Текст книги "Make You Burn"
Автор книги: Megan Crane
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
What the hell, she thought, and tucked her chin on his shoulder too, because why not burn to a crisp if she was going to dance this close to the fire?
She felt him tighten beneath her, all that sleek, powerful muscle, the man and the machine fused together somehow and so painfully gorgeous she had to shut her eyes against it.
And when he took off into the night and down that long, dark bayou road toward home, it felt like flying.
Chapter 6
Ajax had spent a lot of time fine-tuning this particular dream over the past ten years.
Hauling ass down Bourbon Street again, scattering the tourists before him like minnows in fanny packs. His cut on his back and his bike beneath him. That sweet Louisiana wind in his face and his city cobbled together around him. The grit and sugar and straight-on sparkle of the French Quarter, tarted up pretty for another long night of sin.
Except tonight, it was real.
He wasn’t off in some hellish corner of this fucked-up world where nobody would go by choice, dreaming up what-ifs to pass the time and keep his head together. He wasn’t counting off the stream of pointless days between mercenary gigs in his soulless apartment in Houston, not giving much of a shit if he made it through his next assignment with so little to come back for.
He was right here, at last. He was home.
And this time, he had a woman pressed tight to his back, wrapped around him, soft and yielding.
Sophie was no virgin to the bike, so he liked it even more when she kept holding on to him like that long after they left the highway. She could have sat up, sat back. She could have put some space between them.
But she didn’t do it.
Not until they made it to the Priory and the alleyway that ran down the length of the bar and disappeared into the courtyard. He made the tight turn from memory, easing his way past the usual crowd of gawkers and hypocrites, then rolled back into the welcoming shadows, out of sight. He stopped and let Sophie climb off. He noted the careful way she did it, like she thought her legs might give out, and then he backed up the bike and parked it where he always had ten years ago, in what had been the VP spot near the stairs that led up to Priest’s apartment.
His club wasn’t what it had been and for reasons he didn’t get, according to Greeley and the other Devil’s Keepers and even that fucking lawyer who had called him late last night, hadn’t been for a long time. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. There were no lights on in the building across the courtyard in what had been the Deacons’ clubhouse and Ajax had the distinct feeling he didn’t want to know why not. There were no brothers out in the yard or inside those doors that rolled back, no music pouring out from within, no sounds of the usual petty squabbles or the bullshit stories of badassery gone by hanging there in the air the way there should have been. There were no prospects cleaning up their shit and making themselves available for the usual hazing. There were no women wandering in with very few clothes on, looking for a good time served up rough-edged and a little bit mean.
And it was still his favorite dream come true. All of it.
He cut the bike’s powerful engine and the night closed in around them, the boisterous Quarter sounding almost quiet and calm in comparison to the Harley’s guttural roar. Sophie stood there in the deep shadows with him, not near enough for his liking, and he could read the uncertainty dripping off her. He could see it in every line of that supple body he’d felt wrapped tight around him for some hundred miles.
He watched her as she shifted from one foot to the other. She tugged at her helmet and it took her a minute, like maybe her fingers weren’t working the way they should. He bit back his smile and swung off the bike.
“I have to check on the bar.” She sounded nervous and, prick that he was, he liked it.
“Didn’t look like there was a fire when we went by.”
Her eyes were too dark against all that night, but he had no trouble reading her anyway.
“Of course there’s no fire.”
Sophie thrust her helmet at him and he took it, amused at how careful she was not to touch him. Like that would help.
“Then you don’t need to check on the bar. It’s fine. Katrina didn’t take it, nothing will.”
She rolled her eyes and turned away from him, starting toward the back door of the Priory. The usual chaos inside poured out from the screen door. Hard rock and loud laughter. All the amoral and greedy glory that Bourbon Street had to offer. All carrying along just fine without her, as he was sure she knew. Ajax waited there in the shadows behind her and she stopped short before she reached the doorway. Then turned back slowly.
Very slowly.
“Your shirt.”
“Yeah.” Ajax moved toward her, predatory and sure. Closing in fast. “I’m gonna need that.”
He saw her jolt a little bit at that, and she took a step back. But she didn’t make a break for it. She didn’t haul ass through that door and down the hallway into the relative safety of the crowd inside, and she could have.
