Текст книги "Nauti Seductress"
Автор книги: Lora Leigh
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
There was no way to get his truck up the lane to the back of the warehouse without being seen, though. And until he was certain if the watcher was an enemy or friendly, then he’d just as soon remain hidden. Leaving the vehicle parked where it was would draw attention as well. Mackay attention no doubt.
That left maneuvering it, in the dark and without lights, along the narrow path sheltered by heavily leaved oak trees that bordered the back of the property. It was doable, if he was lucky. And he was feeling lucky.
Securing the night-vision glasses to his head, Doogan slid the vehicle into drive, the sound of traffic among the nearby streets hopefully enough to cover the smooth purr of the motor as he used the trees to hide his turn onto the sidewalk, then along the property bordering the warehouse until he came to the line of sheltering trees.
Keeping a wary eye on the watcher’s position, Doogan eased the truck along the tree line, then into the garage with surprising speed. Using the fob Zoey had given him, he ensured that the security was reset, turned off the truck, and stepped from it.
Careful to keep the lights out, he moved quickly and quietly up the metal stairs, the night-vision goggles firmly in place. He made his way quickly through the upper level to Zoey’s room, where he’d have a clear view to the roof across the clearing. Tearing the goggles off as he reached beneath the bed, he pulled the rifle he’d stored there free and stepped to the curtained window.
Zoey’d be returning soon and he’d be damned if he’d let some bastard take her out. Even if it meant revealing himself in her life to her brother and cousins. He eased the barrel of the weapon to the edge of where the curtains met and adjusted the night-vision sights.
His lips thinned at the sight of the watcher in clear view now, night vision attached to his head as well and staring back at Doogan.
His cell phone vibrated with an incoming text.
I got this, the message read.
Got what?
Your back, bro! the watcher typed back. Your back!
“Fuck!”
We need to talk. Now! Doogan demanded.
Later. Don’t get distracted. Protect Zoey!
No! Now! Doogan demanded. Will come to you!
Later, bro!
Have to talk . . .
There was no answer. The message waited; the icon indicating that it was unread stayed next to it.
“Damn you!” He checked the rooftop again, but it appeared deserted. Son of a bitch, what the hell was Harley up to?
Later, bro, his ass. That damned kid was going to end up pissing him the hell off. And his mood was already iffy after hearing Zoey’s threats to head to California.
Dammit. Those August brats were family to her. Third or fourth cousins, he was certain.
Kissing cousins.
Like hell.
Pacing the bedroom, he waited for her return; the thought of her allowing those damned women-sharing bastards to touch her was more than he could tolerate. He’d be damned if he’d allow it.
Raking his fingers through his hair in frustration, Doogan refused to delve into the reasons why he was so damned pissed off over it. Because he’d never cared before who or what a woman was doing. If he found himself disapproving of a woman’s actions or interests, then he simply moved on. There were plenty of women in the world.
There was only one Zoey Mackay.
And that thought didn’t set well with him at all.
–
Sam Bryce stepped from her pickup; the glimmer of a vehicle parked on the dirt path behind the evergreen shrubs at the far end of the parking lot drew a heavy breath from her.
God, she was tired, and she knew damned good and well that the owner of that car wasn’t out to just check out the scenery. He had far better things to do with his time. And he had a key to her apartment. She had no doubt he was waiting for her.
Striding across the narrow strip of grass to her patio, Sam slid the patio door open and entered the apartment. Just to find out how very wrong she was.
“Let the light out, Sam.” Chaya Mackay rather than her husband stood leaning against the counter separating the kitchen and living area, a glass of Sam’s favorite wine held loosely in her hand.
There was a weapon clipped to her waist, a sheathed knife strapped to her thigh. Chaya wasn’t there for friendly conversation or tips on a new cookie recipe, she guessed. Son of a bitch, Mackays were getting on her last nerve.
“You know, you’re about as ballsy as any Mackay,” Sam groused, sliding the door back into place with a heavy push.
Chaya lifted the glass and sipped at the moscato Sam was so partial to. The look wasn’t one Sam found any comfort in either.
“You sleeping with Zoey?” Chaya asked as she lowered the glass and stared into the clear, perfectly balanced sweet wine for a moment.
When her gaze sliced back, piercing and curious, Sam wondered if somehow that Mackay arrogance had rubbed off on the wives. Maybe it was contagious. She’d make a note not to get too close to any of them from here on out.
She arched her brow mockingly now, though. “Is she in my fucking bed, Chaya?”
