Текст книги "Off Base"

Автор книги: Tessa Bailey

Соавторы: Sophie Jordan
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Chapter Two

Huntley was asleep.

In his bed.

It was a hell of a situation, and he could not quite wrap his mind around it. The one woman he would never fool around with was in his bed, curled up on her side with her back to him, her skirt riding high enough for him to glimpse her white cotton panties. White cotton panties that shouldn’t have been hot, but for some reason they got him as stiff as a pike. His palms itched to grip the flesh, to discover if her ass felt as firm as it looked.

He cursed and flipped to the History Channel. A war movie was playing. He grimaced. The last thing he wanted to watch, but it might cool his ardor. After thirty seconds of explosions, he cursed and flipped to Comedy Central.

The comedian only held his attention for so long before his gaze strayed to Huntley again. He tapped the remote control anxiously against his leg and eyed the length of her smooth thighs on display. The swell of her ass pushed against the white cotton of her underwear.

She normally wore jeans and bulky sweaters. Blouses when the weather was warmer. He’d never seen so much of her body on display. Never had a clear idea of her shape before. He knew she was tall. Not thin. Not fat. She had always simply been Huntley.

Right now, she reminded him of those pinup girls from the 1940s. Juicy curves. Soft swells and dips and hollows that screamed femininity. He adjusted his cock, hoping to ease the throb there. No relief. Instead, he gave himself a few strokes as he stared at the long stretch of her legs and the two dimples on her lower back, directly above the top of her panties.

“Fuck,” he muttered. Getting a hard-on for his best friend’s sister could not be happening. Beck trusted him. He expected him to treat her with respect. She wasn’t some hook-up.

He should have brought someone home from the bar tonight. A regular at Bombs Away who he’d fucked before who knew how to play the game. It would have been one way to get his mind off Xander, and Huntley wouldn’t have insisted on following him home. He wouldn’t be so cock-hungry for her right now.

Flinging back the covers, he picked up his beer bottle from his nightstand. He deposited it in the trash and shut off all the lights in the house. Moving to his bathroom, he brushed his teeth before flattening his hands on the counter and staring at himself in the mirror.

He never should never have recruited Xander. If he hadn’t, the guy would still be alive. His bloodshot eyes stared daggers back at him. He scrubbed both hands over his face and tried to push back the urge to shout or hit something.

Beck’s words played over and over in his head. He got it wrong. He got it wrong.

Cullen had trained him. Xander wasn’t supposed to get it wrong over there. Maybe Cullen was the one who got it wrong. Maybe he left something out, some key point of instruction. It wouldn’t be the first time he made a bad call. According to his father, he only ever made bad calls. Going into EOD instead of intelligence was his worst. He was twenty-nine years old, but his old man never missed a chance to remind him that he was a total disappointment.

With a disgusted snort, he flipped off the bathroom light and then the TV as he passed it on the way to bed. The room was shrouded in shadows, the only light creeping in from the blind slats. The neighbor had left their back porch light on and a low glow suffused his bedroom, outlining the furniture.

He slipped into bed and turned on his side. Huntley had rolled onto her back, and he watched her chest rise and fall with breaths. She was still stretched out on top of the covers.

Sitting up on one elbow, he lifted her slightly, tugging the comforter all the way down. His nose brushed her hair and he inhaled the fruity scent. Some kind of melon maybe? Strawberry? He resisted the impulse to bury his nose in her hair. “Shit,” he laughed lightly, without mirth. “You need to lay off the booze, man.”

For no other reason could he fathom his response to Huntley. They’d been hanging out for years. Never had he inhaled her hair or entertained salacious thoughts of her ass.

Even if she wasn’t Beck’s sister, she still wasn’t his type. She was a good girl. She wanted marriage, white picket fences and a passel of kids. And she wanted it yesterday. For God’s sake, she joined an online dating service. He hadn’t missed that gleam of interest in her eyes as he explained his sexual preferences, but he would forget it. He had to. He wouldn’t ruin her.

He lowered her back down, tugging the covers over her. She sighed softly against his throat and his skin reacted, tightening almost painfully. He quickly released her.

Dropping back on his pillow, he made certain a good foot separated them. Flinging an arm across his forehead, he gazed up at the ceiling where his thoughts found their way back to Xander. The pain was still there, slicing through him. Guilt so deep he felt like he was drowning in it. His fault. His failure. His father always said he had no business in EOD. It wasn’t a Thanksgiving without that reminder. You have no business in EOD. It takes nerve and guts. You lack both, boy.

