Rogue Beast (The Rourkes, Book 12)

by Kylie Gilmore

  “You’re every bit as gorgeous as Josie said,” I say, letting my hands roam back up and over his massive shoulders.

  He closes his eyes, a strained expression on his face. “Please don’t bring up Josie. She’s like a sister to me. It fucks with my head.”

  I wrap my arms around him, enjoying the hard planes of muscle on his back. “Sorry. You feel like a warrior, strong and sturdy. I could see you slaying a dragon.”

  His eyes are intent on mine. “I’d slay a dragon for you, Harper.”

  I get chills, some primal part of me loving that he’d be that protector for me. “I believe you would.”

  “You know it’s torture just standing still while you feel me up. Shirt’s going back on.”

  “No, not yet!” I throw my arms around his neck, pressing my entire body against him. His arms wrap around me, holding me close, one arm banded around my waist, his other hand cupping the back of my neck. It seems as natural as breathing to lift my head and press my lips to his.

  He groans and takes over the kiss, his lips demanding, his tongue delving into my mouth. Desire spears through me with startling intensity. This is nothing like his gentle goodnight kiss across the table. It’s hot and hungry. Suddenly I can’t get enough, straining to get closer, wanting to merge with him. My hands go to his ass, and I press him firmly against me. His large hand slides down my spine to cup my ass, keeping us fused together. Oh, God. The need is overwhelming. The kiss never ending.

  Long moments later, I tear my mouth away, breathing hard. “Do you have a condom?”

  He stares at my mouth. “No.”

  “It’s okay. I’m on the pill.”

  He turns away. “Gimme a few minutes.”

  I stare at his wide back, and then I can’t help but touch it and kiss and taste. His shoulder blades are a work of art. Warrior man for sure.

  “Harp, we need to slow it down.” His voice sounds strangled.

  I slide around to his front. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone as much as I want you.”

  He pulls me in for a tight hug, holding my head to his chest. His heart thumps hard under my ear. I can’t do much but hug him back the way he’s holding me. I want him fiercely, but there’s something really nice about being held in his strong arms. Still doesn’t quell the inferno raging inside me.

  After a few minutes he frames my face in his hands, resting his forehead against mine. “I don’t want our first time to be rushed.”

  “We can skip the show.”

  “We’re having our date,” he says firmly. “I want to know you trust me enough to give me more than just your body.”

  I squirm against him, needing him too much for rational talk. “Please?”

  He chuckles. “Shirtless really got you going, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take off your panties.”

  I strip them off immediately, already soaked with desire.

  He turns me so my back is against his front, slowly sliding my skirt up past my hips. His lips press against my neck, kissing a hot trail along the column of my throat. I tilt my head, giving him better access. His teeth scrape against me as his fingers slide toward the inside of my thigh. My entire body tenses, dying for his fingers to reach pleasure central. His other hand does the same, slowly tracing my inner thigh.

  “Garrett, you’re torturing me.”

  “Ah, now you know how I feel.”

  “Please,” I whisper.

  “Would you really have skipped the condom for me? Do you do that a lot?”

  “Never. But I’ve never wanted someone so badly before.”

  He groans. “You have no idea how hot that makes me.” He resumes his slow torture, his fingers trailing lazily along my inner thigh, skirting off to the side and up my hip, back and forth, stroking closer and closer, but never quite reaching where I need him most.

  I grab his hand and place it firmly where I want it.

  He chuckles. “Not one for slow, are ya?”

  He traces me, circling, teasing, driving me insane. Then he just cups me, held in his large hand, completely still.

  I grit my teeth. I want to kill him. Slowly. That’s what he’s doing to me. Killing me with frustration.

  I grab his wrist and squeeze, hoping that will make some movement happen. “We’re running out of time, and it always takes me a while.”

  He gives my earlobe a tug between his teeth. “You’re soaked, nearly there. You’re going to go off like a firecracker with me.”