She tossed the shoulder pack she carried to a chair before stomping to her bedroom and removing her weapons. She locked the Glock as well as the smaller backup strapped at her ankle beneath her jeans in the wall safe, while she tried to figure out why the hell Zoey’s cousin’s wife was there.
“Come up with an explanation for what I haven’t asked yet?” Chaya stood in the doorway, her voice amused, her golden-brown eyes like amber ice.
“You haven’t asked a question yet,” Sam snorted. “Ask. Then I’ll worry about the answer.”
She toed off her sneakers and pushed them beneath the chair next to the wall. The cap she wore came next before she began working the hair bands from the ponytail she kept her hair confined to while on duty.
All the while Chaya watched her with such clinical detachment it was unnerving. The other woman’s years away from DHS hadn’t weakened her stare in the least.
“I think you were fifteen the last time I saw you,” Chaya commented long minutes later. “All long legs, long hair, and a chip the size of Texas on your shoulder.” She sipped at the wine again while Sam waited. She didn’t have to wait long. “John David still hasn’t accepted the fact that you’ll never marry and give him grandbabies, has he, Sam?”
Sam shot her a hard glare before pushing past her and stalking to the kitchen, where she checked the empty bottle on the counter before pulling another from the fridge.
She normally detested wine, but the moscato she’d discovered had become one of her new favorite drinks. She’d tried a lot of drinks in the past year. Remaining silent as she worked the cork from the bottle, Sam cursed Doogan to hell and back. Somehow, he’d fucked up. He’d had to. Otherwise, the former agent wouldn’t be here drinking the last of one of her few remaining bottles of wine.
“The next time I arrive home to find a Mackay camped out in my fucking apartment, someone’s going to regret it,” she stated, pouring half of the bottle into a wineglass.
The bottle held two good glasses and that was it. She had a feeling she would be drinking both rather quickly.
Finishing her wine, Chaya placed the glass on the counter, braced her hands flat against it, and leaned forward slowly, her expression cold.
“Zoey,” she said softly. “It’s explanation time, Sam. Did you put that rather deep mark on her neck, or did Doogan do it?”
Sam stared at the wine filling the glass. Yeah, she just might end up breaking out her reserve bottle. Tipping it to her lips, she drank half the glass, the light sweetened fruit taste washing over her taste buds and sinking into her senses.
Lowering the glass, she turned her gaze back to Chaya. “I’m not sleeping with Zoey. And I don’t know about any damned mark on her neck.”
The bastard. The least Doogan could have done was remained consistent. For the first time in as long as she’d known him, it seemed he’d marked a lover’s neck. He never did it. He claimed it was against his sexual policy or some shit.
Chaya eased back, though her expression didn’t change.
“You know, Sam,” she drawled as though amused, “I’m in a rather odd mood tonight. Why don’t you just tell me a little fairy tale? A story I might be interested in. Natches finds it rather amusing to try to get his ass out of trouble like that. You can give it your best shot if you want to.”
“Suck my dick, Chaya,” she muttered. Lifting the glass, she finished it, then refilled it.
Did she even have enough wine to make tonight palatable?
Chaya chuckled at the sarcastic demand.
“Penis envy doesn’t become you, Sam,” she chided her gently. “Now, you know, it’s always better to give me the explanations I’m asking for. Otherwise, I can become a problem. Do you want me to become your problem, Sam?”
Sam grimaced at the threat. She remembered the first time Chaya had made that statement.
“I’m not a kid anymore, and you’re damned sure not my fucking bodyguard these days,” Sam informed her.
“No, I’m Zoey’s fucking family.” Chaya’s voice sliced like a frozen dagger. “Don’t turn this into a battle. I’m better at it than you are. And we both know damned good and well you’ve had something you’ve wanted to tell me for a year now and can’t get up the nerve to do it.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “You think I’m scared of the Mackays, Chaya?” She had to laugh at that. “Don’t fool yourself. I highly respect all of you, but I’m not scared of a single damned one of you.”
“Then you’re not near as smart as I thought you were.” Chaya crossed her arms over her dark T-shirt. “Is Doogan sleeping with Zoey? And if so, why?”
“Why would any man sleep with her?” Sam shrugged, trying to ignore the little flare of cutting jealousy. Not that she’d ever had a chance with the black-haired little imp, but hell, she cared . . .
“Sam.” Chaya’s expression warmed for a second, compassion shadowing her eyes. “Don’t you think I know how much you care about her? And we both know Zoey’s in trouble. A trouble you can’t fix for her.”