Somehow, he’d known she wouldn’t.
Ajax stopped when he was right in front of her, and he could hear the way she was breathing. Too fast, like she really had broken into that run. He could see the way her chest moved, giving her away. She shifted again, and he didn’t need to reach down into her jeans to confirm that she was sopping wet and ready for him. He could see it on her face, in her darkening eyes. He knew.
Though it was going to be a whole lot of fun when he got there, all the same.
“I’m worried—”
“You’re not worried.”
He reached down and took the hem of his Henley in one fist and started dragging it up, revealing her hot fucking body to his heated gaze. At last. After the sheer torture of having her rubbing up against him for miles and miles, his mouth actually watered when her tank top rode up too, showing him a taut little swath of her belly.
“Just like you’re not psychic, as far as I know, and if you are, guess what? There are a lot better places for you to go in the Quarter than here. You can read palms and fight for turf with the voodoo queens and leave me alone.”
He kept pulling that Henley up, and the momentum made her sway closer to him. Maybe it wasn’t the momentum. Maybe she couldn’t help herself, either.
“You don’t want me to leave you alone.”
“Is that your psychic power telling you that?” she asked sweetly.
“I don’t need to be psychic to know when a bitch is so hot for me she might come right here if she crosses her legs,” he grunted.
Sophie let out a breath that was part gasp, part laugh.
“That was disgusting even for you.”
He shrugged, and slid the shirt up over her breasts. He waited. She let out a small sigh and then she lifted her arms obediently and that too told him everything he needed to know. He took some care pulling her hair free as he tugged it over her head, and then he threw the fucking shirt to the side.
And she was right there, still breathing too fast. Still so fucking pretty it was messing with his head and getting deep under his skin. His cock didn’t give a shit that she was the kind of trouble that lasted a lifetime. It just wanted in.
“So?” he asked. It was more of a growl.
“So what?” She was staring at his mouth. Maybe that was why he smirked. Or maybe he just liked the way it made her focus, then glare up at him.
“You registering a complaint about how disgusting I am or was that more of an observation?”
Sophie laughed again. “Like you care.”
And then his hands were in that thick, wavy hair of hers, digging in with two fists. He dragged her mouth to his, the hunger beating at him, and even the crush of her lips didn’t help it. He thrust his tongue deep, his mouth open, taking as much as he could. Cradling her head in his hands so she could do nothing but wrap her arms around his waist and take it.
He angled his head, going deeper, taking more, and this kissing shit wasn’t enough.
Ajax slid his hands down the length of her, enjoying the way she shook against him, enjoying the fit of her and the curve of her back. And really fucking loving that ass of hers when he finally got there. It wasn’t enough to test those plump, perfect cheeks through her jeans. He shoved a hand beneath her waistband and massaged her ass, reveling in the way she filled his hand, smooth and warm. He reached down and unbuttoned her jeans so he could slide his other hand in too without cutting her in half.
Jesus, she was firm. Firm and hot and silken sweet at once. Ajax lost himself in her greedy mouth. She hung on to him with her nails digging into him again, little pricks of heat that made him sweat. She was making those insane little noises while she sucked on his tongue, kissing him dirty and wild, and she rocked back into his hands while he clenched down hard on that fine ass in his hands at last.
And none of that was even close to enough.
He wrenched his mouth away from hers. “Your jeans are too fucking tight, woman.”
“You love it,” she threw back at him, because she had not one shred of fear in her. Not one. He couldn’t think of anything hotter than that. “You’ve been staring at my ass all day.”
“I’d love it a lot more if they were around your ankles,” he muttered, but he was pulling her hard against him, both hands deep inside her jeans and on her ass again then, and Jesus Christ, she was perfect. Taut and silky and he was ready to kill something if he didn’t get her naked. “I’m sick of your fucking clothes.”
He lifted her then, high against him, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and threw her legs around his waist with her ass still in his hands, where it fucking belonged. He took the stairs, stopping every now and then to pillage her mouth and let her writhe against him and build up the crazy again, and then they were at the door to the apartment and it was all taking too long.
Ajax let her down then, and letting go sucked. He was already unlocking the door with his key by the time she got her balance and he didn’t have time for the way she looked at him, like clarity was returning in a hurry. He pushed her inside, maybe not quite as gentle a shove as he could have given her if he wasn’t so hard he was cross-eyed, and she glared at him over her shoulder.