His chest squeezed and his hands opened and closed like he was seeking something to grab, something to pull him free from the quagmire.

Someone.

His gaze slid left to Huntley again and he laughed once, a low, tormented sound. He really was one broken SOB.

His friend was dead because of him, and he was in bed with a hard-on for his other friend’s sister. This might be the lowest point in his life. Considering his less-than-stellar upbringing, that was saying something.

He expelled a breath and returned his gaze to stare blindly at the ceiling again. Gradually, his eyes grew heavy. The alcohol chugging through his system was finally working its magic. With a heavy exhale, he closed his eyes.

Chapter Three

Huntley woke to a darkened room. She blinked sleepily against the murky light and struggled for a moment to remember where she was. She sniffed, missing the usual sugar-and-vanilla aroma of her condo. It probably didn’t help her near-insatiable longing for cookies, but the aromatic candles comforted her and made her remember her grandmother’s kitchen.

This space smelled musky. There was a bare hint of leather and laundry detergent and … soap. Man. Cullen.

Awareness flooded her. The events of the night rushed back. Bombs Away with her brother and Cullen. Driving Cullen home. Getting into bed with Cullen.

In bed with Cullen.

Panic and something else that felt dangerously close to excitement sizzled through her. She was on her side under the blankets—somehow she ended up underneath. She could feel the heat of Cullen radiating at her back. He drew her like a warm fire, beckoning her to come out of the cold.

She closed her eyes. It had been so long, and she had rarely ever spent the night with Jackson. Sex with him had been hasty trysts in the back of his car or at one of their houses while their parents weren’t home. There was never a lot of privacy and always a sense of urgency.

She had lived at home while completing her nursing degree, and he had never moved out of his parents’ home after high school. He was following in his dad’s footsteps and planned to take over the family hardware store. Sleeping in a bed with a man was a whole new experience for her, and her stomach felt like it was alive with a thousand butterflies. And not just any man. Cullen. Sexy, hard-body, dark-eyed Cullen. Sometimes it gets a little rough. God. She would never get his voice, those words, out of her head.

She shifted slightly and became aware that her skirt was around her hips. Her legs slid sinuously against the sheets. She lifted her head and dared a peek behind her at the still, long line of his body. The curve of his muscled shoulder. The shadowed angles of his face looked slightly softer in sleep. He was on his side, too; his bigger body limned in the pale glow of light seeping from the blinds. If she just snuggled back one more inch they would be spooning.

His soft breath fell with the even cadence of sleep. What would it hurt? He was asleep. For just a moment she could experience what it felt like to share a bed with a man. A man and not a boy who spent all his free time playing video games.

She inched back until the warm wall of his chest was flush with her back. She aligned her bent legs against his so they fit together like two snug spoons.

Air shuddered from her lips at the simple contact, at this closeness. She found herself regretting that she wore a shirt and could not feel the ridged contours of his chest and stomach without the barrier of clothing. Man to woman. Flesh to flesh. She yearned for it. For him.

His mouth was directly in her hair, his warm breath fanning the strands. The heat from his crotch scalded her bottom. She pushed back, ever so slightly, settling against that part of him. Curiosity emboldened her. She could feel the ridge of him there. Only the thin barrier of her panties and his briefs separated them.

It was terrible of her, but she wiggled. She couldn’t stop herself. Her breath quickened as she felt him grow. It was awful what she was doing—using him for her own cheap thrills while he slept—but desire seethed through her. Her sex pulsed, clenching with need. It had been too long. The vibrator in her bedside drawer couldn’t get her off like this.

She bit her lip and swallowed back a whimper as she rubbed her bottom against him. It was a mistake. Even if taking advantage of Cullen while he slept wasn’t wrong, now she ached with desire.

She couldn’t handle another moment of this self-inflicted torture. She would sleep the rest of the night on his couch. Live and learn. She flung the covers back and started to ease away.

She had one foot on the floor when a hand grabbed a fistful of her shirt and hauled her down on the bed. Her back hit the mattress with a soft thud. A woosh of air escaped her as Cullen loomed over her, larger than life, his shoulders rock solid and bunched with tension that undulated down to his taut biceps.

His hands flattened against the mattress on either side of her shoulders, his arms twin bands of muscle that effectively caged her in. Her stomach dipped and twisted at the sight of so much masculinity hovering on top of her.