No, she couldn’t fix it. God knew she wished she could. Hell, she’d even tried to. Wished it had been her Zoey had responded to, that those pale green eyes had lit up at the sight of her, rather than the sight of Doogan.
“Something happened last year,” Chaya continued, her tone softer now. “Something that’s eating Zoey alive and causing you to camp out in your car and watch her place far too often. Now Doogan’s here apparently, sleeping with her. I want to know what’s going on.”
“So you can tell Natches and her brother?” Sam snarled. “So they can lock her down so deep and bury her in so much protection she runs from all of us? That would get her killed faster than keeping my fucking mouth shut.”
Chaya’s expression never changed. “You know better. But push me on this and I will go to Natches. Trust me, and I’ll do what I always do with her. Ensure her protection myself without alerting the men in the family. And before you play so charmingly dumb, I know about Zoey’s little hijinks with Clay’s group of bikers. I know about the races, the motorcycle, the black leather, and the fact that she has horrible nightmares of killing a friend.” Fury flashed in her gaze. “Now tell me what the fuck is going on before I kick your ass myself.”
The problem was, Chaya Mackay, despite the fifteen years she had on Sam, could probably do just that. Kick her damned ass.
Sam pulled free the last bottle of wine and jabbed the corkscrew into the cork. God, she should have bought that bottle of whiskey she was considering just after Doogan showed up.
Rather than using a glass, she tipped the bottle to her lips and took a long drink. Setting the bottle carefully on the counter, she stared back at Chaya silently, thoughtfully for long minutes.
“She was drugged last year,” Sam stated then. “A hallucinogen used to brainwash the victim into believing they had done something they hadn’t done, according to Doogan.”
Chaya stiffened, her expression turning completely emotionless.
“Go on.” She nodded.
Sam swallowed, the action difficult as her throat tightened with remorse and regret.
Briefly she explained the state she’d found Zoey in at her sister’s patio door that cool spring night. Icy cold, dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and brief sleep tank. Her suspicion that Zoey had been drugged had her calling her father rather than an ambulance. The Mackays were like royalty to DHS. She had no doubt they could pull diplomatic immunity if they put their minds to it.
Her father’s orders to hold tight, that Doogan would be there, had infuriated her. But Zoey had been adamant that she had to confess to murdering Harley Perdue. An act Sam knew Zoey simply wasn’t capable of committing.
The blood Doogan had taken from Zoey that night had affirmed his certainty of the drug used on her. Sam’s meeting with Harley at the convenience store had assured her Harley was indeed alive. Then he’d disappeared and Sam hadn’t been able to reach him since.
“He has breakfast with us at least twice a week,” Chaya revealed. “Though Natches doesn’t even tell Dawg and Rowdy about it. When we found him, probably just before daylight after you met him that night, he was barely alive. Someone had tried to carve his insides with a knife. And came damned close to doing it. They also managed a few hard blows to his head. He barely remembers what happened. Two men attacking him, the knife slicing him up, but little else.”
“Wonderful.” Sam pushed her fingers through her hair, her fear for Zoey increasing. “Chaya, he has to show himself to Zoey. She has to know he’s alive.”
“We have to figure this out first,” Chaya retorted. “Why is Doogan sleeping with her?”
That one, Sam was really hesitant to answer.
“Don’t play with me, Sam,” she snapped. “Why is he sleeping with her?”
She blew out a hard breath, stared over Chaya’s shoulder a long minute, then met the other woman’s eyes.
“Probably because he’s in love with her and too damned stupid to realize it,” she stated heavily. “Crazy in love with her. He’d kill for her, Chaya. But I also think he’d die for her.”
And she couldn’t blame him.
The problem was, Doogan refused to see what he felt for Zoey. The past six years hadn’t been easy ones for him. The bitter years of his marriage had caused him to shut down. With the death of his wife, his daughter, and brother two years ago, Sam had feared Doogan would never let anyone past his defenses again.
Chaya tipped her head to the side thoughtfully.
“And you know this, how?” she asked.
Sam shook her head. “I guess you’d just have to know Doogan. I know Doogan. And trust me, I’ve never seen him mark a woman’s neck, and hearing that he has shocks the hell out of me. Even during his wilder days, he never left a mark on a woman’s skin. He claimed it was a very intimate, very primitive way of shouting ‘mine.’ And he wasn’t stupid enough to ever claim a woman as his. It was like asking her to shred his guts.”
