Street Game (GhostWalkers 8)

"He didn't have much of a chance."

"He's always been different. You gave him a moral code. He didn't have that until you came along." She turned her head and looked up at him. "When you talk to me, Mack, sometimes you make me crazy, but I want to try again. Read some books on communicating with women, that's my only advice to you, because you suck at it."

A slow smile accompanied the slow burning deep in his groin. She was so beautiful to him. So sexy. She didn't even have to try very hard. "Now's not the time to give me good news, honey, not with all the boys camping out in our bedroom."

"Everything is not about sex."

His eyebrow shot up. "It's not?"

Jaimie laughed and shook her head, turning to cut off his step before he made it to the stairs. She circled his neck with her arms. "I'm sorry. For earlier. For accusing you."

He settled his hands at her waist, his heart squeezing down hard like a vise. "Don't think I won't do it if I have to, Jaimie. That's part of who I am. I won't like it, but if I have to put a gun to his head and pull the trigger to save everyone else, I'd do it. You have to know who and what I am. This time, I want you to know who you're loving."

Her heart jumped at the word. He rarely if ever used the L word, certainly not to her. "I know. If I told you I missed you every hour of every day, what would you say to that?"

"I'd say you couldn't possibly have missed me more than I missed you. You tore out my heart, Jaimie. Don't do it again. I'm not going to be perfect at this. I'd rather you snap me out of it some way. Kick me in the shins. Punch me. Get my attention. But don't walk out on me when I'm being dense."

She touched her tongue to her bottom lip, a sign he recognized as being nervous. Mack kissed her. Hard. Long. With his heart and soul. He never wanted her nervous when she talked to him. She could twist him up inside like no one else could and maybe that did set his teeth on edge, but he'd pay that price if it meant having her. Keeping her. Waking up every morning to her. He wanted to grow old with her. He wanted her there by his side when he died.

The problem with kissing her was it caused other much more intense reactions. His body immediately made urgent demands, hot and hard, and so painfully full he could barely stand the touch of his jeans. Worse, there was no way to stop kissing her once he started. He devoured her mouth, loving the velvet heat and the way she tasted.

His hand slipped beneath her shirt to cup her breasts. "I can barely stand not touching you," he whispered. "I love your skin. The way you taste. Your mouth." He bit on her lower lip, tugged, and then teased with his tongue. "You've got me hurting like hell, baby."

"I do?" She reached down to slide her hand over the thick bulge in his jeans. "How very unfair of me."

He buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder. "I'm so tired, Jaimie. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I'm doing." He whispered the words into her stillness, her peace. Jaimie was his haven, the only refuge he had, and he'd been lost without her. Without her quick wit and ready smile, the devotion in her eyes and her soft, sweet, welcoming body. She seemed magic and she could wipe out every ugly thing in his life. "I need you, Jaimie. Right now, baby."

To make him forget the image of pulling out his gun, putting it to Paul's head, and pulling the trigger. He would have done it himself, never putting it on one of his men to carry the burden. Just the thought that he could have done it sickened him. He wanted to forget what kind of man he was. Not one who would plan the death of a friend or an untried kid on his team. He wanted to lose himself in the magic of her body and just be hers.

Jaimie heard the need, the ache, in his voice. This wasn't about wild, uninhibited sex. This was something altogether different. She framed his face with her hands and looked into his eyes--eyes full of shadows and guilt. She tipped her head and pressed kisses along his mouth and throat, giving herself to him. Offering herself. A gift. She opened his shirt and kissed her way over the heavy muscles, her hands on the front of his jeans, parting the material.

She heard his soft groan as she circled the impressive girth, her fingers stroking caresses over familiar territory. Before she could kneel, he caught the hem of her shirt.

"I have to look at you," he whispered, that hoarse edge stealing into his tone, the one she loved. He yanked her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. Catching her around her back, he urged her into him, bending her nearly backward as he unhooked her bra, spilling her breasts into the night air.

He buried his face in the soft, warm mounds, kissing her, breathing her in. He could hear the blood rushing like a drug through his veins. His heart pounded hard. There was no way a man like him, so dark inside, so lost, could find a way out of his own skin. Jaimie with her unreserved generosity could take him into paradise. He turned his head and flicked a taut nipple with his tongue. Of course her body responded. She always responded. She always gave to him no matter what he asked.

