On the Way Home (13 page)

“I can’t stop,” he said in a half shout.

I wondered idly if Katie could hear him. Part of being a good neighbor was not making a lot of noise, so I pulled back. I undressed slowly, loving his gaze on me and the little moans he made as the air whispered over his damp cock. My panties came off last, and I folded them so that the little wet spot I’d left would fit right on his tongue.

“Bite down,” I said, and he did, with a little sucking noise that told me he tasted my arousal. He drank it down. “And keep your teeth together. If those panties fall out before we’re done, you’re going to be in trouble.”

His hips rocked forward. He nodded his agreement, gaze unfocused and glazed with arousal. Most of the fabric hung over his chin, only the dampest part in his mouth, held there by his teeth. It was another thing that could have seemed silly, pink lace hanging from his lips. On him it just looked obscene, as if he’d torn it off some unsuspecting girl’s ass. As if he were a wild animal, a wild sex animal who ripped undergarments on a rampage.

I found a condom in the side table and rolled it on him. “Put your hands behind your back.” He did as instructed and scooted into the V of my legs when I perched on the bed. “Now fuck me. Good and hard. Fuck me until I come, but don’t let go of those panties. And you don’t get to come until I do.”

It took him a little while to get his cock lined up. He didn’t have his hands to help guide him in or position my hips. And I certainly wasn’t going to help. The height didn’t quite match up, but that only made it sweeter. I could sit there with my legs spread, half reclined on the bed. Meanwhile he had to bend his legs in an awkward angle and nudge at my swollen pussy lips.

Even once he was lined up, I knew he was holding back, afraid to slam into me, afraid to get the angle wrong and hurt me instead. I suppose I could have reached down and helped, but I did something else instead. I pinched his nipple. And then when he made a little groaning sound—a sound that had my pussy clenching around the tip of his cock—I pinched him even harder. I even used my nails a little, grinding them into his skin until he had no choice at all, until his hips bucked and he was fully impaled inside me.

It took him by surprise, ending up inside me. It must have felt good, because the muscles in his neck corded and his eyes rolled back. He almost dropped the panties then, but he managed to catch them—by the curl of his tongue, I thought. He sucked in a breath and practically chewed on the fabric as he struggled to hold on.

Watching him fight and clench and wriggle in sensual torture was the hottest thing I’d ever seen. I felt electrified, current running all over my skin in a sexual barbed wire I couldn’t get out of. So I did the only thing left to me: I reached my fingers down and circled my clit. I played with myself until my pussy released hot liquid, bathing his cock. Even through the condom, he felt that, his body tensing. The muscles in his arms were particularly bulging. He must have been working hard to keep his hands behind his back.

I slapped the side of his ass. “Move, soldier.”

A furious sound emerged as he pulled away and pushed back in. He was so fucking close to coming. The plum color suffused his cheeks again—and yes, it did match the head of his cock. It was hurting him to hold back, but this was one pain I wouldn’t regret giving him.

I eased up on my clit so I could last longer. I made him fuck me for fifteen more minutes, sometimes changing the angle so that I backed away from my orgasm. All the while, I pinched and flicked and licked his chest, drawing him ever closer to climax. The sounds he made grew frantic and tortured. He begged me with incoherent sounds, muffled by my panties, his message clear. I need to come. Please let me come. On one particularly vicious stroke of my nails down his chest, the choked sound was mournful. I’m already coming. I’m sorry I disobeyed you. Forgive me.

When he could open his eyes, I gave him my sternest look. “You couldn’t even help yourself, could you? Just rutted like a dog until you came, not thinking about me at all.”

I could have sworn his cock twitched inside me, even softening as it was. He loved this shit, and God help me, so did I.

He turned and opened his mouth, letting the panties fall to the floor. His voice was raw. “I couldn’t hold back.”

“On your knees, then. I’ll just have to teach you how to please a woman. And not with that selfish cock of yours.”

When he knelt by the bed, it reminded me of prayer. But he wasn’t asking favors of a disinterested God, wasn’t reading his tattered Bible right now. I pressed his face into my pussy and made him lick up the mess he had made. I came three times that way, imagining his tongue forming ancient words of communion and demise.
Confess your sins,
he would say, and I rode his face to a blinding orgasm.
Pray for each other,
he would say, and I yanked his hair until he groaned, sending vibrations through my clit.

By the time my legs cramped from staying open that long, he was hard again. I bent him over the side of the bed and started playing all over again.

Chapter Ten

Clint

I watched her sleep, her eyelids moving as she dreamed her way through an afternoon nap.

Pretty sure I was the creepy guy in this scenario, sitting on a chair in the corner, elbows on my knees, watching her. Like when I’d followed her in the truck. I was becoming a full-fledged psycho, and I had to wonder if it was related to my recent mission. I’d heard of it happening to guys. They passed the psych evals, then went home and dragged their wife behind a couch to take cover from an imaginary grenade.

Not me, though. You never think that will be you. But as I sat there, I couldn’t have told you if I was going through some kind of stress hallucination. Was there really a threat to Della? Or did my mind make that up because that was how it viewed the world now—through violence, through fear?

I stood and kissed her cheek before settling the blanket tighter around her. She sighed softly and curled her hands into fists beneath her chin, childlike.

Della and I had fucked for hours, literally. The last time she’d come, shaking and shuddering beneath me, she’d drifted off to sleep almost immediately. I’d still had my dick inside her, hard, primed to come, but I’d pulled out. Didn’t want to disturb her. I hoped she slept for a long time, deep and restorative.
The sleep of the dead.
That was what my foster mother used to call it.