“Wonderful.” Chaya reached back and rubbed at her neck wearily. “Natches will blow a gasket once he learns who’s sharing her bed. He saw the mark earlier when she showed up to see Lyrica. It’s about to kill him, not being able to figure out who’s daring to claim his baby ‘sister,’ as he calls her.”
Sam shrugged, lifted the wine bottle to her lips again, and finished it. Tossing the bottle to the trash, she stared at the can for long moments.
Yeah, Doogan loved Zoey. But Zoey loved Doogan too. Sam had seen it that night when he first spoke to the younger woman, easing her drugged hysteria, calming her instantly. Zoey didn’t trust anyone instantly, drugged or not. She was wary, temperamental, and as explosive as hell. And she never trusted easily. Not like that.
“He was married when he first saw Zoey,” Sam said softly. “A party at Clay’s about six years ago. He watched her for hours, Clay said.” She shook her head, wondering what loving someone like that would feel like. “Doogan ordered the DJ to play something slow until Doogan left the dance floor. When he did, Doogan went to Zoey and pulled her against him. They danced for an hour, Clay told me. He thought he was going to have to kick Doogan’s ass before the night was out because he was messing with Zoey while he was married. Then, at the end of a song, Doogan stepped back from her, returned her to her friends, then left. He made certain to stay away from her after that. Until last year.”
“Interesting,” Chaya murmured, her tone thoughtful. “Tell me, Sam, do you love Zoey too?”
Did she love Zoey?
Sam frowned at the question, then slowly shook her head. “I care for her. I’d do her in a New York minute. But no.” Lifting her head, she met Chaya’s look directly. “I’m not in love with her. All I care about at this point is keeping her alive, Chaya.”
ELEVEN
Doogan was back.
Zoey checked for the truck after parking in the front garage and moving up the metal staircase leading to the kitchen side of the living area more than two hours later.
Lyrica had been watching her confrontation with Natches on the television in her and Graham’s room as she nursed her son. The kid might have been the quieter of the twins, but he ate so much that Lyrica had been forced to supplement his diet with baby formula.
As she nursed her son, Lyrica was all but howling with laughter. Natches had remained standing in the hall where Zoey left him, staring up the stairs, anger and a hint of confusion filling his expression.
He’d appeared not to know exactly what he should do at that point. It had been amusing, yes, but she hadn’t quite seen the hilarity in it her sister did.
“Tell Graham and I’ll never speak to you,” she’d informed her sister.
Lyrica had only laughed harder. “I swear, I won’t have to. He was watching at Walker’s Run. Along with Doogan.”
And now she would be facing Doogan. The thought of it excited her rather than filling her with the caution she knew it should.
As she entered the second level, the dim wall lights flipped on and Doogan stepped into the doorway of her bedroom, tucked his hands into the pockets of his black slacks, and watched her silently. The sleeves of his pristine white shirt were rolled above his wrists, the black tie hanging askew at the unbuttoned neckline.
Yep, Doogan was pissed.
She’d known he wouldn’t be pleased when Lyrica had revealed that Graham and Doogan had seen her confrontation with Natches. That meant Elijah and John Walker had seen it as well.
“Did you just get in?” she asked, dropping her shoulder pack to the table at the top of the stairs. “I assumed you’d be later.”
“Yet another miscalculation on your part tonight,” he drawled mockingly. “And here I had hoped common sense would prevail at some point.”
Common sense? Oh, he was getting into dangerous territory now. Snide, arrogant, and far too mocking, he was working on getting his ass kicked out of her apartment.
“Brom,” she said sweetly, using the name Lyrica had revealed Graham sometimes called him. “Please let Doogan come out to play again. I like him much better.”
The last thing she wanted to do was deal with the same asshole tendencies her brother and cousins felt the need to display.
“Tell me, Zoey, seeing as you’ve only recently taken one man as a lover, what makes you think you’re ready to move into the big leagues with two, baby? Especially two Augusts? Have you experienced what it’s like to take a man anally yet? Let alone have one filling that snug little pussy at the same time? I’d suggest allowing a single lover to initiate you first. Just to be certain it’s an act you’ll enjoy.”
Zoey swallowed tightly, the suggestion paralyzing her as the thought of Doogan initiating her hit her imagination. She couldn’t breathe. Excitement flooded her, her body sensitizing, nipples hardening, her sex becoming slick and heated.
“Perhaps. But I’m only accepting applicants with a bit more in mind where a relationship’s concerned than it seems you do,” she informed him sweetly. “It’s that whole intimacy and trust thing, ya know?”
