamar.” The sympathy on his face was fake. “When we get to Italy, we will buy you more clothing. And the hotel room I have booked in San Vito has a magnificent bathroom. A deep tub, with hydromassage. A beautiful marble shower, for two.”

  “Why are you calling me that?” she demanded. “Nobody calls me that. It’s Tam, if you please.”

  “I like it that nobody calls you that,” he said quietly. “And I like it that it is your real name.”

  “Real.” She snorte
d. “What’s real?”

  He reached out, slowly drew his fingertip over her upper lip. Then the tender inner part of it. Her mouth trembled in response. His finger smelled of her.

  “This was real,” he said softly. “No comfort zone. I loved it.”

  She blushed idiotically. “Hmph. Whatever. I want that shower. Your gooey gigolo sweet talk won’t help me with that. The bathroom in San Vito is still five thousand kilometers away. And you still trust me with your credit card?”

  “Fuck, no,” he said, with feeling. “This time, I choose what you buy.”

  She startled herself by giggling. He took advantage of the unshielded moment to grab her hand.

  She stiffened. Her first instinct was to yank it back, as if she’d been burned. She stopped herself, by force of will, her nerves on edge.

  Their hands were both a bit sticky, but it wasn’t as if either one of them had cause to complain. She had never actually held a man’s hand in her life. Other parts of a man, yes. But not hands.

  It was uncomfortably, weirdly intimate. Almost, well . . . nice. In a way that was dangerously different from sex.

  But then again, what did it matter if she indulged in a silly lovey-dovey fantasy? Even if it blew up in her face. Who would it hurt?

  You, she told herself. It’ll hurt you. You’re letting the man literally fuck your brains out, and the end result will not be pretty.

  She acknowledged that brutal truth, she accepted it, she swallowed it down . . . but she did not let go of his hand.

  Chapter 16

  If Val had not been so worried about Imre, so conscious of time, he would have actually been having fun with Tamar. He enjoyed her caustic wit, her sharp honesty. She stimulated him on every level.

  They checked into the beautiful, baroque-era hotel in San Vito, and he hurried her up the grand staircase and down the high-ceilinged corridor to their room with unconcealed impatience. He had paid a ridiculous sum to reserve this particular room. It had a loggia, with three arches on the terrace, a spectacular view of the town rising steeply out of the azure sea and clinging to the mountain slopes, and of La Roccia, the huge rock formation that cut the town into two parts.

  Not that he gave her time to look at it. He slammed the door shut and fell upon her, like a beast. True to form, she shoved him back, with a strength that still surprised him from such a slender woman.

  “Do not take me for granted!”

  He advanced on her. “I’m not,” he said. “I’m taking you, period.”

  “The cave man game only goes so far, Val,” she warned.

  Ah, sì. She was calling him Val, at last. Something inside him capered for joy. “Far enough for my purposes.” He grabbed her, heedless of her swatting hands, and flung her down onto the bed.

  She struggled, but if she hadn’t been having a good time, he would be on his back, fighting for his very life. As it was, her eyes glowed, her color was high, she shoved, flailed, and slapped at him with high energy, but no lethal intentions. His body knew the difference.

  He risked letting go of her wrists for long enough to unbutton her jeans, and got a couple of sharp slaps for his trouble. He snatched her hands and flung himself on top of her, his face red and tingling pleasantly from the blows. The bed rocked and bounced. He pinned her wrists and grinned into her furious face.

  “Finally, a bed,” he said. “I thought it would never happen.”

  “What makes you think it will happen now, porco?” she shot back. “After twenty-four hours of travel and no bath? Dream on!”

  “Twenty-four hours of foreplay,” he countered, pulling down her jeans. “Fuck the bath. Bathe later. Trust me, you will need a bath later.”

  They wrestled and writhed and struggled. He was on the verge of coming in his jeans, before he finally got her naked beneath him. He got a painful, two-fingered jab to his throat when he spared a hand to open his pants. The blow could have been lethal, had she cared to make it so. He wouldn’t take such a harmless version of it personally.

  “We have a problem,” he told her. “I need my hands to get a condom on, but if I let go of you, you’ll rip out my throat.”

  “Hah. Sounds like it’s your problem, not mine,” she informed him.

  “Not at all. My solution to the problem is simple.” He grabbed his aching, throbbing cock, and nudged it inside her.

  She was slick, swollen, and taut, with no latex to dull the amazing heat of her. He drove forward in one long, lunging thrust, and could have died from delight from this moment. It was worth every blow, every slap, every scratch. Every last insult.

  She gasped and went still. “Wait! That’s no solution!”

  “I have no diseases,” he assured her. “I am always careful, and I am tested regularly.”

  “Me, too, but that’s not the problem,” she said. “I’m not using contraception.”