  I huff, about to say if you actually do anything about it in this century! Except my breath catches as he sucks the cord of my neck at the same time as his fingers delve between my legs, stroking in a rhythm that has my hips moving in time. I close my eyes and completely let go in a way I never have before, my mind blank, my body nearly limp. The solid strength and heat of him, the firm hold on my neck, his sure fingers, all of it lets me relax. I’m rewarded instantly by a spiraling pleasure, my insides coiling tight.

  He shifts from my neck to speak close to my ear as his fingers slide inside me in slow deep thrusts. Intense pleasure radiates through me as the tension rises. “So beautiful, so sexy. I love to feel you letting go.”

  “I’m close,” I gasp out, shocked at how quickly I got there.

  He slides his fingers out. “I know. Next time I’ll be inside you.”

  A rush of desire floods me, the ache to be filled overwhelming. I push back against him instinctively, his massive erection pressing against my ass.

  He shifts, not allowing me to seek him out. “Just take what I give.” His fingers feather lightly over me, and when I relax against him, he increases the rhythm, stroking more firmly.

  My head arches back. “Oh God! Garrett!”

  His deep voice holds the sharp edge of authority. “Let go.”

  I explode, my hips rocking helplessly, the rush of sensation stealing my breath. Wave after wave of pleasure. I pant as he stays with me, his fingers guiding me through more and more, until I’m spent. He cups me firmly between the legs and nips my neck. I jolt, electrified and caught in his hold. I don’t know if he’s going to give me more or let me go. I’m not sure I can take more, but somehow I think he’d get me there.

  He slides his hand away, and I let out a breath, clutching his arm as I lean back against him. He’s quiet.

  With great effort I straighten and turn to face him. “How are you?”

  “I’m great,” he says, pulling my skirt back into place.

  I glance toward the bulge in his pants. “Can I help you out?”

  “Another time.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want you to know I can give without asking for anything in return.”

  My lips part. It’s like he both knows my fears and how to deal with them. I don’t think anyone has ever read me so well. “You’re a good man.”

  He pinches my chin and kisses me tenderly. A surge of affection goes through me, and I throw my arms around him.

  He holds my gaze, still holding me by the chin. His voice is gruff. “I’m glad you think so.”

  I kiss him again, this time slow and easy, lingering in my afterglow.

  He breaks the kiss and flashes a smile. “We should get going. I’ll be in the hallway, trying to cool down.”

  “Oh, I know a better place. We could go on the roof. I have private access to a small garden with a view.” I grab my panties. “Let me just freshen up.”

  “Careful. Remember what happened last time you freshened up. You attacked me. What’s next?” He gestures toward his pants, frowning. “A guy can only take so much being on display. I’m not your personal stripper, ya know.”

  I laugh. “I really like you, Garret. You’re not like most guys I date.”

  He smiles. “Back at ya. And I’m glad we’re done pretending we only want each other as friends.” He turns me and gives my ass a light pat. I squeak in surprise. “Now get in there before I go out of my mind from wanting you.”

 
I practically float on my way into my room.

  Garrett

  Harper and I went up to the roof for some fresh air, and I finally got comfortable again. I didn’t dare touch her or kiss her. A guy can only take so much temptation. Fortunately, it’s time to go. I really do want to see Wicked with her, mostly because I want to see her favorite thing. I want to know everything about her. She’s strong and vulnerable at the same time. I want to protect her, keep her, have her under me.

  Yeah, so, slow is out. I know what she sounds like when she comes, what she feels like, her sexy scent. That’s why I need to make sure we fit dates in too. I don’t want this to be just a flash of heat that fizzles out. It’s going to be tricky because that slow simmer I was going for is out the window. The woman can’t resist me.

  We make our way to the front door. I lean forward to open the door for her when she grabs me suddenly by the shirt, pulls my head down, and kisses me. Instinct takes over and I pin her against the door, pressing my body against her as my mouth crashes over hers. She makes this mewling sound in the back of her throat that makes me rock hard. Her fingers are tangled in my hair, her leg wrapping around me, her hips arching, seeking more. I push her leg down, knowing what she needs. I slide my hand between her legs, feeling hot wet flesh. I tear my mouth from hers.