“Long enough to keep you warm this winter?” he growled, his tone low, brooding. “I’ll make sure I show up every time it snows.”
She laughed. The comment was so outrageous. If she didn’t know better she’d think he was jealous. Unfortunately, she didn’t think Doogan was into jealousy.
“My arguments with my cousins are none of your business,” she informed him, knowing it was the wrong thing to say even as it slipped past her lips. “They can be morons and they make me insane.”
That tacked-on little excuse wasn’t helping, if his expression was anything to go by.
“Yet another erroneous assumption, sweetheart,” he assured her, the smooth icy tone causing her teeth to clench in irritation. “When it comes to another man, or men touching you, then I’m making it my business.”
He was making it his business? Really? And just who the hell did he think gave him permission to do that?
“We need to stop this now . . .” She actually tried to smooth things over rather than letting her anger, or her perverse sense of humor, get the best of her. Either one wouldn’t be a good idea at this point.
“Tell you what, baby,” he suggested smoothly. “I have a bit of experience in sharing a lover. Come to bed and I’ll give you a taste of what you’re asking for.”
Her eyes narrowed, arms folding across her breasts to keep from throwing something at him. Something like the fake fruit Natches had carved for her and placed in a collectible basket for her dining table. Large apples, oranges, bananas, and clusters of grapes. They were heavy, just the right size to throw at dumbasses.
“Would you really?” Her brow arched as the question slipped past her lips with heavy sarcasm. “Well, how kind of you, Doogan, but I really couldn’t let you put yourself out like that. I mean, after all, you barely know me.”
Brooding lust filled his expression, darkened his eyes. “No worries, baby, I’m sure when I get my dick up that cute ass of yours, we’ll know each other rather well.”
Oh, would they now?
Arrogant jerk.
Not that she’d mind experimenting with the act, but his attitude left something to be desired.
“You can just keep your dick out of my ass.” Her body was highly protesting that statement. “I won’t be owned by you, my brother, my cousins, or any other man. And I sure as hell won’t be berated for a confrontation that was none of your damned business, Brom.”
She moved to stomp past him into her room just to have him step in her way, his gaze burning with lust.
“Brom.” She emphasized his name again. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, Zoey.” He shook his head slowly, his smile slow and lazy. “I’m not your brother or your cousins. Pulling that Mackay arrogance on me simply doesn’t work.”
Well, that wasn’t fair.
She’d perfected Mackay arrogance.
It even worked on Mackays.
Sliding to the side, she put the dining room table between them, grinning at his chastened look.
“You really don’t want to tangle with me after I’ve just finished a fight with Natches,” she warned him, narrowing her eyes at the pure arrogance that settled over his features. “It’s a really bad idea, Brom.”
“The sarcasm in your tone offends me, Zoey,” he informed her coolly.
Irritation flickered over his features, pulling a small laugh from her. “Those power clothes you wear like a second skin offend me, but hell, each to their own, right? They make you arrogant and cold. Put your jeans back on. Let Doogan out of lockup and we’ll discuss additional sexual privileges and who I allow to have them.”
Mockery tilted his lips, gleamed in his chocolate gaze.
Damn him, she just loved his eyes. Even when they were cold and assessing as they were now.
Stepping around the side of the table, he stopped as she shifted to face him again, frowning. “I’m not into children’s games, Zoey. Stop moving around the table.”
She grinned. “Now that would just be too easy. I’m not all about your caveman tactics. You want me? Catch me.”
Pure male dominance lit his expression. “Zoey baby, not a game you want to play.”
She laughed at that, careful to keep the table between them. “Well, I’m sure it is. I’m playing it, aren’t I?”
Dark eyes narrowed on her. “When I catch you,” he said softly, “I’m tying you down to your bed, and once I’ve finished making you so damned hot you’ll swear you’re on fire, then I’m going to show you exactly what it feels like to take two men at once.”
She couldn’t help but grin smugly. “There’s only one of you, Doogan.”
“One of me, and the very erotic toys I’ve purchased just for you,” he promised. “Everything’s already laid out and ready.”
She blinked back at him. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious.
Then, before she could anticipate the move, he vaulted over the table, hooked one arm around her waist, and dragged her to his chest.
“That’s cheating,” she cried out, laughter getting the best of her.
Not that he paid much attention to the accusation because a second later she found herself tossed over his shoulder and he was striding to her bedroom.
“Doogan, you so are not getting away with this,” she squealed, part laughter, part outrage. “You’re crazy.”