  He was startled. “Ah. I see.”

  “So get out of me. I do not want a baby from you.”

  He tried to withdraw, but his body played tricks on him. He just found himself gliding deeper, rubbing, rocking. Just once . . . and then once more. “I won’t come inside you,” he promised. “Just a few strokes . . . in . . . and out, like this.” He lunged deep, twisting his rod.

  Tamar caught her breath and arched, shoving her hips back to take more of him. She bit her flushed red lips and clutched his chest, her nails digging deep. “All it takes is one! And I don’t trust a man to have that kind of self-control. I don’t trust men for anything. So get out of me!”

  He tilted his eyebrow. “You may be amazed to hear it, but I have noticed this lack of trust,” he said wryly.

  “And? So?” Her bright eyes challenged him.

  “So? I must prove you wrong. I will do as you ask.” He pulled out, regretting every clinging, caressing millimeter of sweet connection he was losing. “You cannot imagine what this galanterie is costing me.”

  “Poor baby.” She sat up, coiling herself into a siren’s pose.

  He rummaged for the condom, whipped the thing on and advanced on her, his erection jutting urgently before him.

  “Do not tell me I must start from zero once again,” he begged.

  The smile she gave him was razor sharp. “What makes you think you’ve racked up any points at all?”

  Savage frustration flared inside him. He breathed it down with great difficulty. “You will not give in to me for one single instant, no? No matter how much you want to.”

  Her taunting smile faded, and for a brief, naked instant, he saw something in her eyes, something frantic and lost, like a trapped animal. “I can’t,” she said starkly. “I just . . . can’t.”

  He was taken aback. The confession moved him, though it maddened him, too. He sensed her need, her frustration. The aching tension. Steel cables strung so tight they hummed from the strain.

  He’d never wanted so badly to be tender to a woman, and he had never met a woman so desperately in need of tenderness. But it was unbearable to her. She simply could not tolerate it. Yet.

  Until she could, he would just close his eyes, take a deep breath, and follow his instincts.

  “Then don’t,” he said. He lunged for the bed.

  She spun, trying to scramble away. She let out a startled grunt as he landed on top of her. All his weight. There would be no escape from the pleasure he meant to inflict upon her.

  His hand slid down, caressing her trembling ass cheeks, sliding lower. Playing with her tender folds. Silken smooth, hairless, perfect. He tongued and kissed the back of her neck, her trembling spine as he pinned her flat, immobile, and played with her clit, her juicy cunt.

  When her first climax wrenched through her, he savored the powerful, clutching pulses, her hitching, gasping breath, and then waited for the insults, the verbal slaps.

  They did not come. She buried her face in the bedclothes, and shook. Wordless.

  He forced his cock inside while tremors still rippled through her. When she caught her breath and raised h
er head, he was seated deep within, rocking slowly in that tight, gliding sheath. Waiting for a cue.

  “Someday, you will let me be gentle with you,” he said.

  Her hair swung as she shook her head in negation. “Don’t hold your breath,” she said jerkily. “I can’t even be gentle with myself.”

  “I am patient,” he told her. “I can wait.”

  “Shut up. Get to work, Val,” she snapped. “You talk too much.”

  There was his signal. She rocked back to take in more of him.

  He meant to give her everything he had to give, all the power and control, the technique, but something snapped, and they spun out of control together, heaving and bucking against each other, dripping with sweat. He held her in a grip that would leave bruises. She clutched handfuls of sheets with white-knuckled fingers. She did not fight him.

  The danger zone, terrifying and wild and wonderful.

  She looked over her shoulder. “Turn me over,” she demanded, panting. “I want to see your face. I want to see if you’re for real.”

  “Of course I am.” He didn’t even question the truth of those words before they burst out. He pulled out, flipped her over, folding her legs wide to stare at the perfect pink flower of her pussy. She was so flexible, elastic as a dancer. Her skin, soft as a fine new leaf unfurling. Every curve and hollow astonished his eyes.

  He mounted her again before she could change her mind, and they found their rhythm face to face. She stared into his eyes, undulating frantically, nails digging as the energy of her climax began to crest.

  She panicked then and started slapping him, in a disordered, haphazard way, her eyes bright with furious tears. “Damn you,” she hissed. “Damn you, you son of a bitch.”

  He tried to catch her hands, but she wrenched them away with a snarl. He just let go, let her pummel at him while their bodies slammed frantically together. She needed that violent struggle for dominance, and he sensed that she needed him to win it for her sake. But nothing she could do to him could hurt him now. He was riding a thundering crest of colossal pleasure.

  Some time later, who knew how long, he found himself on his side, facing her. They were bathed in sweat, their arms still around each other, clutching. Her legs wound around his hips.