She moistened her lips as she looked up into his shadowed face. His short hair hugged his scalp, accentuating his carved features. That face was like a damned Calvin Klein model. Hard lines and chiseled good looks. The throb at her core pulsed deeper.

She felt herself drowning in the liquid depths of his eyes. They devoured her, gleaming like pools of dark water. This was unknown territory. She had seen Cullen in action with other women. She knew that he could be intense and almost predatory, but she had never thought he would direct all that intensity on her.

He must be confused. Or still drunk. Yeah, that made sense. More sense than him looking at her like she was his next meal. That made zero sense.

“Cullen?” Her voice escaped in an embarrassing croak. She tried again, telling herself that this wasn’t weird. This was Cullen. Her friend. “Are you … drunk?”

“I’m sober enough.”

If he wasn’t drunk, then that meant she woke him up with her shameless bump and grind. Nice. That was only slightly mortifying.

The air crackled between them as she searched for words to explain herself. Maybe he hadn’t noticed what she was doing before she tried to slip out of bed. A girl could hope.

His gaze dipped, moving down the length of her. She became hyper-conscious of the cool air wafting around her exposed thighs. She didn’t need to glance down to know her flirty little skirt was sky-high to her hips and he had a view of her plain underwear. She flushed hotly. So boring. He was probably used to animal-print G-strings.

“You’re not going to run out of here and pretend you didn’t just back that ass into me.”

His voice was a growl and almost unrecognizable to her. This wasn’t her friend. It was a different Cullen.

A sound escaped her that sounded a lot like omiphhhfttt.

His gaze dipped again. He angled his head, studying her as though she were a specimen he had never seen.

Before she knew his intention, his hand came down and molded to her sex. She cried out at the contact. The firm press of his palm, the long fingers curling inward between her thighs, made her jump. His hand burrowed, gliding along the crease of her womanhood.

She whimpered, her hands stretching out at her sides and clutching the sheets. She parted her thighs in welcome, allowing him greater access and loathing the thin cotton barrier of her panties. His fingers rubbed, sliding against her until the friction became unbearable. She pushed herself against his fingers, hungry and seeking. His attention shifted back and forth from between her legs to her face, his expression fierce and concentrated.

That look should have frightened her, but she only wanted his fingers pressing deeper. She wanted her panties gone and his touch directly on her flesh, stroking her. Penetrating her.

Her eyes drifted shut at the near pain of her need.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, his voice thick and hard.

Her eyes snapped open and her gaze settled on him.

“Do you like this?” he demanded, continuing his assault, rubbing his fingers against the crotch of her panties until she was soaking wet. His jaw was locked tight, his eyes hard obsidian.

She nodded, her hair tossing all around her.

“Say it. Tell me.”

“Y-yes. I like it.”

“What do you want, Huntley?” He twisted his wrist, pushing down against her clit with the base of his palm.

“This … harder … more.” Ever since she saw those handcuffs, she had been one aching ball of need.

A corner of his mouth curled upward in a look that could only be described as supreme satisfaction. Instead of giving her what she asked for though, he lifted his hand away. She cried out, leaning forward at the loss of his touch.

He settled his knees between her legs and shoved her back down with one hand on her shoulder. His face was closer now. Directly above her. Even in the gloom of the room she could make out the brackets on either side of his mouth.

She held her breath, waiting, knowing something was coming even if she didn’t know what. It occurred to her then that nothing with Cullen would be ordinary or expected. Even if her experience in the bedroom wasn’t so limited, he was a man out of her realm.

She parted her lips, moistening them with her tongue. His eyes followed the movement and seemed to gleam darkly bright. He’s going to kiss me now. He inched forth just a fraction, his mouth getting closer—

His fingers slapped her between the legs, coming down with a quick pat on her swollen sex.

A shudder wracked her and she moaned.

“You like that?” he asked against her ear.

She nodded and cried out as he swatted her sex again. The contact sent a bolt of sensation to her engorged clit.

“I warned you I was shit company, didn’t I?”

She nodded, incoherent sounds breaking loose from her throat.

“You shouldn’t be here, Huntley.” This time he targeted her clit, striking her with a series of flicks that shot sharp needles of desire straight through her.

She cried out, shaking. She was so close.

His big hands dove to her hips. He grabbed the sides of her underwear and slid them down her legs in one move. Cool air wafted over her weeping sex.

