“You think you’ve got what it takes?”
I catch her hand before she can lower it and push it down against mine where I’m cupping myself. It’s delicate in mine. Long fingers, smoothly manicured. My hand feels rough and awkward around hers. “Check for yourself.”
She just tilts her eyes up toward me, that smile still on her mouth. She doesn’t pull her hand away. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
Oh no. She’s not going to pull that shit on me. I move just a little closer. Just enough that her hand and mine are both shoving against the rock-hard length of my dick. “I know who you are, Ms. Spada,” I tell her in a low voice. “I know exactly who you are, and I don’t care what your father thinks. Now—you want to go someplace a little more private?”
She twitches her fingers so her nails scrape the denim next to my fly. I have to fight to not start shaking. “Yeah,” she says. “I think that’s a damn good plan.”
I slide in, let my lips rest right against her ear. “My place is only a few blocks—”
She backs off. Not a lot, but enough to let me know I’ve said the wrong thing. She’s having second thoughts. And I know exactly what she’s thinking. So I move square with her, looking her straight in the eye. My shoulders make her look tiny, sitting there on the barstool, and suddenly her eyes are wary, vulnerable.
“Look,” I say quietly. There’s a small pool of silence around us, just enough so we can hear each other, but no one else around us has a damn clue what we’re saying. It’s perfect. I tip my head toward her, catching her eyes, and lay a hand on her shoulder. Again, my body makes hers look so small. Breakable. “I know what’s going on in that head of yours, and I don’t like it.”
“Oh really?” Her tone is grating. She’s putting on tough airs—except I’m not entirely sure they’re airs. She can’t be any kind of shrinking violet, not with a father like Phil Spada. She’s had to learn to protect herself. From him and, right now, from me.
I move my hand against her shoulder in a soothing motion. I’ll tame her if I have to, although I don’t really want to take the time. I just want inside her where it’s hot and wet and tight. I want to fuck her into oblivion. I want to own her. Because she’s something I want, and she’s something I can take from Phil Fucking Spada.
“You’re afraid your dad’s going to go ape shit if he finds out you went home with me. Because I’m just one of his filthy fighters—I’m not good enough for you. Well, guess what? I agree. I’m definitely not good enough for you.” I lean forward, talking again right into her ear. “But you know what? I can fuck you from here to next Sunday and make you scream like you’ve never screamed before. I can fuck you so hard you’ll taste me in the back of your throat ’til Christmas.”
I feel her shaking a little under my hand. Yeah, that’s gotten to her. It’s not fear; I know that much. She wants me. Bad. She wants everything I just told her I could do to her. I lean back just enough so I can look into her eyes. “You want that,” I tell her. “You’ve always wanted that, but you’ve never had the balls to ask anybody for it.”
There’s a moment of silence then, finally, minutely, she nods.
“All right, then. I don’t give a shit what your daddy thinks, and I don’t give a shit what he thinks he owns and doesn’t own. But I do know I want you. Right now. Over and under and any way I want to take you. Now…” This time I draw my hand away from her and lean back. “Are you ready to go?”
She slides off the barstool and straightens. She’s a little shorter than I expected. God, I could toss this girl over my shoulder and carry her out of here like some kind of goddamn caveman claiming a mate. Maybe I will.
But she tilts her head and her eyes meet mine, and she says, “Fine. But, Cain, I’m taking my own car.”
My house isn’t exactly a Beverly Hills mansion, but real estate in Los Angeles is fucking expensive, and the little two-level condo is a damn sight better than anyplace I ever lived growing up. Of course, growing up in the system like I did, you don’t have much choice. You go wherever they send you, and half the time it’s shit.
But I’m proud of this place. It’s mine. I paid for it with my own sweat and blood. All before I got hooked in with Spada and his mob cronies and everything that relationship brings with it. Yeah, I’ve got more money now, but I’m beginning to think I’d rather earn it with sweat and blood than with lies and bullshit.
