by Kris Norris
She shook her head, all that soft thick mass of hair swirling around her shoulders, brushing across his arm. “I’m not asking for promises. I just…”
She closed her eyes, sighing as if talking about this hurt. As if he might turn her down. No, he wouldn’t turn her down. Not ever. He didn’t care if she was just scratching an itch. If she simply needed the distraction. The comfort of familiar arms when her life was shattering. Falling in pieces at her feet. He’d take whatever she gave then find a way to make it stay. Make her stay because he wasn’t going to let her go. Not, again.
“You sure it won’t hurt? Christ, you still have stitches, still—”
“Unless you plan on dragging my ass around the bedroom like you did down the street, I’ll be fine. But, I guess it’s up to you whether you believe that.”
He kissed her finger, talking around it. “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
Ellis snorted then leaned in close, hovering just an inch away as she slowly let her finger slide down his mouth and across his chin. “Then let me put it in clearer terms. I want you to strip down, get your naked ass in this bed, then spend the next hour grinding me into it.” She smiled. “Your move, soldier.”
Chapter 13
I want you to climb into the bed? Grind me into it?
Your move, soldier?
Was she high? Had someone slipped her an aphrodisiac? Spiked her damn coffee? Hypnotized her? Because of all the things Ellis had planned to say to Brett, make love to me hadn’t been on the list.
It wasn’t a secret she’d been off all night. Between confronting Brett, getting hunted by assassins, having Six take a bullet for her, not to mention having to make peace with the fact she was putting the few people she’d ever cared about in harm’s way—she’d been struggling to hold it all together. Maintain her usual calm.
Then, Brett had stepped in. Gotten up in her face, insisted she rest. And it hadn’t been his words that had set her off—his Freudian slip—but the way he’d said it. The same tone he’d used all those months they’d been together. When, she’d get lost in a job—lose track of time. Forget to eat or sleep. He’d always been the voice of reason. The one to pick her up and carry her to bed. Or bring her a plate of food. A cup of coffee. Watch out for her well-being.
She hadn’t been prepared for the punch of emotion. All the memories that had surfaced, the need that had burned beneath her skin. And she’d reacted the only way she knew how.
She’d struck out.
Ellis wasn’t proud of it. Hadn’t really planned on hurting him, but after five years of pretending to be someone new—someone cold and detached—getting emotional over Brett had scared her to the bone.
He’d taken it stride. Had been prepared to take a beating if that’s what she’d needed, all to make up for the past. For his failings. But the more she examined it all in her head—recited that fucking note over and over because she remembered every word. Every horrible, criminal word on that paper—the more she realized she was as much to blame. That she should have talked to him about his father. Let him know she didn’t care. That she knew the kind of man Brett was.
She hadn’t realized how much it tormented him. How deep the scars went until he’d looked at her in utter disbelief that she’d known and hadn’t cared.
But letting go of everything wasn’t nearly as easy as jumping back into bed. Sex—that made sense. Was a physical connection they both obviously wanted. Needed. A by-product of the adrenaline rush and resulting dump. Having to deal with Six getting hurt, Ellis baring her soul… It was a pleasurable solution to all their problems.
Except where she doubted it would be just sex. Not for her.
Brett closed his eyes, nostrils flaring, jaw clamped shut. He took a few rough breaths through his clenched teeth, then looked at her. Really looked. Face leaning in close, eyes narrowed and focused on her. He didn’t move, didn’t seem to breathe as he sat there, slowly breaking down her walls with nothing more than those blue eyes fixed on her.
She was pinned. Trapped like she’d been in the washroom, only without his hands on her. Without any physical contact.
Brett stayed that way until she thought she’d pass out. That he’d use up all the oxygen in the room and she’d just fall back on the bed. Out cold. Like when she’d first crawled into the bed—asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Then, he smiled. Christ, it was like staring at the sun. White teeth, pink lips and a glow that chased away the shadows. Made his skin shine like a beacon.
