by Angel Payne
Emmalina Crist is always worth it.
“Yes,” she echoes over and over again between her snappy sexiness. “Yes. Yes. Yes!”
“Take me,” I moan, circling and swelling deep inside her.
“Yes.”
“Clench me, Emmalina.”
“Yes!”
“Now come with me, fuck bunny. Hard.”
“Ohhhhh…”
“Show it to me, baby. Show it all to me. Give it all to me.” I decree it because I’m living it, exposing every ounce of my adoration as I spill every drop of my seed into her. Drenching her in the electric liquid only she can power this high, showing her the love I’ve never felt for anyone else in my entire insane existence. Nor will ever know again.
I ride her with that ferocity until she’s nothing but softness and sighs beneath me, and then I yank free the ties and let her wrap her arms around my neck while her legs encircle my waist. The moment more of her skin contacts mine, I’m lost again—on a sea of stars this time. Nearby, the bells of Notre-Dame chime about the glory of heaven, but I’m already there. The paradise of this woman’s embrace is the only deliverance I need. The Eden of her love has made me a rebirthed Adam, ready to serve her lush beauty for eternity.
With all that I am.
With all I can imagine.
With all I can ignite.
“Reece!” It tears out of her on a high shriek as I rock back on my haunches, keeping her pussy wrapped around me throughout the motion. With one of my hands splayed on her back and the other gripping her waist, I set a new tempo for us that’s steady but strong, tender but torrid.
“Now show me, Velvet.” I charge it on serrated breaths, since the new angle of our bodies allows my cock into even deeper parts of her shivering tunnel. “Show me how you’re not going to leave my side.”
A wash of new desire covers her face, working its way across the sensual flow of her lips. She lowers her head, pressing that silken bow to my mouth as she wiggles a little, working herself around me until we’re both groaning from the perfection of the friction.
Up and down. In and out. Plunging and retreating. I beg fate to wind its own laces around the two of us, binding us together like this forever, but soon our hormones have other plans. No longer can I resist how her channel squeezes me like a goddamned fist or how erotic her intimate lips are with the excess juices from her pussy smeared through them. She’s my fuck bunny with extra features, and damn, are they worth the extra wait.
But not for too much longer. My cock, searing and sizzling its way into her, all but screams the confirmation at me now.
Still, as she pulls back a little and whispers, “Close enough?” I ram her tighter onto me with a King Kong snarl and a caveman glower.
“No.” I claw into her hips, grinding our bodies until we both grunt in pain. “Closer.”
She grabs the front of my shirt and tears the two sides until buttons are flying all over the cabin. In the same motion, she wraps herself back around me, crushing her breasts to my chest. “How about now?” she pleads into my ear.
“Closer.” I cup her by the ass, teasing at her back hole with little taps of my middle fingers while turning our fuck into a proper screw. While kneading her body in erotic tucks and rolls, I shove up only enough for her to feel how fully she’s swelled my cock again…how thoroughly I’m going to blow for her again.
She gets it. Oh, God, how she does. As soon as her high, plaintive sigh warms the back of my neck, it pitches into an outright cry—reacting to the jolts of energy that pinwheel through my balls, shoot up my cock, and bang with impatient force against my jerking cockhead.
I’m going to blow.
Oh fuck, am I going to blow.
But for one last, gritted second, I hold the fuse at bay—long enough to ram my face against her neck and brace her hips astride mine, before ordering with scorching savagery, “Melt with me, Emmalina. Burn with me, baby.”
And she does.
Her scream piercing the night.
Her thrusts rocking the boat.
Her orgasm ripping raw lightning through me. All of me. Every cell of my blood. Every inch of my skin. Every molecule of my air.
And then all the way out of me.
“Fuck. Emma. My fucking God!”
I’ve plummeted from heaven, dipped into hell, and brought the fire of Styx itself back with me, jetting it into this angel with skies in her eyes and stars in her touch and magic in her body. Using the magma to weld her to me forever. To fuse her into my marrow. To seal her into my soul.