Jessica gives the building a hard, sweeping glance as I escort her to the front door. It’s been all I could do to keep it in my pants on the short drive from the club; I’m so fucking hard I’m afraid something’s going to break in there if I move wrong. I have a hard time getting the key in the lock, and then my fingers fumble on the alarm keypad.
Finally we’re inside. I prepare myself for the niceties—maybe a quick tour of the place, offer her a drink, see if she needs to know where the bathroom is—but before I can so much as turn around to take her coat, Jessica Spada is on me, arms around my neck, one leg cocked up over the jut of my hipbone. Her mouth takes mine, hard and bruising, and I return the favor. Chances are good we’ll both taste like blood before this night is over.
The kiss hurts on my mouth where I took that punch to the face tonight. Tory was good, and he fought hard, but he’s never been as good as me. Which was the main reason I managed to knock him out even though I was supposed to throw the fight.
Jessica’s tongue prods into my lip like she’s trying to taste that damn cut. I make a noise in my throat and start to push her back, but damn, that slice of pain is making my dick throb. She bites at my lips and then eases off.
“You want to do this in the bedroom, or right here?”
“I really don’t care,” I tell her. “You want me to fuck you pretty, or you want me to fuck you dirty, like over the kitchen counter? The back of the couch?” I glance toward the living area. “Up against that wall?”
“Shit.” She drags my head down again, kisses me again, and then jumps up into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist. I didn’t expect it, but I still catch her easily. “You fuck me wherever’s going to get you inside me faster.”
God. I’m not sure what I expected from her, but I know it wasn’t this. She’s no shrinking violet, withdrawing from my hard hands. I figured she’d be scared, or at the very least hesitant. Sure, she put on a good show back at the club, but it’s easy to change your mind once the rubber hits the road.
Or, you know, once the rubber hits my dick. I do have some, don’t I? Yeah… A box in the kitchen cabinet, I remember. I steer her that way. “Kitchen cabinet it is, then,” I tell her, and she bites my lip. Hard.
“Minx,” I say. “God, you are…” I trail off. I honestly don’t know what to say to her right now. Mostly because every bit of blood I own is fighting for space inside my dick and not one drop has stayed behind in my brain.
She grins. “Unexpected? Well…” There’s a hesitation as I plop her ass on the kitchen counter and rummage in the towel drawer for the extra box of condoms. She seems to lose her train of thought at that. “Cain…you keep condoms in the kitchen?”
“Never know when they might come in handy.” I rip one off the strip with my teeth and hold it, grinning around it. She takes it and whaps me in the nose with it.
“I’m putting this on you,” she tells me.
“How are you going to put it on me when I’m fucking your ass from behind?”
An eyebrow moves up. “You can fuck me from behind, but you’re not fucking my ass.”
It isn’t actually what I meant, but it’s good to know she has lines and is willing to draw them. I lean forward. “Maybe not tonight…” Then I bite her earlobe.
“God, get on with it.”
I’m not sure I want to get on with it. Maybe I just want to take my time, put my hands all over her. I push between her thighs where they’re splayed open, her knees bent, feet dangling off the edge of the cabinet. She’s wearing a skirt, which is handy; it’s shoved up to the tops of
her thighs, already out of the way, and her panties show, a wink of pink as she shifts. She’s hot and wet against my stomach; I can feel it right through her panties, my shirt. Kissing her, I start to pull at the buttons on her top.
She reaches for the hem of my shirt and peels it up. Her fingernails scrape over my skin as the shirt rises, and I shudder a little, an involuntary noise coming out of me, like a growl. She chuckles, drags the shirt over my head, and gives it a random toss over her shoulder.
“You look good, Cain.”
I drag the sides of her unbuttoned blouse open and look down at her breasts, swelling out of the cups of an orchid-colored silk bra. Her skin is pale and flawless, especially in contrast to mine—darker, scarred, my left forearm inked to the wrist. “So do you, Jess.”
“I don’t think I said you could call me Jess.”