If another guy had told me he was worried about going off the deep end, I’d have told him to call the counselors at the VA. Make an appointment. Don’t do anything rash. Keep a cool head. You know those things are the safe thing to do, the smart thing. But I was too wired to fight, too certain this was true.

Something bad was going to happen, and it would happen soon.

I heard the distant buzz of my cell phone from the guest room. I left Della to sleep, shutting the door behind me. James’s grinning face flashed on my screen.

“What did you find?”

James was all business, which told me it was bad. “Had to trace it through a bunch of shell corporations. Fucking money trail. They put up a lot of roadblocks just to find out who owned that land.”

“Pretty suspicious.”

“Yeah, especially when one connection kept showing up. Dmitri Ozerov.”

“Fuckin’ A.”

I could almost hear James’s nod over the line. He’d been my contact when I was undercover. I was in the field, puffed up and acting like some kind of badass. Didn’t have access to my laptop or anything. That was what James was for. I’d feed him information, which he’d pass on to the higher-ups. He’d also clue me in about the people and their businesses so I’d be able to work them better.

We both recognized the name Dmitri Ozerov. Not a major player compared to the guys we took down, but when you were talking about international terrorism affiliations, everyone was trouble.

“That must’ve been who I saw,” I said. “Didn’t get a close look at him, but I wouldn’t have recognized him anyway. We got a recent photograph?”

“I’m sending you one now, along with a domestic rap sheet. Lots of shit going on here. Drugs. Guns. Flesh trade.” There was a weighted pause. “How’d your girl get mixed up in all this?”

She’s not my girl. I wasn’t sure that was true. She felt like mine, even if I shouldn’t get involved that fast. Shouldn’t fall that fast. I’d always fallen fast, and that was before I met Della. She was too damned perfect, like my wet dreams and deepest hopes come to life.

“I don’t know,” I admitted to James—and admitted to myself that I didn’t know her at all. Just saw her sexy little swagger and the mixture of wonder and fear in her eyes. She was a contradiction, and I wanted her, all of her, no part left undesired.

“What’s next?” James asked. It was something he’d said to me on those untraceable phone calls while I was undercover.

“Find out the connection.”

Another pause. “Snoop around on Della. Don’t you think that’s…”

Creepy? Yeah. “Just do it. I think this whole thing is going to come down on our heads.”

“Wait, you don’t mean the list, right?”

I shrugged, suspicion a tight knot in my chest. She doesn’t owe you loyalty. No, but I wanted her to. “I just think it’s a little fucking suspicious that my life consists of Pop-Tarts and late-night television for twenty-one years. Then suddenly I’m in possession of a criminal list and I happen to meet a beautiful girl with ties to some arms dealer.”

“I don’t know, man. People run into trouble all the time. Doesn’t have to be related.”

“No, but I want you to find out how she knows him. How often she sees him.” Whether she’s fucking him. But that would be implied. If there was any information like that available, James would pass it on. He always had before.

“You ever heard of imposter syndrome?” James said with his usual attitude. “Means you don’t think you’re good enough to deserve something. So maybe you fuck it up on purpose because then you’re back in your comfort zone.”

“Thank you, Dr. Phil. Are you finished?”

“Not really, because I’m saying if she gets wind that you had her investigated—”

“This isn’t an imposter-syndrome thing. It’s not a PTSD thing.” I’m not fucking crazy. “There’s a threat here. I saw him with her, okay? She wasn’t happy to see him.”

“All right. Okay. If you say that’s how it is…”

“I’m saying so,” I said firmly. “Anyway, you’ve seen Della. It’s not stupid to question why she’s with me. She’s a ten and a half. Would you really think I deserve her?”

“Hell fucking yes,” James said, as serious as I’d ever heard him. “If anyone deserves to find a nice, beautiful girl to fuck all night, it’s you.”

Shit. My chest panged with some feeling I didn’t recognize. My throat tightened, and I had to end the conversation. “Find out the connection, okay? I need to know what I’m working with.”

So maybe you fuck it up on purpose because then you’re back in your comfort zone.

After hanging up, I went to my open duffel bag and picked up the hard case inside. Flipped it open. Stared at the purple ribbon and glinting gold and wondered if it would ever mean something good to me. All I remembered was blood and fear and the certainty that I was going to die. Shrapnel had gone deep into my arm, splicing the nerves and spilling dark liquid down the front of my gear. Smoke and dust and sweat turned the air into a solid material, one I struggled to breathe. William and I weren’t friends. I had barely recognized him as another operative with the shaggy hair and long-ass blonde beard. He’d looked otherworldly like that, pale eyes, pale skin. He’d fit right in.

At the end, when we’d gathered enough evidence to convict and the military force arrived to shut them down, I was supposed to get out. It was too dangerous to stick around, in case the terrorists made me for a spy. But then someone had suspected William, which was of course a valid concern. They tortured him a little. Some burns. Bashed his knee in. Kicked him around until he stopped opening his eyes. My choice was to take him with me or leave him to die.

So I’d taken him with me and disobeyed a direct order to do it. Didn’t that beat all? Disobeyed an order and got a fucking medal. I couldn’t get over that.

It made me feel like I’d been doing the right thing when I kept that data to myself. It had come from William, with a whispered warning about two days before he’d gotten himself tortured. Don’t trust anyone with this. Turned out to be good advice. He still hadn’t come out of his coma, last I heard.

I hadn’t trusted anyone since then either, except James. And Della. I didn’t want to be making a mistake with her. Whatever we had going—the sex, the chatting over coffee in our pjs, the fixing up her house—I wanted it to be real.