Make Me Up (Killer Style 3)

“Like I said before…” His long fingers curled around the back of her lace thong, pulling the material taut against her wet folds. “I’m a big guy, and you know I always deliver.”

…

If it killed him, Cam was going to deliver on that promise. He didn’t have much to offer a woman. He was a junkie’s kid with a questionable moral compass. He didn’t have a plan for tomorrow, let alone the rest of his life. And he sure as shit didn’t stay in any relationship longer than a month or two—but he could show a girl a good time and distract her from her troubles. Everyone had a talent, and that one was his. He’d never been so glad about that as he was at this moment with Drea.

He released the lacy gold strip of her thong, used his hands to anchor her against him, and turned around. In two long strides, he crossed over to the dining room table, where he laid her on her back across the wood like a dessert to be feasted upon—and feast he would, until she forgot about all of the awful things that had happened today.

He slid his palms up each of her strong thighs, pushing her skirt up until it bunched around her waist and showed off her gold lace thong. The sight of her spread out before him, wet, willing, and wanting, elicited something primal within him—almost territorial.

He brushed his thumb along the material’s center, slowing each time he brushed touched her sensitive clit. The sound of her soft moans hinted at what was to come. There’d be more than quiet ecstasy before he was done. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do to you?”

“Yes.” The single word came out as a tortured whisper.

“I’m going to taste every single inch of you until you can’t think about anything else but how good you feel.” Sliding his fingers upward, he hooked them into the elastic band of her thong and slowly inched it down until they it to the floor. “Then I’m going to do it again.”

He kneeled before her, then encircled her ankles and lifted her feet to his shoulders. The position gave him the perfect angle to touch her everywhere.

She lifted her hips off the table, urging him forward. Tempting didn’t even begin to describe the moment, but he wasn’t letting her off the hook that fast. He turned his head and traced a path with his lips across her dark skin, from her ankle to her knee. Her breath quickened, and her hands fisted on the table, but from the tension in her muscles, he could tell she was still thinking about today.

Time for a change up.

He flicked his tongue across the underside of her knee in the one spot guaranteed to make her scream—but not in ecstasy.

She bowed and yanked her long leg out of his grasp. “Dammit, you know I’m ticklish there.” She laughed, and finally, her face softened.

“Really?” He pulled her leg back in place across his shoulder. “I’d totally forgotten.”

“Bullshit,” she said.

“I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you.” He lowered his mouth to her wet folds before she got a chance to make a snarky comeback, and she let out a throaty moan. Sometimes a surprise was just what she needed—he knew it even if she didn’t.

Soft and warm, she melted beneath him even as he pushed her closer and closer to exploding. Sucking. Licking. Tasting every bit of her. It was the only mission that mattered. Drea wasn’t the only person lost in the moment and trying to forget. Her fingers threaded through his hair and pulled him closer to her core. He swirled his tongue around her clit, then increased the speed and pressure, matching the undulations of her hips until she came against his lips.

He watched the rise and fall of her chest as she came back to reality, and it struck him just how different she was from the women he normally dated.

It wasn’t that she was black—he was the United Nations of dating.

It wasn’t that she was smart—empty heads never did it for him.

And it wasn’t that she didn’t take shit from anyone—a little sass made the chase so much sweeter.

It was something he couldn’t nail down. Something that defied an easy label. Every day of his life up until this moment had depended on him being able to read a situation and the people involved in a heartbeat. That he couldn’t do that with Drea made him twitchy. In his former life in the shittiest parts of Central and South America, that itchy feeling meant impending explosions and multiple rounds of live ammo being fired at his head.

He needed to pull back and regroup before the situation exploded in his face. Moments like this were all he was good for, and he was good with that—or at least he always had been until Drea. Being with her made him…made him want to be more and he couldn’t do that if he always did what the old Cam had done.

He tugged her skirt down, covering her before he lost his will to resist everything she offered. “Go to bed. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

She blinked her eyes in confusion. “But—”

“Goodnight.” He put enough steel in his tone to make sure she knew he meant it, but it was more of a reminder for himself.

Chapter Five

“Luxury must be comfortable, otherwise it is not luxury.” - Coco Chanel

Scrunched up on a couch that would only make a decent bed for a munchkin, Cam squinted against the morning light and took stock just like he did first thing every morning. The ankle he’d fucked up during a parachute drop in Columbia was a five on a ten point scale. His right hand, the one that had gotten messed up during a hostage rescue in Thailand, was tingling, but at least it hadn’t gone numb while he slept. His back, however, ached like a ninety-year old after completing twenty-thousand burpees. He’d been damn good at his former career, but damn, it had left a mark.

If he was lucky, he could get a round of yoga stretching in before Drea woke up and emerged from her room. In one fluid motion, he tossed the blanket off and sat up. That’s when he saw her.