“I don’t think I need your permission.” I grab the little plastic fastener between her breasts and pop it just right. The mounds fall forward and down, no longer propped up by the bra. They’re big and round and warm and alive, and I like them so much better like this. Free. Naked. And out there where I can taste them.
She jumps when my teeth close on her nipple. I’m not biting that hard—it’s not like I’m going to draw blood or anything—but she’s so revved right now I bet she would’ve done the same thing if I’d just touched her. I press a little harder just to see what happens. Her hands grab at my hair as if to pull me back, and then stop. Ah, good. She likes this.
With one hand, I lift the breast I’m biting, feeling the heavy softness against my palm. What is it about a woman’s tits that can make my brain scramble? Or, for that matter, a woman’s anything. Her mouth, her eyes, the curve of her neck, the rich, musky smell of her cunt. I want all of it. Every inch. Under my hands, my tongue. Surrounding my dick.
I rock forward in the space between her thighs, rubbing my erection against the wet heat of her ruined panties. She’s grabbing at me again, pulling me closer, scraping down my back with her nails. It hurts; I love it. Her fingers find the back of my waistband and track forward, stopping at the fly.
While she’s dealing with that, I take more of her breast into my mouth and reach between her legs with my free hand. Those panties don’t necessarily have to go, but they’re definitely in the way at the moment. I push them aside, and my fingers find the heat and the slickness hidden behind them. There’s hair on her pussy—I like that—and my fingers slide against her inner lips until they slip right into her, deep.
She gasps, arching her back and looking down. I push harder. Inside she’s tight and hot and so wet I feel like she might drag my whole hand inside her with that shaking, grasping cunt. God, I want my dick inside her. Now.
She’s gotten distracted, though, and hasn’t finished undoing my pants. Reluctantly I let go of her breast and reach down to take care of that little detail myself. Even I have issues, though, and my fingers fumble on the zipper.
I can only get my pants down past my hips, but it’s enough, and when my cock springs free it makes a light slapping sound against her belly. She reaches down and grabs it. Nails again, biting into the delicate skin. It’s my turn to gasp, then growl, then bite my lip. Then bite her lip. She chuckles.
“Too much for you, big boy?” Her fist closes tight around my engorged shaft, her thumb sliding over the glans, where pre-come has already made it slick and ready. I can smell the deep musk of her arousal, the tangier scent of my own.
“Too much for you?” I ask as she strokes down my cock, fingers bumping over the big veins.
“I don’t think so.”
I know damn well I’ve got more than most guys can even hope for, and she’s going to feel it. I want to challenge her smugness, her little acts of aggression. “You sure about that?”
Nothing I say seems to faze her though. Reaching back, she squeezes my balls, and I have to clench my teeth to keep from unloading all over her. That’s not the goal here. “You ready for that condom?”
Right. The condom. She took it; what did she do with it? But I hear the foil tear open, and a moment later the ring of the condom touches the over-sensitized skin of my glans. She sets it on just right, rolls it down, and then moves my cock toward her pussy.
I stop her with one hand. “I think I said I was going to fuck you from behind.”
Her eyes gleam. She’s so ready. “You do whatever you want, Cain.”
“Damn fucking straight I will.” I step back, grab her by the waist, and put her down on her belly on the counter. And take her.
God fucking damn. Jesus Christ, she’s so hot. Wet, slick, and tight as the fist she had around me just a few seconds ago. That cunt squeezes any harder on me and I might not be able to get my dick back out at all. But I shove into her hard, feeling the full depth of her. She lets out a sharp cry than warbles into a long moan.
Yeah, that sounds about right. I grab her hips and lean over her.
“You’re going to feel this,” I tell her. “You’re going to taste my come. You’re going to feel my cock in the back of your throat. You’re still going to feel my dick tomorrow.”
She grates out a groan, then, “Shut up and fuck me, you asshole.”
I clench my teeth in a grin. Guess I should do what the lady says. I pound her, watching the soft bounce of her ass, the straining of her thighs. Her toes barely touch the floor, and she’s having a hard time keeping herself grounded. That’s fine. She doesn’t need to be grounded. Doesn’t need control. The tight, sucking, slapping sound of our bodies meshing and meeting each other fills the room, and a violent heat pounds up my dick, into the small of my back, up my spine.