She felt his stare there, on her swollen center. He saw the evidence of what he did to her … how wet she was, how she ached for him.

A hissed breath of approval escaped him. “Huntley.” His voice sounded strangled. He placed a hand on the inside of each of her thighs, pushing her wide for him. “God, you’re so pretty.”

She’d never been so exposed in her life. Jackson never looked at her there.

Cullen lowered himself so she could feel his hot breath on her folds. “So fucking pretty, Huntley. Who knew you had such a sweet little pussy?”

Her breath fell in hard pants. She trembled, feeling his gaze like a touch and yet not. It wasn’t a caress, and she needed it to be. She needed it so, so badly.

He dragged a finger down her, barrier free, tracing her slit. She surged off the bed, her spine curving at this first contact. A rush of moisture rose to meet him, and he made a tsking sound of approval.

With the same finger, he found her clit and circled it softly. She writhed on the bed, dying as he teased and rolled that tight bundle of nerves.

“Cullen,” she begged.

“You’re going to have to say it, Huntley.”

She should have noticed something was off in his voice. That this wasn’t just hot-and-bothered Cullen, but Cullen on the edge of something dangerous. But she was too lost to the dark desire pumping through her to process. “Say w-what?”

“Say it,” he commanded, still stroking, but not exerting nearly enough pressure for her.

“H-harder.”

“Harder … what, Huntley?”

“Push harder!”

“Like this?” He pressed down, rolling the clit and then easing off again, treating her only to the softest touch.

She whimpered and bucked against his hand. He was deliberately denying her and it was killing her. That mouth of his kicked up at the corner again.

She growled in frustration and he chuckled lightly, the sound curling through her. “You’re going to have to talk. Tell me what you want, Huntley. Then maybe I’ll give you the mouth-fuck you want.”

She moaned. “You’re torturing me.”

He settled his hands on either side of her thighs and loomed over her like a hungry beast, the sinews in his arms and shoulders flexing. His gaze tracked down her body to her thighs before shooting back up to her face. “We’re just getting started.”

His hands circled her ankles and yanked her back down on the mattress, sending her skirt up to her hips again. The roughness of the move, his quickness in which his big hands slid up from her ankles to her thighs, should have alarmed her. Instead, a hot thrill chugged through her veins. His strength and power and intensity excited her.

His face lowered between her thighs, his hands splaying her wide open for him. A moan spilled from her when his mouth latched onto her clit with single-minded precision. Her arms stretched out at her sides, seeking a handhold and fisting in his sheets. Ohmygodohmygod! She arched as he devoured her like she was his last meal.

He sucked her clit into his warm mouth, laving the sensitive bud, lapping it furiously, flaying her with his tongue. When his teeth scraped the button, her body shuddered. Her hands flew off the bed, grabbing his head, fingers delving into his cropped hair.

“Cullen!” She tugged on his head “What are you doing?” She didn’t know what was happening. She felt like she was coming apart at the seams.

“I’m making you come,” he purred against her sex. “No boy ever made this pussy tremble?”

She clutched his scalp, whimpering as his mouth found the entrance to her sex. He thrust his tongue inside. It only added to the torment. She needed him there. She cried out, bucking against his lips, begging for as much.

He lifted his face on a growl.

He crawled back up her body like a stalking predator, snatching both her wrists and pinning them to either side of her head. She lost herself in his dark gaze as his hard body flattened against her, his muscled arms stretched above her, holding her in place, his chest flat over hers, crushing her breasts.

“I’m going to make you come, Huntley.” His rock-hard erection settled against her throbbing core.

She gasped at the sensation. Even with his briefs on, she could make out the huge ridge of him. It felt impossible, like it couldn’t possibly fit.

But she hungered for it. Wanted it. Her legs lifted of their own volition and wrapped around his waist, welcoming him in. She began rocking and grinding against his cock in a simulation of sex.

“God,” he gasped, dropping his mouth to the crook of her neck. “You’re begging for a hard fuck. How long has it been?”

“Too long,” she choked.

Was this it? Would her secret fantasy become a reality? Were they going to forget all the reasons why this couldn’t happen? She shook her head on the bed, lifting her hips. Please. Yes. It felt surreal. As though this were merely another fantasy and not something playing out in actuality.

She rotated her hips, moaning at the rub of his erection against that part of her where all sensation centered. This couldn’t only be to punish her. His cock was hard. He wanted her, too.