“Keep moving,” he told her, and then he kicked the door shut behind them and finally, finally they were alone.
She walked through the kitchen and into the living room while he locked the door behind him, and he wondered if she’d take that last order to heart just to mess with him and keep going all the way into her bedroom. He wouldn’t mind. He’d also take the fucking door down.
Instead, she stopped. Dead in the middle of the floor, and he saw her straighten her shoulders. It looked a whole lot like second thoughts to him, but he took his time. He kicked off his boots and shrugged out of his cut, hanging it carefully on the back of the nearest chair in the kitchen.
Sophie still didn’t move. She didn’t look back at him.
“Something on your mind?”
He thought she stiffened. “No.”
“Good. But you got something to say, babe, now’s the time.”
She didn’t say anything. And Ajax didn’t feel like investigating why that rolled through him the way it did, a lot like relief.
He walked up behind her and pulled her to him, nestling that ass of hers against his aching dick, and then he reached down and slid his palm over the swath of skin between the edge of her tank top and the unbuttoned waistband of her jeans. She let her head fall back against his shoulder and he took her mouth again, more demanding than before.
Deeper. Slicker.
She shifted against him and it was like lightning. Ajax groaned, and then he took the open button of her jeans as the invitation it was and slipped his hand inside, shoving down the zipper as he went to finally get to her pussy.
Sophie moaned into his mouth as he touched her. She was soaking wet and fucking hot and he grunted out his approval and his need, his fingers stroking all over her slippery folds. She pushed herself into his hand and she panted into his mouth, and then he took her clit between his fingers and held her there for a sweet, hot minute. She jerked against him and rocked back, hard, and then he sank two fingers deep into her soft, wet cunt.
Then again. Then one more time, just to hear that keening noise she made and the way she reached out and wrapped her hands around his forearm like she didn’t know what she wanted more, to make him stop or to make him go faster. And she was so tight around him. The wet, clinging heat of her was insane.
“You’re killing me,” he growled in her ear and he wasn’t kidding. He thought he was dying and he didn’t much care if he did, but he had to get inside her. He had to.
He pulled his fingers out of her and she moaned at the loss, and then he was moving toward the couch, tilting her forward so she grabbed hold of the back of it. He licked the taste of her from his fingers and it shot straight to his head, sweet, hot cream. He thought he might have growled. Then he was pulling her jeans and her panties from her hips and tugging them down her legs, then kicking them the fuck out of his way at last.
She twisted around, and her mouth was open and her eyes were wild, and he’d never seen anything fiercer or more beautiful in his life. She tore at his shirt and he tugged at her tank top and then they each worked on their own, and it still seemed to take too damned long.
Ajax fished a condom out of his back pocket and then he shoved his jeans down to his hips and rolled it on, shoving her hands away when she tried to help him or touch him or whatever the hell she was doing. There was no time left. There was nothing but this hunger and he thought his balls might explode, and he didn’t have time for anything but getting inside her.
Even if he had the sneaking suspicion that it might not be enough.
He lifted her up again, her ass half on the couch and her hips angled toward him. He kicked her legs open and spread her thighs wide to make room for himself. Then he gripped his cock in one hand and nudged its blunt head against her plump little pussy, tracking it through her wet folds and hitting her clit on the downstroke. And it was already better than that bullshit against the wall downstairs with their clothes still on. She was wet and she was wide open and she had the sweetest cunt he’d ever tasted, and none of this was going to be enough for him. He understood it. In that taut, aching moment, he accepted it.
“Please,” she whispered.
“Look at me.”
She was braced on her hands, her legs draped over his hips, and he was still nudged up against her pussy, rubbing her but not fucking her. Not yet.
“You’re torturing me,” she said, in a kind of blunt, needy rage, and Ajax grinned.
He liked that brightness in her eyes, giving them that hectic, madwoman glitter. He liked the spots of color high on her cheeks. He liked the way her tits bounced with every shuddering breath she took, and he particularly liked those pink, hard nipples that he was going to get on his tongue. He liked her sweet, soft heat and the hard grip of her thighs that he’d felt all over his hips and his ass on that bike, and he had plans for all that hair of hers besides.