Seconds later she was tossed to the bed, bouncing lightly, the laughter getting the best of her as her hair flipped around her face, the long, loose curls tangling and blocking her sight.
By the time she managed to push it behind her, he’d gripped her feet and removed her shoes and socks, and all she could do was stare at him with sudden, blazing arousal.
He was already naked, and fully aroused. The wide, dark crest and thickly veined shaft arrowed toward her, pre-cum glistening on the tip and reminding her how very erotic it was to take him into her mouth.
“Hey . . .” Her gaze shot to his face as he removed her jeans with simple expediency.
How had he managed to release the low-cut band around her hips so easily? And he’d taken the thin silk thong she wore with them.
Without answering her, Doogan moved to the bed, straddled her legs, and gripped the hem of her shirt. His position placed the straining length of his cock at just the right level. The perfect position to push it into her mouth.
“Give me the shirt.” His voice was a hard, rough rasp as he pulled the tank to her breasts. Zoey licked her lips, lifted her arms, and let him have the tank top and then the lacy bra she wore.
He could have the damn clothes. She wanted him. She wanted him in her mouth, wanted him taking her, possessing her.
Her tongue swiped over the broad crest as she leaned forward those last few inches.
Doogan’s response was immediate.
A low, harsh groan, the fingers of one hand bunched in the hair at the back of her head, holding her back, allowing her to taste him with her tongue alone. Lifting her gaze to him, Zoey licked what she could touch of the broad crest, loving the heat and the taste of him.
He had one knee bent next to her, his foot pressing into the mattress as the other rested on the bed. The perfect position for one hand to stroke up his thigh, her nails rasping lightly until they came to the taut sac at the base of his cock. His testicles drew tighter as she let her fingertips and her nails play against them.
“Think that’s going to distract me?” he asked, his brown eyes completely wicked. “That your sweet mouth will make me forget just how many times I’ve dreamed of taking that sexy little rear of yours?”
“Hm. Possibly,” she murmured before stroking the crest with her tongue again.
“Not a chance, sweetheart.” The promise in his voice was the only warning she had before he moved, pushed her back on the bed, and then came over her.
His lips covered hers, owned hers, the kiss so hot, so carnal that her toenails wanted to curl with the pleasure. He held her wrists easily, stretching them above her head, holding her restrained as he worked her mouth, his tongue teasing hers, drawing her deeper into the mesmerizing eroticism sweeping through her.
So intense was the pleasure, the sheer excitement he caused with his touch that when he pulled back and she moved to wrap her arms around his shoulders, it took her a minute to realize he’d managed to restrain her.
She tugged at the bonds. The restraints on her wrists were soft, supple. Securing her wrists directly above her head, he’d have no problem putting her in whatever position he wanted her in. On her back . . . or on her stomach.
“Sneaky,” she panted, breathless at the sensation of his lips at her neck, his hands stroking along her side to the swollen mounds of her breasts.
The raspy chuckle whispered against her skin as his kisses moved lower, his lips on a direct path to her breasts.
Her nipples were tight, hard, aching for attention. They were so sensitive that when he blew a soft breath over one, sensation heated the tip and dragged a moan from her lips. Chills of pleasure raced up her spine seconds later when he brushed his lips over the straining bud.
“This restraining-me stuff is going to have to stop,” she moaned, because he was teasing her to death and she was loving it. Dying from the need for more sensation and arching closer, all but begging for more of the torment.
“We can discuss it later,” he promised, the words whispered over the straining nub of the opposite nipple.
“When later?” She was panting, her voice filled with a pleading note.
“When your pussy’s not dripping within seconds of being cuffed to the bed.” His fingers were suddenly between her thighs, running through the narrow slit to prove his point.
She was so wet, so slick that the moisture lay in a thick, heavy layer over the swollen folds.
Once his fingers dipped into the lush, slick juices, they didn’t retreat. Rather, his lips parted, drawing the hard tip of her breast into his mouth and drawing on it with fiery pulls of his mouth. His fingers slid lower, drawing the slickness back to the smaller, tighter entrance he sought. There, he rubbed the tightly clenched opening, the tip of his finger pressing and massaging it, stealing her breath with the forbidden, erotic caresses.
With each slight penetration of his fingertip, her senses became awash with a slight stinging pleasure as he parted the puckered flesh. Deeper, though, inside the feminine, sensual core of her, she could feel something more.
“What are you doing to me?” she whimpered, unable to tell him to stop, but not so certain of the stirrings of emotion that made little sense to her.