Her hands open and close like claws on the Formica counter. She’s managed to chip a nail. I like a woman who puts good, hard sex ahead of a perfect manicure.
I fuck her ruthlessly. Her body arches, her forehead pressing against the counter. I reach forward and grab her hair, jerking her head back, and she lurches up, supporting herself on her hands as I drag her torso toward me. My pace is so fast I wonder how much longer I can keep it up. I’m starting to feel the burn, both from fucking her and from the leftover strain of the fight. My knees ache.
Whatever. Pain just makes it sweeter.
She makes another sweet, strained sound, and I slide my free hand under her hips. My fingers grope and finally find her clit, swollen and slick, just above the thrusting thickness of my cock. I rub her in a circle, then back…
She loses her fucking mind. “God, God, God…” Like prayer is going to help. I just grin and keep thrusting, keep circling. She might be sore in the morning, but I doubt she’ll care. She’s bucking and thrashing so hard I can’t quite hold on to the fire pounding up my back, and suddenly I’m fucking myself into her harder than ever while my balls pull up and shoot about a week’s worth of come. I can feel the orgasm throbbing through my hips, my thighs, and my back, between my legs. For a second I think I might pass out, and then I realize I stopped breathing. I start up again. Breathing is important.
She’s digging her nails fruitlessly into the counter and gradually easing down from the climax. I look down and see my thumbs digging hard into her ass cheeks, the flesh gone white around them. Carefully I loosen my grip. I stroke her skin gently and then run my thumb lightly over the tight pink pucker of her asshole.
“I told you—” she starts, and I cut her off with a chuckle.
“Just mapping the territory.” I’m impressed she can even form words at this point. Hell, I’m surprised I can.
She lays her head down on the counter. “God.”
“You okay?”
I’m answered with a laugh. “You could say that, yeah.” She wiggles her ass in my face. “Let me up.”
I ease back, making sure she’s secure before I pull my weight completely away from her. She slides down and turns around. We’re quite the pair—her with her shirt off, breasts bare, bra hanging down her back, me with my pants dangling somewhere between my hips and my knees. Not very dignifi
ed. I drag at a couple belt loops until my cock is at least partially covered. No point zipping anything up. I’m too fucking tired, anyway.
She slips down neatly and lands on her feet, turning to face me almost like it’s a dance move. Nothing in her face indicates she regrets anything we just did. I reach up and run a thumb across her cheek. She’s beautiful—oval face, gorgeous skin, a round, high forehead. I’m not sure she even wears makeup, and her hair is rarely done up in any elaborate way—it just falls from a straight part down on either side of her face, framing blue eyes and the sweet, soft curve of her mouth. I lean forward to taste that curve again.
As my tongue touches her lower lip, I realize I want this again. I could carry her into the bedroom and work her over one more time, right now. That hardly ever happens to me. Usually I’m one and done, but this woman is more than I hoped and more than I ever expected.
Her hand comes up and catches mine, draws it against her face. Carefully she breaks the kiss.
“I should go home,” she says.
“Stay,” I offer.
Her eyes widen a bit with a sort of shocked humor. “No way. Cain the Flame never lets girls sleep over.”
“How would you know that?” She’s right though. I do have a bit of a reputation in that area. Not necessarily a good one.
She shrugs. “I hear things.”
“I see.” I take in her bare breasts again, gently devouring them with my eyes, then grasp the sides of her bra and carefully pull it back into place, snapping the clasp. “Will you be safe if you go back home?”
“What? You mean my father?” She scoffs. “How is he going to know where I was?”
“You know it wouldn’t exactly make him happy to know you just did the nasty with me.”
“I know.” She actually turns a bit serious. “Yeah, I know that. Which is why I’m going to go home.” She strokes a hand down my chest. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Hot as Sin (Contemporary Romance Box Set) Page 42