He palmed her cheek, softly brushing his thumb along her skin. “God, you’re beautiful. You take my breath away.”
She stole his breath? Then, why was she the only one gasping? Her heart thundering inside her chest? He looked so calm. Completely in control, whereas she was barely hanging on.
Her skin was flushed—felt as if she was burning from the inside out. Her pulse echoed in her ears and, if her cleft got any wetter, she’d leave a giant spot on the sheets. Maybe slide onto the floor because she was melting. Slowly drowning in her own arousal.
His hand smoothed down her neck, across her shoulder then slowly along her torso. Skirting over her breasts—the ones that felt twice as heavy, overly sensitive—stopping at the edge of her shirt.
He fisted the material, then paused. Waiting. Staring.
She didn’t know what he was searching for. A sign? Had telling him to grind her into the bed not been direct enough? Was he having second thoughts? Questioning if he wanted to be with her? Had she read it all wrong?
Men got erections all the time. Maybe the blue-steeler she’d felt against her stomach in the bathroom had been from the chase. From bullets whizzing past, flashbangs going off. Maybe it hadn’t been desire for her, but his body’s response to the firefight.
She swallowed, coughed in the process, trying to work out how to fall through the floor. Disappear because if he turned her down…
Brett tsked, still staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. As if this was the first time they’d been this close. “You always did think too hard. Relax, sweetheart. Enjoy the ride.”
Enjoy the ride?
She was running out of oxygen, so damn wired she might come if he blew her a kiss. Just a rustle of air across her neck, her cheek, and yet, she was supposed to relax? Didn’t he feel the weight of his stare? The heavy air all around them. Electrified to the point she fully expected sparks to arc between them. Positive to negative. Wasn’t that how it worked? She just wasn’t sure which of them held the charge and which was reaching out to it. Little fingers of need drawing the power ever closer. Waiting for the moment when it would erupt in a fury of light and heat.
She closed her eyes, wondering if that would be enough to break the spell. Ease the ache until the brute was ready to make a move. But it only succeeded in heightening her other senses. The pure scent of him. More soap, now, than his cologne, but clean. Masculine. There was a hint of coconut from the shampoo, an underlying tinge of lye from when he’d washed off Six’s blood.
She pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the sound of his breath. Barely audible. Just a soft whisper of air, a bit rougher when he exhaled. There was a rustle of fabric, the dipping of the mattress, and a low grunt, then silence.
Ellis opened her eyes and froze.
He was naked.
Tanned skin gleaming in the patchy moonlight. Strong muscles flexing beneath all that flesh. Veins strained over his biceps, across his wide chest and thick forearms. Dark pockets shadowed his abdominals, outlining the kind of washboard abs most bodybuilders only dreamed of.
She dipped her gaze lower. Damn. He was fully erect. The wide head shinny with fluid. Flushed with need. He was massive. Like the rest of him. Overtly male.
She wet her lips, already imagining what it would be like to take him in her mouth. Feel all that hard, thick length moving along her tongue. Watching him give himself over to her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like this. Had wanted someone
with such a fierce need she couldn’t think about anything other than touching him. Losing herself in his arms.
She’d thought about taking the occasional lover since they’d parted, but it hadn’t panned out. The only men she was ever around she could semi-trust not to try and kill her were the SOG guys, and they were too macho. Too conceited. The kind of men who’d want it fast and hard. Rough, but not the fun kind. The kind that left marks. Bruises. Scars that went far beyond the surface of the skin. They wouldn’t have taken her home. Even to a motel. Probably just dragged her into a bathroom stall at a bar so they won’t have to deal with making an exit or asking her to leave.
So, she’d gone without. Focused on work. On making herself strong. Deadly. Fighting was a similar release as sex, so she’d just made sure she’d gotten plenty of that. Was literally too exhausted, too damn sore, to do anything other than collapse on her bed and pass out.
But, looking at Brett, she realized she’d been fooling herself. That she’d been making excuses. Talking herself out of any possible encounter because she knew—fucking knew—no man would ever measure up to Brett.
