Want Me (Dark Obsession 2)

She had on a black scrap of a bra. Her breasts spilled forward.

“Right now.”

She pushed down her skirt. She had on thigh-highs—seriously sexy thigh highs that made his already erect cock surge even more.

“Once is always enough for me. Once, then we get back to life as normal.” She stood before him in her underwear, those insanely sexy thigh highs, and those make-me-beg shoes, and she was actually telling him that once would be enough.

No way.

He touched her, aware that his fingers shook a bit when he slid them against the smooth skin of her arm. When a man was offered a waking wet dream, a little shake was normal. “Once…” His voice was too rough. “Once will be one hell of a start.”

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t want the quick thrill of touching a woman like her.

He wanted her.

For fucking keeps.

He lifted her up against him and his mouth took hers. There was no restraint. No gentleness. No holding back. He was too far gone for that, and he knew that she was, too.

He feasted on her as they staggered to the bed. His hands roamed over her back, down to the lush curve of her ass. The silk of her underwear was in his way, and he wanted that scrap gone. He wanted her, just her.

He put her on the bed. Right in the middle of that king-sized bed. He’d fantasized about her there so many times.

He’d done this—pushed too much, and now they were both going up in flames. He should stop, he should—

“Stop now, and we’ll both be sorry,” Sophie said.

Her legs were spread and his gaze couldn’t leave the apex of her thighs. He dropped right there. Fell to his knees by the edge of the bed and yanked her toward him. Her legs slid against his shoulders and he put his mouth against her sex. The lace grew wet—from his mouth, from her, and her sharp moan was perfect music to his ears. She arched toward him, slamming her hips up, and his fingers jerked that scrap out of his way so that he could taste her.

She always smelled like strawberries, but she tasted far, far sweeter. He licked her. He sucked. He thrust his index finger into Sophie and made her moan again. He loved the wild pant of her breath. Lex was going insane for her taste and—

She came against his mouth. Hell, yes.

He surged up. Because he was damn lucky, he managed to yank open his jeans and actually get a condom on in near record time. There were no more preliminaries. There was nothing but her. He drove deep into Sophie, and the contractions of her release immediately had her sex clenching tightly around him.

Tight. Tight. She is so fucking tight.

So good that he nearly exploded right then. His hands fisted on the covers because he was actually afraid of touching her. Afraid he’d be too rough and bruise her because he was that far gone. He leaned over that bed, and he drove into her. Hard. Deep. Again and again, and her legs rose to wrap around him.

He needed to see her breasts. One hand yanked at her bra, and the material seemed to tear away. Her breasts—with pretty pink nipples—thrust up toward him. He took one in his mouth, and Sophie’s sex clenched around him again. Hot damn, but he thought she was building toward another orgasm. He wanted to get her there before he gave in to the climax building for him.

He thrust again. He lifted her hips, positioning her so that his cock slid over her clit. When her nails bit into his shoulders, he knew she liked that—a lot. So he thrust again, gliding right over that sensitive spot even as he sank balls-deep into her.

She jerked beneath him, gasping out his name as she came. The contractions of her sex sent him right over the edge—over and into a volcano of pleasure. Hot, consuming, perfect. He shuddered and emptied himself in her.

When the pleasure finally started to wane—because those waves kept coming in slow bursts—he lifted his head. Her eyes were open. On him. So blue.

Once? He was supposed to be satisfied with one night with her?

No damn way.

Chapter Five

Clark Eastbridge didn’t normally visit prisoners at night. He didn’t normally pull strings to get special treatment. It just wasn’t his way.

But this wasn’t a normal situation.

He waited, his foot tapping a bit nervously, as the guard brought the prisoner to him.

The overhead lights glinted off Daniel Duvato’s red hair. The guy was dressed in the usual orange prison garb, and a dark line of stubble covered Duvato’s jaw. When he saw that Clark was waiting for him, the guy’s eyes narrowed in fury.

“Not the freaking ADA again.” Duvato jutted up his chin. “Not supposed to talk with you unless my lawyer is here!”