To cherish her in every beat of my heart and breath in my body.
Many minutes later, I attempt to rearrange things so I can lie on my back and rest her atop me, but I refuse to give up my cock’s seat in her body, resulting in whacking my ankles, knees, and shoulders against every piece of furniture in the cabin.
“Not helping, Miss Crist,” I grumble as she fills in the spaces between my grunts with her soft giggles.
“But of course I am, Mr. Richards.” As if I need clarification about that, she rocks her hips a few times. I groan and squeeze her ass tighter. She sighs and presses her cheek against my chest.
Heaven?
Hell?
I’m damn sure it doesn’t matter. Wherever karma sends me at the end of this crazy ride called mortality, I want to make sure she’s there too.
And with that thought, my psyche leaps to the next subject at hand. A conversation that can’t be put off with any more kisses, jokes, or lovemaking star rides—no matter how many shivers she gives me with the length of her tunnel, hinting she’d be ready for a repeat whirl.
The important shit first.
Especially this important shit.
But there’s nothing wrong with mixing at least a little pleasure with business…
“My, my, my.” I growl it with soft wolfishness into her hair while changing up my grip on her backside. With my fingers making lazy circles across her firm spheres, I rumble on. “Guess my negotiating tactic worked.”
Her delicate huff sends small shivers across my pectoral. “This time.”
I curl my head down. Push gentle lips against her temple. “Well, they say three times is a charm.”
She stiffens. Not by a lot, but by enough. “Which means what?”
An effort to soothe her tension, skating one hand up the little hills of her spine. “Which means there’s one more term to go over.”
“Also nonnegotiable?”
“For the sake of argument, yes.”
“You mean your argument.”
I have no intention of biting on that bait, an initiative supported by the universe itself as a lively jazz tune grows louder and louder in the air. Neither of us has a hope of speaking over the din as the large dinner bateau passes, with laughter and clanking dishes joining the band’s bright song, prefacing a deafening silence in contrast.
In short, the perfect setting I need now.
“You have to promise me that if anything—anything—goes sideways during this dinner party, you will leave the Virage at once with Foley and will follow his instructions to the letter.”
Emma jolts her head off my chest. Narrows her stare to such intensity, I wonder what the pattern of the brand across my face will look like. “What the hell does that mean? ‘Sideways’?”
I steel my jaw. “Exactly what it implies, Velvet.”
“Which, back on the bridge, you implied wouldn’t be an issue. That Foley’s already in the city, handpicking his secret Scooby squad, and—”
“And slow your roll, baby. That’s all still happening. We’re still one step ahead of the game, okay? We’re running game plans and attack plans for every scenario Dad and Faline can think to throw at us. But unfortunately, that includes ones where we lose the upper hand.”
“And you end up in their hands again.” The last part of it is jagged, tearful, and as unsteady as her efforts to get away from me. Yeah, including a full break from our intimacy, which leaves me groani
ng for a couple of seconds—meaning she has the room to accomplish just that.
I center myself enough to roll up and slide onto the couch, where she’s managed to crawl and tuck back into a ball. “That’s not the plan, okay?”
Her form remains hunched and tight beneath my embrace. “But it could be—and by more than a few percentage points,” she accuses in return. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be writing it into the terms.”
“Which is what matters here,” I volley. “Because it is part of the terms, baby.” While I command her with my tone, I work for compensation with the tenderness of my touch. “If you’re going to be a part of the squad on this, you have to be as prepared as the rest of us—and that means knowing what to do if all the hamsters fall off the wheel.”
A weighted breath. A heavier exhale. But with equally determined purpose, she unfurls herself before tucking herself to my side. “Next, you’re going to tell me that’s a commendation, right? No guts, no glory?” She flashes a pondering glance. “And does that mean I get a cute hamster call sign like Reecy or Sally?”
Rough grunt. A tight tug to bring her closer. “You’re already Bunny. And that stays the same.”