  “No panties,” I gasp out.

  “I need you inside me so bad,” she says urgently, sliding her skirt up over her hips.

  I take one look at what she’s offering, and the thin line of control snaps. I lift her, and she wraps her legs around me eagerly. I shift us back to the wall, our mouths fused together, as I free myself. Her hands are all over me, her kisses frantic, eager. I shift her leg up, opening her wider, and press at her entrance. Oh God. With my last ounce of willpower, I break the kiss to check in with her.

  “Sure?”

  “Yes!” She grabs my ass and pulls me against her. “I ache for you.”

  I thrust deep, the sensation of her tight body gripping me nearly making me finish before we’ve got started. I take a breath, counting backward, trying to hang on.

  Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Yesss,” she hisses on a long breath. “Oh my God. You feel amazing.”

  I kiss her. “You feel amazing.”

  “Fuck me.”

  I thrust hard and fast, driven out of my mind by her soft moans of pleasure. She lifts her hips, meeting each thrust, taking me deeper. On and on in a feverish rush of pleasure. Her body clamps down around me, and then she cries out, going off. I let go, pounding into her until I explode, the intensity sharp enough to steal my breath and make my vision dim. Jesus. I collapse against her, breathing hard and slick with sweat.

  Long moments later, she lifts her head. “I think you just ruined me for other men.”

  I chuckle and kiss her. “Good. Cuz I don’t want you with any other man.”

  “Exclusive, huh?”

  “All the way.”

  She beams a smile. “I’m glad we went for it. I couldn’t sit through an entire Broadway show with the ache to have you inside me.”

  I stroke a lock of dark hair back from her face. “I ached to fill you. I still do. Crazy, right?”

  “Not at all.”

  I withdraw and set her on her feet. Her legs wobble, and she grabs for me. “All those Pilates and I still wobble.”

  “You’re not used to wrapping them around a beast like me. I should be part of your Pilates routine.” I hitch up my pants and fasten them. “Stretch those legs, tighten, and thrust.”

  “A dirty workout routine. Now that I could get into.” Her skin glows, her eyes promising more. “Are you sure you still want to go to the show?”

  I can’t resist her. I scoop her up, cradled in my arms. She licks my pec. “We’ll be there by intermission.” Can’t go wrong thinking with my dick, right?

  “Or another night altogether,” she purrs.

  I can’t deny her, even though I had the best of intentions for tonight. The pull to join with her is too strong. We’ll build up trust in bed. Plenty of time for talking after.

  14

  Garrett

  “When’s date two?” she asks, climbing up my body and stretching like a cat on top of me.

  I stroke her back. “Next Saturday, sweetheart. We’ll go to Wicked.”

  She smiles, her eyes sparkling. “You’re wicked.”

  “You’re mine.”

  She looks down and then quickly rolls off me.

  I catch her in my arms, spooning her from behind before whispering in her ear, “I’ll be good to you.”

  She laughs uneasily. “I’m not used to all these pretty words.”

  I let out a breath. “Ya see, this is exactly why I wanted to take it slow. If we had a real date, you’d have time to see you could trust me through my actions.”

  “So this is my fault?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How is it my fault?” She sounds pissed.

  I nuzzle her neck. “You made me strip, felt me up, and begged me to fuck you.”

  She wiggles her ass back into me. “I did do that, didn’t I?”

  “And I loved every minute of it. Now I’m gonna spend the night. I’ll probably spoon you for a bit, fuck you a lot, and then tomorrow we’ll do something more date like. So next Saturday will count as date three.”

  “You’ve got it all figured out.” She sounds happy with my plan, but she’s trying not to show it.

  “Yup.”

  “I’m supposed to visit my grandmother tomorrow.”

  “Then I’ll meet your grandmother.”

  She looks back over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide. “Seriously?”

  “Why not? Women of all ages like me.”

