Ghost Dance (Tulsa Thunderbirds Book 3) (11 page)

He set me down and glared at me, but he stalked out of the bathroom. A minute later, he returned with my chair and set it in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said, doing my best to remain civil. “I’ll handle it from here and yell when I’m done.”

He clomped out of the bathroom, slamming the door closed behind him. I quickly dealt with emptying my bladder and cleaning up all my supplies before stowing everything in my purse.

“Dima?” I called out, waiting for his response.

Nothing. Not even a bunch of banging.

Maybe he’d gone back downstairs.

I wheeled over and opened the door, poking my head out to look around. He wasn’t there, but I could hear a few sounds coming from the kitchen again. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to explore a bit on my own. If I could see how he lived, maybe I would understand him better. That was my hope.

To the right, I found his bedroom. Cream walls. Leather furniture. Soft brown fabrics on everything, like fur, that looked warm and comforting. It was Spartan and neat, with nothing out of place.

I backed out and opened the door to one of the other bedrooms. It was piled high with cardboard boxes. There wasn’t a single piece of furniture to be found, only boxes upon boxes. My fingers itched to open one and take a peek, but that might be too invasive. Leaving the room, I closed the door.

The other room must be the one where I’d be sleeping, then. I opened that door…and found nothing. White walls. Hardwood floors. And nothing at all inside the room.

“Looking for something?” he asked. Or growled. There was a definite surly flavor to his tone, and it turned me on in the best and worst sort of way.

I spun around, dropping my grip on the door handle. My heart was pounding so hard he had to be able to hear it. “I called for you. You didn’t answer or come to help me.”

Then I saw him, and it
definitely
turned me on.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, hoping the pain would help return me to my senses.

“Making lunch,” he said. He stood at the top of the stairs, arms crossed in what would have been an intimidating posture if not for the shoulder leaning against the wall.

“I didn’t hear you come up. You should’ve let me know you were there.”

“You called for help. I’m here. What else do you want from me?” The way he glowered at me threatened to turn every bone in my body to mush. It was hot. Even with the beard, it was hot, and probably not in the way he intended. Holy moly, I was in trouble. “And you should ask before you snoop in my house,” he added.

He had a point, but I wasn’t inclined to concede it. “So is this where I’m sleeping?” I asked, sweeping an arm toward the vast open space behind me.

“You sleep in bed. I sleep on sofa.”

“That doesn’t quite seem fair. There’s no reason you shouldn’t sleep in your own bed.”

“So I put mouthy woman in wheelchair on sofa? Yeah,
what a guy
.” Sarcasm dripped out of his pores.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that he was tossing my own words back at me.

“Everything so fucking funny,” he mumbled, picking me up again so he could carry me back downstairs. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Why don’t you have a guest bed?” I asked, refusing to give in just yet. I kind of liked the idea of getting burned if it turned out to be anything like I imagined. I let my fingertips trail through the silky-smooth strands of his beard, marveling again at the texture.

He jerked his head to get me to stop. “No need. Sergei likes hotel.”

“No one else comes to visit you? Not ever?”

“Only you.” He dumped me on the couch again and went up again for my wheelchair.

“I’m not taking your bed from you!” I called up after him. “It won’t kill me to sleep—”

“Why everything has to be a fight with you?” he roared, stopping halfway up the flight.

“Why do you always have to answer my questions with more questions?”

“Why you’re always touching my beard? Poking and prodding and prying. Little snoop. Can’t keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

“Because you’re hot, Dima!” The words came out before I thought them through. “You’re hot. Even your stupid beard and the way you constantly glare at me and push me away. It’s all hot, and I’m hot and bothered. Okay?”

For a moment, he stared at me, his eyes dark and angry in a way that only intensified my attraction. “Fucking mouthy woman.”

I bit my tongue to keep from grinning. He didn’t have the first clue how mouthy I could be. Although, if he wasn’t careful, he might find out. The angrier he got, the hornier I got, which could prove to be quite a conundrum. Then he spun and marched up the rest of the stairs, coming back to set my chair near me.

He came too close. Shouldn’t have done that.

I managed to get a fistful of beard hair and drag him down to me. Everything exploded the second my lips touched his.

I bit his lower lip. He hissed, opening his mouth to let me in as I lay back, pulling him on top of me.

This was probably a bad idea. This had to be a very, very bad idea.

But I didn’t care.

He caught part of his weight with an arm against the back of the couch, but most of his body fell upon me, burying me with the most delicious warmth. He kissed me back, hard and angry, his beard scraping against my chin in a way that only made me want more.

His hand dug into my hip hard enough I could feel it as he spread my legs and settled himself between my thighs, his weight pressing me farther into the cushions.

Both hands splayed, I took in the ridges and planes of his chest and back, ripping his shirt free so I could touch flesh.

