Deadly Fear (Deadly 1)

Her fingers eased their hold, then skated over his chest. Over the slight ridge, the new scar he’d added to his collection. A killer’s mark.

A chill skated down her spine but she pushed her hands between their bodies. He had on jeans. Easy enough to get rid of those, but, ah, damn, he’d have to move his hand—

“Easy.” His rough whisper in the darkness, rolling with his smooth drawl. That drawl always grew thicker when he was pissed or when he was aroused.

Easy?

“Not what I want,” she whispered right back. He should know better. She wasn’t the kind for cuddling and soft kisses. Not her.

Her fingers drifted away from the scar. Stroked over those abs. She found the snap of his jeans.

He slipped back. She pushed forward. A hiss, and his zipper eased down. No boxers. He must have dressed fast when he came to her.

She wrapped her fingers around the straining length of his cock. “You know what I want,” she told him as her fingers tightened. “And I know just what you want.” Her left hand pushed against his shoulder, trying to ease him back.

He caught her wrist, curled his fingers tightly around her. “Not. This. Time.” Gritted.

But what—

He stood up, fast. Luke fumbled in his back pocket, then ditched the jeans. “It’s been too f**king long,” he muttered.

Yes, it had been. But she’d been afraid…

And then her past had come calling.

Can’t run. Won’t run.

She shoved her panties down and kicked them away.

He caught her legs. Spread her wide and, even in the darkness, she felt the heat of his stare. “Too f**king long,” he said again and then his fingers were on her. Sliding between the damp folds of her sex and finding her clit and rubbing, just the way she needed. Her head tipped back. A moan built in her throat. Her ni**les were tight, aching, the soft fabric of the shirt rubbing against them as—

He shoved her shirt up to her neck, exposing her br**sts. His mouth closed over her nipple. His tongue swirled over the hungry peak, his teeth scored her flesh.

And he drove two fingers into her.

She clenched around him and stiffened.

Not enough.

The fingers retreated. Plunged deep.

“Luke!” The bastard knew better than to tease. He knew.

His head jerked up. His eyes glittered down at her. “Ready?”

Not like she could get more ready. He had to feel the cream coating his fingers, the tremble of her sex around him.

“Hope to hell you are,” he growled, then pushed up on his arms. A packet was in his hands. Condom.

He’d had that in his back pocket? The man was a freaking Boy Scout.

She loved that.

He ripped the packet open with his teeth. Sheathed his cock, that long, thick length that she’d really wanted to taste again, because Monica knew she could drive him to the edge and beyond with her mouth and she wanted—

He shoved her thighs apart wider and pushed between her legs.

“Missed you.” He thrust deep. So deep she nearly bucked off the bed. So deep his name broke from her lips. So deep the bed sounded like it might break apart as the old boards groaned beneath them.

Just what she’d wanted.

He plunged into her, again and again, hard drives that she met with blind pleasure. Her legs wrapped around him, squeezed tight.

And the fury built.

Faster.

Faster.

His eyes were the only thing she could see in the darkness, glinting at her.

His arms were locked on either side of her head as he thrust, driving them both to that wild release.

Closer. Closer.

His c**k slid over her clit, pushed into her core and—

She broke. A muffled scream slipped from her lips as her sex spasmed around his thick length. Pleasure and madness. A climax so strong she squeezed her eyes shut and held onto him as hard as she could.

Still he thrust. Deep, deeper, every hard movement of his body making the pleasure last and last.

Luke.

His name broke from her lips. She pushed up, wrapping her arms around his neck as she lifted against him.

Face to face. Sex to sex.

She kissed him. And rose. His c**k slid over her sensitive flesh.

Monica pushed down. Rode him.

She rode him fast and deep. She took him, even as the heat of release whipped through her again.

Took him—took everything.

His c**k swelled. Lodged tight within her.

He came.

So did she—a long, hot wave of release. Pleasure.

He’d always been able to give her exactly what she needed. Always.

He was so screwed.

Luke knew this for a fact. An absolute-damn-certainty. He woke up, alone in the bed. The scent of sex and Monica hovered in the air all around him. His c**k was already up and twitching, and he knew he was in trouble.

Sex with her hadn’t been as good as before.

It had been better. They’d barely touched, and he’d been about to explode in his jeans.

Then when he’d gotten inside her, and the tight creamy clasp of her sex gripped his cock—

Screwed.

The bathroom door opened with a soft groan. Monica stepped out. Her hair was perfect. Not a strand out of place. She’d applied her makeup, a light touch at the eyes and a sexy slicking at the lips. She wore khakis and a white blouse.

Perfect.

Then she saw him. Her eyes met his and for the briefest of moments, she paused.

She looked… uncertain. Then that chin rose. “You’re up.”

He glanced down at his cock. “Glad you noticed.”

That sound could have been a choked laugh. But then her eyes fell to his flesh and she took a deep breath. “Luke…”

He could still feel the press of her fingers on him. “What time do we talk to the first witness?” He could play this game. Business.

She turned toward her suitcase. “Eight-thirty.”

Ah, right. He glanced at his watch. “Gives us forty minutes.” Time to hop his butt in the shower and get his game face on.

Time for pleasure too, but with those stay-away vibes Monica was tossing out…

The pleasure would have to wait.

Business, first.

That was okay. He’d had his taste. Just as addictive as before.

So much for being able to walk away after one more screw. They were just too combustible.

He yanked on his jeans and rose. Because he was watching her—what else was new?—he caught the swift glance she tossed him and he saw the way her gaze dropped to his chest. Luke couldn’t help it. He had to flex, just a little.

A man had his pride.

“You… you came pretty close to death on that last one.”