He’d been the other half of her soul. Her entire future. And she hadn’t been able to let that go.
And now, he was there. A breath away from kissing her. Running his hands along her body, rediscovering what made her moan. Arch against him. Fly apart. He’d been more than a considerate lover. He’d been unparalleled.
Ellis placed one hand on his chest, closing her eyes, again, at the steady beat of his heart. Fast, like hers. Strong. She wanted to feel it echo inside her. Have him pressed against her as he claimed her as his.
She shouldn’t want to belong to anyone. But damn it, that memo wasn’t getting through. Didn’t register above the pounding need inside her veins. The ache inside her chest only he could fill.
Brett frowned at whatever expression crossed her face, reaching up to encircle her wrist. “El? What’s wrong?”
She blinked, trying to process his words, but his mouth was just so damn beautiful. Full lips. A deep blush color. And when he talked… God it was all she could do to focus on the words instead of how his lips moved. How badly she wanted his tongue licking through her folds.
“El.”
Fuck, he’d said her name. Twice.
She smiled. “Brett.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, why—”
“You’re crying.”
She startled, reaching for her cheeks. Tears dotted her skin, the burning in her eyes suddenly clear. “I…I don’t—”
“You’re in pain, aren’t you?” He huffed. “It’s too soon. I’ll get you some meds—”
“No. Brett, please. I’m… You haven’t hurt me. I’m not in pain. I just…” She leaned forward—brushed her lips across his. “Kiss me.”
He furrowed his brow, looking as if he was going to stand up, regardless of her request, when she moved. Pressed her mouth to his, ran her tongue along the seam then dipped inside.
Heaven. Just like in the bathroom. Spicy heat and coffee and that taste that was all Brett. It filled her senses, drew her under. He only hesitated for a second before he was all in. Hands roaming across her body—under the shirt. Skin on skin as she shifted closer. Tried to climb onto his lap.
Brett shook his head. Pulled back enough to gain her attention. “Easy, sweetheart. Let’s slow it down. Get you comfy so we don’t aggravate your side.”
“My side’s fine. It’s the rest of me that’s burning up. I need you.”
“And you’ll get me, just not too rough.”
She frowned. “Are you sure you’re not making excuses? Maybe you aren’t really interested—”
He crushed his lips on hers. Silencing her. Stealing what little breath she’d managed to suck in. Hard, lethal eyes stared back at her when he finally pulled away, that dangerous gaze keeping her from moving. From doing anything other than sitting there. Breathing.
He grabbed her hand, jammed it over his cock. Hard. So damn thick, she couldn’t encircle his width. She squeezed, and it jumped against her palm. All that slick fluid sliding along her skin, making her hiss out her next breath.
Brett growled. That’s the only way she could describe it. Low. Guttural. Primal in its intensity.
He ran his fingers over hers, keeping one hand locked on his shaft, then lifting the other to cup her chin. “There’s no hiding how much I want you. Kissing you. Touching you. Sliding inside and feeling you come all over me. But... If you start moaning in anything other than pleasure. If I suspect, for one second, you’re in pain, it doesn’t matter how hard my dick is, sweetheart, how desperately I want to ride you. Watch your eyes roll back, feel you clench around me. I won’t be able to continue. Couldn’t live with myself if I knew I’d hurt you. So... Stop being stubborn and lie back. Let me take us both there.”
He lifted her hand off his shaft, placing it gently on the bed, while smoothing his other hand along her thigh. “Christ, I could touch you for hours. Spend a week just on one leg, alone.”
His fingers worked beneath her shirt, lifting it. Dragging it up her body so achingly slowly she had to bite back a curse. “And your stomach. It would take a whole month. Memorizing every rib. Every inch of soft skin. Mapping out your ticklish areas. How your freckles connect.”
He dipped down, nuzzling the top of the bandage. “Kiss every bruise, every scar, every tiny blemish better.”