“I have one rule,” he told her, and he moved a little, nudging up on her proud little clit and watching her break out in a sweat. “Even you can follow it. Don’t you fucking call me Sean when I’m inside you.”
She heaved in a breath and then laughed, though it sounded rough, like she was close to simply dying of this, too.
“Or what?” she threw back at him, and she moved her hips against him, seductive and hot, and he bit out a curse. “You’re not going to stop. I’m going to come in about one second and we both know it. What’s the threat?”
Ajax let out a laugh and thrust into her at the same time, hard and deep.
Sophie arched back so far and so hard he had to haul her to him with an arm around her hips. She went stiff. He lifted her high against him and slammed her down hard on his cock and she came.
She exploded. She shook all around him and he let her ride it out, taking them both to the rug on the floor and she was still coming and coming, her whole body rocking and clutching, and it was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen or felt in his life.
And then she was finally beneath him and he was deep inside her molten hot pussy, so deep it felt like he was staking his claim.
Eventually she opened her eyes, and then she grinned at him, slow and deadly, and he nipped at her lower lip.
“I like motorcycles,” she said, because she was the perfect woman. “Men are incidental.”
“Sophie,” he growled at her. “Pay attention.”
He braced himself above her and she ran her hands up his chest. He was so hard, so hot, so very deep inside of her, and then she moved against him and they both sighed.
“You were threatening me,” she prompted him, all that smart-mouthed heat she’d hidden all night right there on those lips of hers that he couldn’t taste enough. “But what do I care? I’m done.”
He tested her depth, and ground his hips against hers, reaching down to pull her thigh up where he wanted it. He didn’t think she realized it when she arched into him, meeting him, wet and sweet and tight and deep, but he did.
“You’re gonna scream, baby,” he told her, darkly certain, and he pulled out, then thrust in again, watching the pleasure make her eyes go dark even as that greedy pussy of hers clenched tight around him. “You’re gonna reintroduce me to the neighbors. They might even call the cops.”
“And if I say—”
He indulged himself at last. He bent down and sucked one of those tight, pink nipples into his mouth and she thrashed a little bit, arching into his mouth and trying to fuck herself against his cock, but he was bigger than her.
And they were going to do this his way.
“Call me Sean and you’ll scream it once,” he said, a dark promise. “Do you understand me? Just once. Call me by my fucking name and we can do this all night. Your call.”
And then he was done talking.
He dropped down closer and he propped her perfect ass in his hands and then at last, at last, he began to fuck her in earnest.
Like he meant it as a whole lot more than just a fuck.
Chapter 7
Ajax was raw and rough. Sheer male power in its most elemental form, and Sophie couldn’t seem to get enough of him.
He didn’t treat her like a lady. Or as if she was made of glass. He’d shoved her in the door. He’d thrown her on the floor.
He took, he didn’t ask.
Then he took more.
And she’d already come once. Twice, if she counted earlier today. And the way things were building inside of her all over again, he hadn’t been shooting his mouth off. He really could do this all night.
He hadn’t even taken his jeans off. He’d just shoved them out of his way. They were sprawled out on the area rug her father used to make fun of, right there on the living room floor where anyone who came to the door could look in and see them, and Ajax—Ajax—was fucking her.
God, was he fucking her, and he was very, very big, so big she thought that if she hadn’t spent the entire day with him in varying states of wild arousal, he might have had to work a little bit harder to fit.
There was no word dirty enough to describe it.
And it thrilled her. Sophie shoved her toes against the floor and arched up against him, making every stroke count. She dug her fingers into his hard, sculpted shoulders and she tipped her head back so she could watch that hooded, intense look on his beautiful face. And she could feel him everywhere.
Every long, deep, hot stroke.
He stared into her face as he fucked into her, again and again, grinding against her clit and then grinning down at her when she moaned.
He propped himself up on one arm and slid the other one beneath her, lifting her up so he could bury his face between her breasts, but he didn’t stay put. He licked her, everywhere, below her breasts and between them.
He pulled on her oversensitive nipples with his lips and his tongue, like he knew it almost hurt, that it hovered somewhere in that searing hot place that was almost too much to take. He rubbed her with that fucking beard of his until she sobbed. Then he used his teeth, and when she started to shake and rock against him, making noises she didn’t know she could make, he laughed.