  She snuggles back into me. “Cocky.”

  “You like that about me.”

  “I have to warn you, she’s tough. I call her General Joan. Secretly. Don’t you call her that.”

  I chuckle. “I know how to handle tough.”

  “Because of me?”

  I give her a squeeze. Adorable. “I told you from day one you’re sweet. This tough thing is an act.”

  “Most people don’t see that.”

  I push her to her back, stroke her soft cheek, and kiss her. “I see you just as you are.”

  She opens her arms to me, and I join her, in our own private cocoon of warmth, affection, and maybe more. Definitely more.

  Harper

  So here I am on the back of Garrett’s Harley, riding to Summerdale to visit General Joan. I left my guard behind because no one ever bothers me in Summerdale. Besides, we couldn’t fit him on the bike. Ha-ha. Garrett’s big enough to scare away most men. The fresh air whipping by, the speed, and the man I’m hugging make me feel like all is right in the world. It’s the last weekend of September, a gorgeous fall day, and the leaves are just starting to turn gold, orange, and red along the highway.

  I’m glad for the buffer of Garrett joining me today for my visit, but I feel bad for him. He has no idea what he’s getting into. When you think eighty-seven-year-old grandmother, you think warm and fuzzy. I know Garrett looks tough, but from what I’ve gotten to know of him, he really is a big teddy bear. I still can’t believe he thinks I’m sweet. How Grandmom would cackle at that description! But Garrett insists on calling me sweetheart, and the warm way he says it makes me melt.

  He already knew the way to Summerdale since his family comes here for Labor Day weekend. He slows as we turn onto Lakeshore Drive and points out the two houses his family has rented on different occasions.

  He pulls up in front of a large two-story. “This is the one we just recently stayed at.”

  I lean forward so he can hear me. “I don’t know who lives here now. Take your second left up ahead. My grandmother’s house is the last on the street.”

  He continues on. Summerdale is a planned community, founded in the sixties by a group of hippies who saw it as their own utopia. The lake is at the center of town, with homes with large decks built
around it. Tall trees surround the lake. The town is laid out like a bicycle wheel with spokes radiating out from the lake. There’s a main street on one spoke with a café, a small grocery store, a restaurant with a popular bar, and a yoga studio. Other spokes lead to the churches, schools, town hall, and more homes like where I grew up. Those homes were added in the seventies. Bike paths connect everything together.

  It’s the kind of place where a kid can ride around town on their own with no restrictions. Crime is low and quality of life is high. The founders are mostly retired and moved away. Housing value has gone way up as more young professionals from the city settle here with their kids. Still, there’s a good number of people who grew up here and moved back to raise their kids, or just never left. My three closest friends are back in town now, and I hope to see them during this visit too.

  Soon the white two-story colonial home I grew up in comes into view. I’m glad to see the yard looks neat and the house in good condition. I pay for a landscape service and have a running tab with the local handyman. Grandmom insists on seeing to her flower beds herself, even though she has a bad hip.

  He parks the bike in the street and takes off his helmet, looking over his shoulder at me. “You get off first.” His lips twitch.

  “None of that sexy talk here.” I climb off, my legs feeling wobbly after the powerful vibration of the bike under me. I take off my helmet. Everything sounds so quiet now without the roar of the motor. Slowly, the familiar sounds of home reach me as a light breeze rustles through the trees and the birds whistle their jaunty tunes.

  I smooth my curly hair down as best I can. “How do I look?”

  “Beautiful as always.” He gets off the bike, secures our helmets to the back, and returns to me, kissing my cheek.

  “Do I have helmet head?”

  He strokes my hair down with both hands. “Looks good to me.” I definitely have helmet head. There’s no hope for it with these unruly curls.

  I glance down at my pale blue peasant blouse, jeans, and black ankle boots. Grandmom doesn’t approve of “racy” clothes that expose too much cleavage. Everything’s covered. I take off my jean jacket, a favorite of mine I don’t get to wear often. It’s warm now that we’re not riding with the wind whipping past us.