My body shivers as he starts to lick me, teasing and poking and swirling his tongue. His fingers find my pussy, and he slips two inside and curls them up to stroke against that sweet spot inside.
My fingers move faster and faster, and the sensation becomes almost overwhelming, sucking me down. The dark dirtiness of it sends me reeling, and makes my body melt for him.
He growls, tonguing my ass and fingering my pussy as I rub my clit. I bring a hand to my nipples, pinching one and crying out as the sensations start to flood through me.
"I'm going to- I'm- oh fuck … "
I gasp, feeling the inevitable cliff rushing up to find me. His hand grabs my ass like it belongs to him, his wicked tongue swirls, and his fingers stroke, and suddenly, I explode.
It hits like a bomb, with no warning. I scream as the orgasm erupts through me, shattering me, making me lose my breath and see spots as I cry out.
Connor slowly pulls away and stands.
"Stay just like that."
I nod, panting, my eyes drinking him in.
He shrugs off his shirt, kicks his pants away, and steps towards me, kneeling. I whimper as I feel him run the thick head of his cock up and down my slick opening. He looms above me, his muscled body coiled and ready to consume me.
I suddenly swallow, my eyes darting to his.
"This, this can't- I mean … "
"What."
"This is just, you know."
I shrug, and he looks at me curiously.
"This is just sex, right?" I blurt out.
"Well, it was about to be," he growls.
"You know what I mean," I say quietly.
"Don't worry princess," he grins. "I'm not gonna fall for the hostage."
"Too cliché."
"Exactly."
"So would be falling for the kidnapper."
"I'd hate to be the cliché."
"Same," I moan as he pushes against me
"So why don't I just fuck you now instead."
"I think that's a very good idea- fuck."
He buries himself in one stroke, making me scream in sweet pleasure, my hands flying to his wrists and clinging tight.
"I think we should stop talking," he groans.
"I think I agree," I gasp back.
He drives in deep, filling me and making me scream. He grabs my hands and pins them above my head at the top of the easy chair, and he rocks his hips in and out, pumping me full of his cock with every thrust. His hands tighten on my wrists, and his hips rub against mine as he grinds in deep, making me moan.
"Yeah, I definitely, think we should stop talk-"
I whimper as he slides a thumb into my mouth, quieting me. I groan, sucking on his digit as he thrusts in and out, fucking me in deep, powerful thrusts. We keep rocking like that, bodies slamming together in this heated, frenzied rush towards the finish line. His hand drops to my knee and lifts it, bringing one leg up over his shoulder and letting him somehow go even deeper. I scream around his finger, my eyes rolling back in my head as I feel him rubbing against places I've never felt before.
My hands are still clawing at the back of the chair, and I drop them to his chest, his arms, his hips - urging him faster and harder as the ecstasy roars through me.
I'm lost in this, and not even remotely caring about what happens next, or whatever this is.
Because this is just us right now. This is raw fucking. Pure lust. This is sweet, blissful escape and release.
And it's exactly what I want.
He comes with me, his cock swelling thick and deep inside of me as I go screaming over that edge. Connor groans, holding himself deep inside as we both gasp for air, before eventually collapsing. He slides to the floor, chest heaving and his hands stroking my legs as I sink into the chair.
Sweet, blissful escape and release.
And that's all this has to be.
Right?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sierra
I watch his chest rise and fall with his breath. My eyes trace over the ink and the scars like I'm reading his story over the pages of his skin rather than a book. I drag my eyes higher to his mouth, watching those perfect lips of his part slightly in his sleep. His jaw is all sharp lines and shadows in the darkness of the upstairs bedroom where we've finally collapsed, and my eyes linger on the way his eyelids flicker in sleep.
Sleep, which isn't happening for me. Not yet at least. I'm physically exhausted after the day I've had, but my mind just won't shut the hell up.
This is frequently a problem for me - not being able to shut my own thoughts down when I need them to be quiet. Like, say, when I need to sleep.
And so I'm lying here, wishing I could close my eyes and join him, but unable to stop the whirring and turning of the cogs in my head. It's all random stuff, too. My thoughts linger on my family, and how I've kept them in the dark for so long about what's been going on with me. My brain flutters off, landing now on the dagger hanging over my head that could bring whatever's left of my world down - the arson charge Agent Marlow dangled in front of me the other day.