Right, that was the drill. And that was also why—

The door burst open. Phil Dunnway rushed into the room, suit rumpled, tie unknotted. “Don’t say a word!” Phil blasted to his client. “If there’s a deal on the table, I want to hear it.”

Christ. Clark shook his head. “This is a courtesy visit, nothing more. Nothing less.” It was a visit that he was already seriously regretting. But after that near accident with Sophie right outside of the courthouse, he’d just had to pay a visit to Duvato. “There’s been a threat against you, Mr. Duvato.”

The guy just laughed. Another asshole with a god complex. The fellow probably thought he was bulletproof, even in jail.

“A man has threatened to kill you, Mr. Duvato,” Clark continued doggedly. “I wanted you to know—”

“I’m locked up!” A guard had shoved Daniel into the chair across from Clark. Daniel lifted his cuffed hands and pointed toward the guard. “I got these bozos around me twenty-four, seven. I don’t think I have to worry about any threats.”

Actually, he did. Jail hits were all too common. Anyone could be taken out, anywhere, if the price was right.

“Wait, wait!” Phil leaned forward, slapping his briefcase on the table in front of Duvato. “Is this threat credible? Is my client in danger?” He puffed up his chest. “Because if so, I want him moved to a new facility, immediately!”

Yes, he’d kind of thought that might be the guy’s plan. “I don’t know if the threat is credible yet.”

Phil frowned. “Who made the threat?”

That was where this got interesting. With his gaze on Duvato, Clark said, “Sophie Sarantos was attacked last night.”

Daniel leapt to his feet. The guard instantly shoved him back down. When his cuffed hands hit the table, they collided with Phil’s briefcase. The briefcase tumbled off the edge of the table, and Phil hurried to collect the spilled contents.

Sophie’s briefcase had spilled, too. Notes had been all across that road. But Sophie had been all right.

“A man broke into her home. He told her that he was going to kill you. Sophie reported the threat to me. She wanted to make sure you were safe.” Which made no damn sense to him, considering that D

uvato had tried to kill Sophie.

“Is she okay?” Duvato asked, and some of the hard bravado had actually left his face.

Clark could only shake his head. “You tried to kill her, and now you want to know if someone else hurt her?”

Duvato tried to rise again. And, again, the guard shoved him right back down.

“I liked Sophie. Always did,” Duvato gritted out. “What I did…it had to be done. It was the only way to punish Ethan.”

Right. Ethan Barclay. Clark held no love for that SOB. He’d been trying to nail the guy for crimes, hell, for years. But Barclay was too good at covering his tracks.

With Sophie’s help, no doubt. He’d long suspected she and Ethan were lovers.

“The cop told me there would be no deal,” Duvato said suddenly. “That lady detective…”

Faith Chestang. Yes, Clark knew her. She’d been the one to run lead on Duvato’s case.

“But she’s friends with Ethan. Another cop on the take with him. So she doesn’t want to hear what I’ve got to say about my ex-boss.” Duvato’s eyes gleamed. “You want to hear what I got to say? Because I’d sure like to see him tossed into a cell right beside mine.”

He hadn’t come there for a deal. He’d gone there to give Duvato a warning. But now…Maybe I can put that bastard Barclay away. “I might be interested,” Clark allowed.

Phil surged forward. “No! Not yet!” He held his briefcase in front of him like it was some kind of shield. “I have to speak with my client first. I need to know just what kind of evidence he’s got. That way I can see—”

Clark waved his hand, cutting through Phil’s words. “You want to see just what you can get. Well, here, I’ll save you some trouble. I’ll tell you what I want. I want enough evidence to convict Ethan Barclay—not for a year, not for two years.” That just wouldn’t cut it. “I want to make sure he won’t be a threat to anyone else ever again, do you understand? So don’t jerk me around. Give me something real, and in return, I’ll try to make sure that the next twenty years aren’t a complete living hell for Duvato.”

Then Clark marched for the door. “I’ll be back at nine a.m. Either you’ll have evidence for me or there will never be talk of another deal again.” Because he already had Duvato dead to rights, thanks to a confession the guy had given while in custody. But to get Ethan Barclay? Oh, hell, he might just bend a few rules.