“So the guys call me Bunny?”
“The guys call you by your name, or I’ll deflate their balls with knitting needles.”
She twitches as if tempted to laugh but instead takes my cue, snuggling closer. “All right, fine,” she sighs, circling one of my nipples with a fingernail painted in a shimmery pink hue. “I agree to this term, as well, but”—she stops the caresses and lifts her head again—“only with my modification attached.”
Now I’m the one tempted to laugh. Something in my gut already expected this. “You’ve already gotten an addendum, beauty. Now you’re asking for a modification too?”
“Not asking.” She adds a little snort. Fuuuuck. She knows I can’t resist her adorable bunny snorts.
“Hell.” I endure her light knuckle into my sternum before muttering, “Should I be afraid?”
She pushes all the way back up again. In her nude, proud glory, with her shoulders high and her gaze meeting mine, she doesn’t hesitate before asserting, “If this thing does spin wrong and those monsters take you again, I claim every right, responsibility, and obsession to use every resource and weapon in the world to find you—and get you back.” But a second later, with that scenario embedding itself into her head, her posture crumbles and her chin wobbles. When I beckon her to re-burrow into my arms, my killer rabbit eagerly accepts the offer. This time, she drapes half her body across mine, with her thigh against my cock and one gorgeous breast squished on my chest. “By the way, that’s not negotiable either,” she utters.
I chuckle, grateful for the concentration on something other than what the intimate smash of all her curves is doing to the corresponding parts of me. “I wouldn’t dare think otherwise, baby.”
“Damn right you won’t.” No more cute fingernail tracings. She goes straight for tunneling a hand in my hair and then twisting it with fierce force. All the incredible angles of her face are a karmic match, slamming me with the palpable rush of her love. “If it takes until the end of my days, Reece Richards, I will not let those cocksuckers keep you this time.”
I let my stare flare with a touch of humor. Can’t be helped. As intense as this subject is, her devotion flies my heart so high, it’s in a stratosphere of nothing but light. “Cocksuckers, hmmm?” I drawl from the middle of that brightness. “You know, Miss Crist, you’re kind of sexy when you have a filthy mouth.”
“Sexy?” She pushes out a pout. “Damn. I was hoping you’d think I needed to be punished instead. Like, tied up with my shoes again…or something like that?”
Fuuuuuck.
Outwardly, I school my reaction to a sharp inhalation. As the little minx giggles, I murmur, “Enjoyed that, did you?”
She taps my jaw with a quick kiss. “You know, Mr. Richards, you’re kind of sexy when you’re filthy too.”
I let a low hum vibrate up my throat. “They do say most superheroes have a dark side.”
Her gaze glimmers. “That so?”
The backs of my eyes turn to lightning. My cock swells with thunder. “That’s very much so.”
Emmalina pushes up. In one smooth sweep of feminine grace, she’s fully astride me, rolling and sliding along my erection again. My breath explodes out as my cock expands with renewed fire, and my senses confirm what my soul already knows.
I’m lost all over again.
Because of her and in her.
Drowning in her softness. Incinerated in her fire. Moved in her power. A willing sacrifice to her glory.
And as she leans in, bracing the side of my face in her tapered but mighty fingers, she curls up a slow siren’s smile, accepting my consecration…and rewarding me with her pure, unhindered pleasure.
“Show me,” she whispers from the center of that soft, smoky rapture. “Show me just how bad Bolt can really be.”
Without hesitation, I lift her off my lap.
Without pause, I spin her around toward the empty bucket seat.
Without faltering, I shove one of her knees against one side and repeat the positioning on the other. Fucking perfect.
I’m about to tell her exactly that, but an echo of her demand takes over my mind. She wants Bad Boy Bolt—and that’s what she’s going to get.
“Lean over,” I order in a low snarl. “Grab the edge of the bar, drop your head, and lift up that beautiful ass. I want a good view of everything, Velvet—every damn part of you that belongs solely to me.”