"Everything," he whispered and took possession of her breast, driving her up fast as only he knew how to do. The flicks of his tongue, the edge of his teeth. Suckling hard and then gently. Giving attention to both breasts until she was nearly sobbing.

"Let me," she pleaded.

"Are you sure?"

"Let me," she said again.

He lifted his head from her soft enticing body. Her eyes were liquid, her breath coming in ragged gasps, lifting her breasts in time to her rough breathing. Her mouth was exquisite. Sexy. Pure fantasy.

"I want you in my mouth," she said, her voice a sensual plea.

He knew she was doing it for him, but he could believe her when she looked at him like that, as if bringing him pleasure was the most important thing in her world.

"I love the taste and feel of you. I missed you, Mack, missed all that power filling my mouth and throat."

He was going to embarrass himself just listening to her voice, the ache there. The need and desire. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she slowly knelt, sliding his jeans from his hips. His cock was hard, jerking in anticipation, already leaking small droplets. There was nothing sexier than a beautiful woman, bare breasted, hair in disarray, looking at up at a man with a wealth of love and wanton lust in her expression.

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, of his Jaimie, so ready to enjoy pleasing him. He had dreamt of this, night after night. Of her eyes. Her mouth. Her soft, feminine curves. He couldn't begin to think of taking another woman. There was only Jaimie, with the pads of her fingers working magic on his cock. Stroking flames over his sensitive skin.

She leaned forward and he watched, mesmerized, as her tongue slid out and she licked him like an ice cream cone. His entire body shuddered in reaction. Her mouth engulfed him, her tongue sliding over the crown and then teasing the underneath. She knew exactly what he needed, every spot. Every stroke. He had been the one to teach her. She'd been so inexperienced then, and she looked just as innocent now, a tempting, beautiful innocent seducing him with her mouth.

He watched her through hooded lids, unable to take his eyes from the sight of her. Loving him. Lavishing attention on him. Giving him the priceless gift of herself. Jaimie didn't just suck his cock to get it over with, she made love to him with her mouth. She suckled and caressed, alternating rhythm, one moment hard and tight, the next gentle with a dancing tongue, paying attention to his every reaction. She made him believe that she enjoyed giving him pleasure, that at that moment in her life, bringing him absolute pleasure was the most important thing in her world.

He heard his own groan. Felt his already hard cock swell. He didn't want to finish in her mouth, as sexy as that would be; he needed to be inside her body. He needed to feel her soft skin sliding over his, her channel sheathing him, hot and tight. He wanted to be surrounded by her. His hands were on t

he sides of her face, holding her head back while she took him deep. It was almost more than he could bear to stop, but he forced himself under control.

"Strip, baby, hurry. I want to be inside you. I have to be inside of you." His voice had gone so hoarse he barely recognized it. His lungs burned. His hand circled his cock, stroking, keeping the fire high as she shrugged out of her clothes.

Everything in him went to molten heat, converging in his aching, swelling shaft, at the sight of her shedding her clothes, revealing her bare, peach-soft skin. She never questioned him. Never protested. She was whatever he needed. There was no other like her in the world. His Jaimie. He caught the mop of curls and pulled her mouth to his, taking her kiss, feeding on her sweetness, on the spice of her, while his other hand cupped and kneaded her soft breasts. First one, then the other, as he devoured her mouth.

"Are you ready for me, honey?" he asked, his hand sliding low to test her wetness.

"I'm always ready for you," she answered. "I crave you."

His heart jumped, and then slammed hard against his chest. "Put your arms around my neck, Jaimie," he instructed. He lifted her in his arms, skin to skin, her breasts pressed tight against his chest. Just the feel of her made his cock ache with need. "Wrap your legs around my waist, sweetheart. Lock your ankles tight."

Because she was so generous, so giving, she opened herself to him without reservation. His eyes burned. His throat felt raw. He could lose himself for a little while in her--forget the ugliness of the places he'd been, the carnage he'd seen. He gripped her hips tightly and slowly, and inch by exquisite inch, sheathed himself inside of her. He could forget the life or death decisions he had to make, the brutality of his life, just live inside her for a short while and know what peace was.