Stolen Life (Beauty in the Stolen 2)

Leaning closer, I take a nipple into my mouth. The tip hardens on my tongue. Her skin contracts when I lick. Supporting her nape with one hand, I caress her breast with the other, using my lips and fingers to tease her nipples into hard little points and make her wetter around my cock.

The robe falls down her shoulders, exposing her sun-kissed skin. She rolls her hips and gasps. The sexy sounds she makes in the back of her throat tells me she’s close. I sit back to watch her face, and like the good girl she is, she opens her eyes and looks at me. Shows me. I got lost in those blue pools the first time I stared into her eyes, and I’ve never found my way back. I can’t come back from her. She’s my forever. My only.

“Condom,” she says, moaning so prettily I almost come inside her.

Condom. Yes. Grabbing her ass, I push to my feet without breaking our contact. She wraps her legs around me as I carry her to the bed. I sit down on the edge and open the drawer to get a condom. After tearing open the foil packet, I hand her the rubber. She lifts off me, sits back on my legs, and sheathes my cock. Her thighs are spread wide, putting her pussy on display. I’m glad she waxes. I suppose without access to a beauty salon, now she shaves. I’m greedy. I want to see everything.

She pushes on my shoulders until my back hits the mattress and lowers herself over my shaft again. She doesn’t move up and down, but rocks gently, driving me insane. The erotic movement of her hips is an elegant dance, and I like to watch. I grip her small waist and let her ride me. She doesn’t hold back. She drags her nails over my chest and stomach and gives me the sounds I crave until the pressure is too much. I can’t put off my release any longer.

In a distant corner of my mind, I remember Leon is on his way with the soup, but fuck Leon and everyone else. I can’t stop now, not for the life of me.

I push the pad of my thumb on her clit and rub in a circle. “Come.”

The command is hoarse, urgent, but I want her to finish before I climax. Her inner muscles squeeze my cock as a loud moan tears from her chest. Fuck, I love her sounds. I pivot my hips, spilling my release at the same time as I sit up and swallow the sound on her lips. I make her mine with another kiss, telling her without words I won’t let her go.

The knock falls on the door just as she collapses against my chest with her head on my shoulder.

“Hold on,” I call.

After rolling her off me, I tie the robe in the front and make sure her body is covered when she rests her back against the headboard. I take a second to get rid of the condom and adjust my boxers over my softening cock before getting the door.

Leon stands on the threshold with another tray laid with dishes. Vapor curls from the lid covering a bowl. A whiff of cream of mushroom soup reaches my nostrils.

“Thanks,” I say, taking the tray.

“Call me if you need anything.”

“I appreciate that.”

He calls over my shoulder, “Night, Cas.”

I glance back. She offers him a small smile, indecision playing in her eyes.

He slides the strap of the rifle from his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, unless something comes up in the night.”

Meaning news about Banga.

I watch him go down the steps and disappear into the darkness. It’s the first time since I took Cas that things between Leon and me aren’t tense. I’d almost forgotten how it feels not to divert conflict. The Leon of old is back, and it gives me hope for the future I envision with Cas. I can never abandon my brother, but she comes first. Always.

Going back to bed, I balance the tray on her lap and remove the lids from a bowl of soup and a plate with buttered toast. “Eat. You need your strength.”

“Ian?”

I look down at her, drinking her in sitting in my bed, dressed in my robe, and thank my lucky stars she is who she is. If Cas hadn’t been Cas, she wouldn’t have been here—alive.

“Who taught you to handle a gun?” I ask, my throat tight at the image of her with that rifle in her hands.

“My dad. He taught me to shoot before I could walk.”

I imagine a small Cassy with bouncy, silver curls and doll-blue eyes. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to shove a gun in that little girl’s hands. “Why?”

“He believed it was important that I could protect myself. He only killed for the pot or culled when necessary, but I’m not a supporter of hunting.” She bites into a piece of toast. “I was eight when he took me on my first hunt. It was an old kudu with an injured leg, but I couldn’t pull the trigger. After that, he just made me shoot at paper targets.”