A few more inches up, and the shirt sat just below her shoulders. Hiding nothing, just a piece of cotton that was in the way. Keeping her from feeling all of him pressed against her.
He hummed, kissing the underside of one breast, making her breath hitch, not that she’d been breathing. Had been able to do anything other than sit there, willing oxygen into her through some form of magic spell since he’d put his hand on her thigh—started the kind of seduction she knew would undo her. Bind her to him in a way that went beyond dangerous.
“And here…” A quick swipe of his tongue over her nipple, nearly sending her into a hard climax. “Years required to do you justice.”
A lift of his hands and the shirt disappeared. Over her head then fluttering to the floor behind them. Had he even raised her arms? Torn it off? Had there been a hidden zipper or Velcro she’d missed? She couldn’t remember. Everything blurring into the brush of his mouth, his hands, his skin across hers.
He eased her back, fanning her hair out across the pillow, making sure it wasn’t tucked beneath her back. Pulling against her shoulders. He took his time, running his fingers through the length. Curling the ends around his knuckles. “So soft. Like your skin.”
God his voice. Low. Throaty. Washing over her like a physical caress. He was desperate. She heard it in the pitch. The way he blended some of the words together, as if his brain wasn’t quite functioning.
Good, hers wasn’t. It had stalled the moment he’d kissed her. Just fried. No signals getting through other than how hot he made her. How she might not survive when he finally sank inside.
And she wanted him inside. Moving hard. Fast. Her ankles notched in the small of his back, his arms holding her still as he pounded into her. All that power and strength flowing between them.
His fingers touched the inside of her thigh. Right where it joined her mound. So close to that pinpoint of heat, she couldn’t stop from lifting her hips. Pressing into his hand.
He smiled. “You’re soaking. God, I love how you respond. Can’t wait to feel you unravel against my tongue. Ready, sweetheart?”
Chapter 14
Colt was one lucky son of a bitch. Luckiest ever, in fact, because Ellis was lying on the bed. Naked. More aroused than he’d ever seen her. On the verge of climaxing from the simple touch of his finger. The scant kisses he’d brushed across her body. And he got to watch it all happen. Follow the flush of pink along her skin. How her muscles tensed and flexed as she tried to hold it off—prolong the pleasure. He remembered how she tasted. Sweet
with a punch of spicy musk. He needed to know if it was as good as the memory.
He dipped down, holding her open with his thumbs then trailing just the tip of his tongue through her folds. And fuck, it wasn’t as good as he remembered. It was sheer heaven. Immeasurably sweeter. Hotter. How could he have forgotten all the subtle flavors? The hint of honey? The wild spicy essence that was so uniquely hers? The smooth texture of her skin beneath his tongue? The slick glide across her flesh, and how it warmed from the simply contact of his skin on hers? The tiny flutters of nerve-endings springing to life because of him. The way he touched her. The thought of them making love.
He wasn’t sure if that’s how she saw it. If it was just sex. Two people with history, and obvious attraction, fucking. If, in her mind, this was a one-off. A way to cope with all that had happened. Didn’t matter because he had no intentions of letting her go. Giving her up.
He wouldn’t say those words. Not out loud, and not to her. Because she’d rabbit. Skitter away and hide in a hole until McCormick or one of his fucking SOG pricks found her. She’d promised not to ditch him, but if Colt pushed too hard—made this about them and not about eliminating the threat—she’d break ranks. Disappear.
She needed him to move slowly. Maybe not during the actual love making—and it was definitely making love for him. The way his heart tapped triple-time against his ribs. The scorching heat beneath his skin. The unmistakable urge to bind her to him. Reclaim what had always been his. This wasn’t merely his body reacting. It was his heart. The one she’d been carrying around with her. The one she’d shoved back into his chest. And he’d go whatever pace she needed.
He’d let her down, but his slow ascent to redemption started, now. Here.
He wanted to show her that he wouldn’t be that foolish, again. Wouldn’t ever doubt her sincerity. Her loyalty. That his happiness hinged on hers. He’d said he was all in. Time to prove it.