The sensation shot through her, straight from her tender nipples in a blazing trail of fire to her pussy and she shuddered against him, making him laugh some more as he set her back on the floor, still maintaining his same pace, just a little bit harder and just a little bit faster than she could handle.
“I’m going to—”
“Yeah, you are,” he muttered and he bit her nipple, the pain of it bursting bright and wild inside of her and careening into the pleasure somehow, all of it tangling together and turning white hot—
And she lost herself all over again, and he was right, she screamed.
Wordless and high, but it was still a scream.
“Nice,” he said when she opened her eyes again, that smug grin on his face and that same bright hunger in his eyes. “Next time, try my name. It sounds better.”
She rubbed at her face and her hands came away wet, and she had no idea if she’d cried or drooled or who even knew. She didn’t care.
“You’re an awful, awful man.”
“That’ll work, too.”
He’d shifted while she was busy falling off the side of the world, pulling out of her and shoving his jeans the rest of the way off. Sophie sprawled there, trying to catch her breath, and he pushed her hair back from her face, that hard, needy thing still glittering there in his blue eyes.
“Look at you,” he growled at her. “You’re a mess, little girl. Naked and crying on the living room floor. And I’m not done.”
“Maybe I am.”
His smile then was so wicked, so purely evil in all the best ways, that Sophie felt that flame inside of her spark anew and flicker higher.
“Get on your hands and knees.”
Sophie’s mouth fell open. She felt it. And more than that, she felt her body respond to him, that delicious shiver of heat that clenched hard in her pussy and then spread outward, making everything burn.
Maybe she really was a junkie, after all. And he was the hit.
And she just couldn’t seem to care about that, either.
“What’s the matter?” His voice was a soft taunt. “Afraid you can’t keep up with me?”
“You’re an old man,” she threw back at him. “How hard can it be?”
He grinned at that, dark and wicked, and made a lazy circle in the air with his fingers, ordering her to turn over.
Sophie felt like jelly. Her bones didn’t seem to work and her body didn’t want to obey her commands, and she thought he could tell. She heard him laugh as she rolled and then braced herself in position, her hands down in front of her and her knees somehow holding her up.
“Fucking beautiful,” Ajax muttered, and then his hands were on her.
Sophie closed her eyes and gave herself over to him. She felt him move behind her, felt his strong thighs behind hers. He ran his hands all over her back, tracing the angel wings she’d had tattooed there as her definitive act of defiance against her father when she’d been nineteen and Priest had still been treating her like she was a child.
He hadn’t called her his angel for at least a year after that, he’d been so pissed, but she’d never regretted it.
And she certainly didn’t regret it now, as Ajax licked his way across each wing as if they were made out of sugar, making her tense a bit beneath him and sway, like that might move him along when he was clearly playing.
He followed the length of her spine with his mouth, the scratch of his beard and the heat of his tongue making her shift restlessly beneath him. He kept going when he reached her ass, setting his teeth against one cheek and grabbing a fistful of the other. She felt him growl against her, felt it vibrate through her whole body and particularly into her clit, and she shifted again.
He replaced his mouth with his other hand.
“Put your head on the floor,” he gritted out.
Sophie didn’t think. She obeyed.
Ajax spread her open, and he wasn’t gentle, and then he closed his mouth over her pussy and sucked. Hard.
Sophie cried out, but he was only getting started. He ate her. He was ferocious and he was thorough. He opened his mouth and got sloppy, his beard the rough counterpoint to his wicked tongue against her clit and the things he could do with that mouth.
He left her shuddering, her hands in fists on the floor next to her face, and then he licked his way up again, but this time, he stopped to tease the tight little bud between her ass cheeks.
Sophie made a keening, impossible noise as everything in her pulled tight and then tighter and then tighter still. Until she collapsed a little bit beneath him, her knees simply unequal to the weight of that much dark pleasure, and felt him laugh again.
He hauled her back up, shifting against her, running his big, hard fingers over the tight little opening where his mouth had just been.
She gasped against the floor, blind with need and longing, at the edge of a dark wall, a wave, that she thought might drown her for good when it hit. But she couldn’t do anything but lie there and take it. As he made it go on and on and on.