Kisses. And nibbles. He rained them down the column of my neck, alternating, just sporadic enough that the sting of each bite took me by surprise. He bit harder than before when he reached my clavicle.

I cried out, and he whipped his head up to meet my gaze.

His eyes were fire. Blazing. Angry. Consuming me.

“It hurts?” he demanded.

I sucked in buckets of air, my chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven waves. “Yes.”

“Good or bad?”

I didn’t even have to think. “Good.”

Then his lips were on mine again, the kiss punishing and furious and desperate. I swallowed his taste, dark enough to leave me drunk with need, and so erotic I felt everything inside turn to liquid heat.

“More,” I demanded. Now that I’d gotten my hands under his shirt, I worked my way around to his back and delved beneath the waist of his sweatpants. His ass was hard and tight, muscled perfection with just enough jiggle to tempt me to slap it. Instead, I squeezed, and he ground his pelvis into me.

He nipped my earlobe and groaned. “I want to fuck you. Want to fuck you hard and fast. Give you better use for that fucking mouth.”

Again, there was no need to think. I gave him the only answer I could.

“Yes. Fuck me.” I moaned as his hand slipped up inside my shirt. He kneaded my breast through the thin fabric of my bra for a moment, then pinched my nipple. I could barely get out the next word. “Please.”

WHY THE HELL
didn’t I keep any condoms down here? Probably because I never brought women back to my place. I always went home with them so I could leave whenever I was ready to move on. No need to have them easy to get to at home. I kept a stash in my dresser and made sure to take some with me if I thought I’d be hooking up with someone for the night.

At the moment, I was cursing myself for not having protection where I needed it. I peeled myself off London and picked her up, desperate to get inside her as soon as humanly possible. She licked my neck, suckling the scar hidden under my tattoo so hard I nearly tripped on the stairs. This time, she was too busy groping me to help carry her weight, but that was a trade-off I was more than happy to make. She dug into my flesh until her fingernails practically marked me.

I set her on the bed and pried her hands off me so I could fetch the box of condoms out of my dresser drawer. At the last second, I saw the box of dental dams beside it and grabbed those, too, just in case I could slow myself down enough to make use of them. By the time I returned, she’d already stripped her shirt over the top of her head and tossed it to the floor. Her body was everything I’d imagined it to be and more. Long limbs. Strong, toned muscle. Small, pert tits I couldn’t wait to get my mouth on. Some men might be intimidated by a woman as fit as she was. Not me. It turned me on so much I could hardly stand it.

Tossing the protective gear on the bed beside her, I straddled her lap, pushing her back so I completely covered her again.

Her long brown hair fanned out over the bedspread, and she yanked hard on my beard again, forcing me down to her for another kiss. Her lips were already pink and swollen, but she attacked me with as much fervor as I’d attacked her moments ago.

I raked my fingers up her ribs, digging them beneath the material of her bra to shove it out of my way. When I cupped both breasts in my palms, she arched up into me. Her tits were already hard enough to cut glass, the nubs biting into my flesh as much as my fingers bit into hers.

I broke off the kiss with a nip to her lower lip that had her crying out. That was my chance to work my way down her body to enjoy those tits. I palmed one breast and flicked my tongue over the nipple a few times before suckling the whole thing.

London let out a groan and pushed her hands against the back of my head, driving me onto her and directing me where she wanted me. “Fuck, Dima, that’s good. I’m so wet.”

I nipped her gently with my teeth before moving to the other breast. “Not just mouthy.
Dirty
mouth.” And, damn it to hell, I liked it.

She was so sensitive her reactions were driving me wild. Somehow, her entire body bucked beneath me. I didn’t think she had enough use of her legs to accomplish it, but I wouldn’t complain.

With my free hand, I undid the fly of her jeans while I worked on her other tit. I slipped my fingers inside her panties, past her curls, to find her as slick and hot as my wildest fantasies. Using only the tips of my fingers, I spread her lower lips and found her clitoris, circling it a few times in the same rhythm as my tongue on her rock-hard tit.

Her breathing turned shallow. Sharp, staccato bursts. She lifted her head and dragged me up by the hair until our eyes met. “Stop teasing me and fuck me.”

I grinned, but I didn’t stop. I kept circling that little nub of nerve endings until I felt her legs shaking beneath me, watching her eyes darken and roll back in her head. “You feel that?”

“Yes, I fucking feel that. I want to feel
you
. Inside me.”

Discovering how much sensation she still had might be the best present ever. For some reason, I’d assumed she couldn’t feel anything at all below a certain point. And now that I knew she could, I was endlessly fascinated. I wanted to devour her and watch her every reaction. I wanted to tease her in every way I could imagine, waiting to see how she’d respond.

Still watching her eyes, I delved lower and slipped a finger inside her. “And this? You feel this?” I pumped my digit in and out a couple of times, marveling at the sensation of her flesh enveloping me in wet heat.