His briefs were damp from her, and she felt the head of him prod, so big and hard at her entrance. She thrust into him with a whimper, working her hips, hating that barrier, wishing it gone.

“God,” he gasped, thrusting and pushing his enormous erection into her, pinning her hands deeper into the mattress. “You want me naked, don’t you? I could be in you so fast, so deep. That’d finish you off, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” she choked, pleaded. That was what she wanted. He could do it. Take her. Fuck her. She couldn’t even think of anything else she wanted more.

“More,” she gasped, desperate for the pressure, something, anything, even the pop of his fingers against her over-sensitized nerves again.

She arched her spine, on the verge of tears. She still needed more. She lifted a hand, reaching for him, hoping to entice him inside her but he grabbed her hands and pushed them back on the mattress.

She gasped in pleasure at the feel of his heavy weight pressing her down on the bed. Her core was beneath his hard stomach. She would have preferred to feel his cock against her, but he didn’t seem willing to give her that.

“You don’t touch,” he commanded in a voice that sent shivers through her. She felt dominated and possessed in a way she never knew she even craved.

He released one of her wrists and slid a hand between them. Dark eyes fastened to her face, he ran a single finger against her wet folds.

She was making all kinds of embarrassing sounds now, lifting her hips for his questing fingers.

He impaled her with a finger, penetrating deep and curling his middle finger slightly inside her, hitting that place she never quite managed to reach on her own.

The shudders started again, working up from her toes, traveling to her core and out from every limb. She was close. So close. He withdrew that finger and plunged it back in again. “You’re so fucking tight, Huntley.” His thumb found her clit and he bore down on it as he worked a second finger inside her.

“Oh!” Everything squeezed tight and twisted, bursting into a thousand pinpricks of sensation as he stroked deep inside her, wringing out a shrieking orgasm from her body. Her vision grayed at the edges. She fisted the sheet as her climax ripped through her. She gasped, trying to recover her breath as she dropped back on the bed. She pressed a palm to her cheek, fighting to steady her racing pulse. Impossible.

Emotion surged through her and she wasn’t certain where it was coming from. Tears blurred her eyes and she blinked fiercely. With her freed hand, she lowered it to his bare shoulder, the muscled flesh slick and flexing under her palm.

Her body gradually floated back down, her pulse steadying.

Oh. My. God. What just happened?

She lifted her chin. Her gaze collided with Cullen’s. He still looked intense and fierce and a little frightening. She shifted slightly beneath him and felt his raging hard-on, still there, still very much unsatisfied against the inside of her thigh.

“Cullen…” She moistened her lips, unsure of herself.

Something flickered in his eyes. She held her breath, waiting for him to speak. To assure her that he was glad this had happened. That this was not the worst thing to happen to him in the history of ever. That he had wanted it.

That he wanted her.

He looked at her beneath him as if seeing her for the first time and blinked once. “Shit.”

With that curse, he sprang off her and dropped to the floor in one deft move.

She inhaled a shaky breath. Okay. That hurt. But at least she knew where things stood. She shoved her skirt down and scooted to the edge of the bed, scanning for her panties and trying not to show how much his rejection stung.

“Huntley, listen—”

“No.” She whirled around and faced him with the bed between them. “There’s nothing to say. Forget it.”

Before he could add anything else, or worse, before she broke down and started crying, she rushed out into living room, grabbed her bag and ducked into the hall bathroom.

Flipping on the light, she stared at her reflection in the harsh fluorescent glare. Her eyes looked overly bright and huge in her face. Her skin was flushed. Even her lips looked redder, puffier. She realized with a start that he had not even kissed her. Well, he hadn’t kissed her on the mouth. She traced her lips with fingers that trembled the barest amount.

Her sex tingled and clenched, ready for round two. Or ready for the real thing. Him between her legs. Pumping inside her. Claiming her.

She groaned and dropped her head. This was too mortifying. Clearly, he was horrified things had gotten so out of hand. She had to end this and get things back into proper perspective between them. They were friends. Good friends. He was her brother’s best friend.

Resolve squared her shoulders. She reached inside her bag for her phone. After a quick search, she dialed for a cab to pick her up. Hanging up, she slipped her underwear back on and ran fingers through her wild hair, wondering how long she could hide in the bathroom. She stared at the paneled wood. It wasn’t exactly like he was knocking on the door. He’d probably be relieved to see her go.