But I refuse to let my thoughts linger on Marlow or his offer. I haven't touched the phone in the bottom of my bag, and I don't intend to. Because contrary to the mind games he tried to throw in front of me the other day, I do know the man I'm running with. I know he's broken, and that he's lived and lives a life far harder than any I've ever known.
I know he's capable of violence. I know he's able to turn off a part of himself - to shut the door on the place inside of him that might be vulnerable.
I know the way he looks at me makes me feel both a princess and a dirty, dirty girl, all at the same confusing time. I know the way he puts his hands on me, and the way he touches me is like nothing I've ever known. I know that if this blew apart right now, I would spend the rest of my life comparing every man and every sexual experience to him, knowing they'd fail to live up to the bar he's set anyways.
But I also know that past his fierceness, past the armor, and past the raw, animalistic ability to cause hurt and inflict pain, lays a man aching from a life harder than I can imagine.
I know that I've seen that part of him, and I know he's seen that part of me, and I know I like that those two guarded versions of ourselves have met.
My eyes dip back to his chest, and I watch it rise and fall again as I drop my cheek to his shoulder. He stirs slightly in his sleep, his hand tightens reflexively on my back, and his breathing stutters for a minute before he drifts back to normal.
This is all insane, and I know it. I'm on the run from the Ukrainian mob. Me, the small-town, straight-A, honor's program, never-had-a-parking-ticket me. Oh, and I'm naked in bed with a man I have no business even knowing let alone sleeping with.
Actually, "insane" maybe doesn't give it enough weight.
Lunacy, that's what this is. Absolute lunacy.
And of course, that's before I add in the other crazy part of all of this - the fact that I'm strangely comfortable with the whole thing. It's the fact that I'm fine right now, here in this beach house while we're on the run, with his arm around me. I'm still worried, of course, and my mind clearly won't stop analyzing the whole thing.
But the me of a week ago would have had a meltdown by now. The me from before he took me would've been huddled in a corner going into frozen-mode, unable to even deal with this.
The new me - the me who has kinky, wild, unbridled sex with dangerous mob men, apparently, and the new me who grabs the wheel while aforementioned dangerous mob man shoots a gun at people out of the window of a moving car?
Well, the new me is strangely all right with this whole thing.
There's a sudden beeping sound from downstairs. I frown as it goes off again, my eyes darting around the darkness of the room. Connor stirs, and I almost want to wake him to see what it is, but I push that thought away.
Wasn't I just saying I was okay with all this, and no longer the scared, freaked out girl I used to be?
I leave the warmth of his arms and his skin as I slip from the bed, grabbing a blanket and padding downstairs. There's the lingering smell of the fire we had earlier in the fireplace, and my eyes scan the dark living room. The beep comes again, and my eyes narrow in on my bag, tossed in the corner.
My heart suddenly jumps in my chest as I rush for the bag, dig around the bottom of it, and yank out the fucking burner phone Agent Marlow gave me.
"Evening, Ms. Hammond," he mutters, before I can even say anything.
"Wouldn't the whole point of a secret phone be that it stays a secret?" I hiss, glancing back at the dark staircase. "The fucking ringer was on!"
"Well, you should have checked it," Marlow hisses back. "Roarke-"
"He's asleep."
"Did someone tire him out?"
My face goes hot at the sneering tone in his voice, and I scowl into the phone. "What do you want."
Marlow chuckles. "Touchy thing aren't you. I want information, kid."
"Well, I don't have any informa-"
"When exactly were you planning on telling me about the little shootout you had this morning in Southie? Or that you and Roarke were off on a goddamn road trip?"
I swallow the lump that forms in my throat, fingers tightening on the phone. Even talking to Agent Marlow like this - without even giving him anything - feels like some sort of disloyalty to Connor. It feels like selling him out, without even saying anything.
"What exactly do you think you owe him, Sierra?" Marlow says, as if reading my thoughts. His voice is without his usual edge this time, using my first name instead of "Ms. Hammond" or "kid". And even though I'm sure it's some sort of FBI trained tactic of "getting through to me" or showing empathy …