“You take it in the ass before, Sophie?” he asked, and there was a wild thing in his voice, harder and far more ferocious than the matching one inside of her, tearing her up. “I’m guessing no.”
She couldn’t speak. She shook her head, restless and aching, and he pressed down, just hard enough to make her moan.
“Christ, baby,” he muttered darkly. “I’m gonna eat you alive.”
He shifted then. He pulled her back up so she was on her hands and knees again.
“I can’t—” she whispered.
“You can.”
He was so certain. And so she did, bracing herself on her palms, on arms that felt like spaghetti.
Ajax gathered her hair in one of his big hands and he shifted closer, and she could feel his cock then, still rock hard and entirely too big, nudging into her soaking wet folds from behind. He slid one hand down to anchor her hip, and then he thrust into her again without any ceremony, pulling back on her hair at the same time so her body instantly bowed.
Her reward was that dirty laugh of his and the way he surged into her, so deep and good she made a guttural noise she’d never heard come out of her before. She tried to meet his thrusts, but she realized in an instant that he was holding her immobile, looming up behind her like some tattooed god of sex and doing exactly what he liked with her.
She almost came again from that image alone.
“Not yet,” he told her, and his voice was different then. Darker and rougher, almost destroyed, and she felt a thrill of something like power wind through her at the sound. Maybe she wasn’t the only junkie in the room.
He groaned something she couldn’t understand and then he let go of her hair, his thrusts getting jerkier, falling out of that intense rhythm. He slid his hand around to her belly, lifting her and pulling her backward, easing her into a new position. She found herself astride him as he knelt behind her, his cock still planted deep inside of her.
And it was that easy strength of his that made her shiver like that, she thought, fighting to catch her breath again. He wrapped those hard, sculpted arms, inked and beautiful, around her. He dropped his head to her shoulder and she could feel his mouth open against her neck.
He started to move again, and when he did, he moved all of her. He thrust into her from below. He held her still above, one hand on her breast almost accidentally, except there was only sweet, hot purpose in the way he dragged his thumb over her nipple in counterpoint to those deep, wicked strokes that were tearing her apart.
“My name, Sophie,” he growled at her. “Say my fucking name.”
She could hear the slap of their flesh. She could hear how wet she was. She could hear—and she could feel so much it was almost like pain, only better.
So much better.
“Oh God,” she whispered, as that searing heat wound tighter and tighter inside of her, her whole body going taut and her pussy clenching down on him. “Oh God.”
“That’s close enough,” he growled in her ear.
He pinched her nipple and he pounded her straight into that dark wall, another climax, this one even bigger and more intense than before. He kept pounding into her, his arms tightening around her while his teeth were at her shoulder, and she kept coming.
And he came with her, jerking hard into her, shouting out his release into the quiet room, so loud she thought they could hear him all the way down on Canal Street.
But then she didn’t think again. About anything. For what could have been years.
He held her there, limp against him. She could feel his heart pounding in his mighty chest. She could still feel his cock inside of her and she clenched against it, earning herself a grunt. He rested his head on her shoulder and she liked the fact that he was breathing heavily, too. That it wasn’t only her.
Eventually, he shifted. He lifted her off his body and she instantly missed the intense heat he gave off. He set her gently on the rug and then surged to his feet with an unconscious, raw grace that made her mouth go dry.
He raked his hands through his hair as he turned toward the guest bathroom off the living room, and Sophie blinked, because somehow, she’d forgotten who he was.
It was right there, inked in three separate pieces in bold and unmistakable black all over his gorgeously sculpted back, stretching from just below his broad shoulders to right above his perfect, round ass. The great, grinning skull with the crack in its brow and its fathomless black eyes, staring back at her as he walked away. The top rocker curled above it, reading DEACONS OF BOURBON STREET in go fuck yourself capital letters. The bottom one said NEW ORLEANS, flanked by two fleurs-de-lis that should have seemed incongruously feminine in all that biker black etched into Ajax’s skin, but instead, looked like weapons.
Ajax disappeared into the bathroom. Sophie struggled to sit up.
He was right. She was a mess. She was more than a mess—she was naked on the living room floor. She’d spent an entire day in thrall to a man she’d never expected to see again, and she’d had more sex with him in the course of a single day than she’d had in the past year. Or the past five.