Dear fuck. With just as much certainty, she complies with every syllable I’ve issued, down to the last wicked letter. For a long moment, I simply stand and watch as her pussy lips grab at the air, already greedy for my cock again. Finally, unable to take the torment any longer, I take myself in hand. Fist my shaft from top to bottom, over and over again, until precome rushes over my head again. The drops hit the carpet near her feet, instantly burning blue circles into the pile. Looks like I’ll be telling Tristan to add new carpet for the cabin onto tonight’s bill. Worth it. So fucking worth it.
“Not long now, beauty.” I stroke the small of her back along with the reassurance. “I just want to be naked with you now.”
Her impatient mewl makes me work harder to toe off my Pradas and push down my pants, practically freeing them from both legs at once…
Right before a distinctive sound comes from one of the pockets. The ringtone I’ve assigned to nobody else.
“Goddamnit.” I’ve never meant every vicious syllable more.
“Reece?” Emma looks over her shoulder. “What is it?” As soon as she gets a full, fresh look at my size, she turns all the way around. “And why is your phone roaring?”
I give her knee a fast, apologetic squeeze with one hand while fishing the device out of my pocket with the other. “Because lions eat their young,” I mutter. “And Papa Richards wants to play.”
Chapter Four
Emma
Three nights after Reece received that friendly but short call from Lawson, beckoning him to the Virage for the let’s-all-get-along-again dinner, we’re in a limousine on the Champs-Élysées, inching through traffic on our way to the stunning V-shaped tower about eight blocks away.
“Damn,” the burly guy behind the wheel mutters. “That thing is impressive.”
He’s reacting, no doubt, to how the setting sun hits a fifty-story-high “waterfall” of crystals, which appears to be “flowing” out of one prong of the gigantic V. As my gaze widens at the sight, I murmur back, “I can’t stand admitting you’re right, but you’re right.”
“I usually am, princess.”
The driver’s chuckling comeback is quashed by Reece’s growl. “Her name is Emmalina, my friend.” I’m certain he uses the honorific purely out of respect to Sawyer and the fact that he—Max Brickham, another “buddy from the old days” Sawyer seems to have in every damn corner of the globe—has cut a Spanish vac
ation short to be on Team Bolt tonight.
If Max realizes that, he doesn’t let on. The guy even jabs a thumb up from the front seat, nearly knocking free his fancy chauffeur’s cap, before replying, “Heard and acknowledged, buddy.”
Despite the blatant alpha-to-alpha respect, none of the tension leaves Reece’s body. The leather seat beneath us creaks from his discomfited weight shift. He grasps my hand tighter and curls my knuckles against his chest. I don’t attempt an escape, more than aware that he needs the contact of our clutch, though the man could likely use a tequila shot and a dozen deep breaths as well. But I can’t help him with the former and I bite my lip from suggesting the latter, hesitant to highlight the tension he’s already aware of.
Especially as Max drives us nearer to the Virage.
Another block.
Trimmed chestnut trees and happy throngs flow past our windows.
One more.
While we’re stopped at a light, accordion music from a street performer drifts through the air. A smatter of applause follows.
Reece doesn’t seem to hear.
As we roll forward again, he noticeably clenches his jaw—sending a small tine of power beneath his skin, back to the communications bud stuck inside his ear. The device is invisible to anyone looking at him, despite how he’s pomaded his hair into a lush, formal style for tonight. It’s a fashionable match for the charcoal suit he bought off the rack yet still fills out like a movie star in bespoke designer wear. Beneath the jacket, he’s wearing a light-blue shirt with a silver-threaded tie—a special gift shipped express from Wade and Fershan back in LA. With the enthusiasm of twelve-year-olds who’d found a viable way to shoot humans to Mars, the guys had explained that in the right circumstances, the tie could be used as a special “Bolt Jolt” conductor. I’m not sure if Reece believed them, but he smooths the thing now while opening up a radio connection with the rest of the team. I know this because there’s a matching comm bud stuck inside my ear.
