Riding the Storm (19 page)

Marked
with an exact replica of her tattoo.

Dev
would probably kill him, but Creed couldn't help himself. With Annika's hand
still firmly at his throat, his at the back of her neck and his libido still on
high speed from watching her in the shower, his mouth plundered hers.

She
was half responding, half struggling, and there was no way he was going to let
her go so easily. If she wanted to, really wanted to, she could break his grip.
He made it just hard enough for her to talk herself into being held captive by
his kiss.

He
loved this part, the kissing, because the sensations were always there,
everything just starting to heighten, and he couldn't pretend anymore that he
didn't think about Annika most of the time he was with other women… since the
first time he'd seen her in Dev's office.

Trying
to bed the boss's girlfriend wasn't the best way to keep a job, but there was
no way he was stopping. Not when Annika's hips swayed against his or her
breasts pressed into his chest when he ran the ball piercing in his tongue
along the roof of her mouth, and it took every ounce of self-control not to
reach up and brush her nipple. Because that would make her run.

He'd
never known Annika to be afraid of anything, so for her to have such a
fight-or-flight response to his kiss intrigued him. Especially after her
forceful orgasm.

He
was going to have to bring her in gently.

As gently
as he could with her hand tight against his throat. She could kill him with her
pinky, and somehow that only added to the thrill.

He
reluctantly pulled his mouth off hers, noted her rapid breathing with more than
a little satisfaction.

He
probably shouldn't have smiled, as that only made her increase her grip on his
trachea. "Afraid I'll make you scream?" he asked.

"You're
pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"Aren't
you?" He let his hand caress the back of her neck for a second, right
before he pulled her back in for another kiss. And this time, she didn't fight
him. Much.

He
didn't bother to mention that he knew she'd yelled his name in the shower. And
he wasn't going to be the first to let go. She still held his throat with one
hand and braced herself against the wall with the other. With his right hand
still firm on the back of her neck, the left was free to roam, along her lower
back and then up her side to cup the swell of her breast.

She
jerked back slightly as his fingers brushed a taut nipple through her shirt,
and he swore she moaned into his mouth.

So
much for hating him. Her grip on his throat slowly eased, until her hands
clutched his shoulders and she pushed her breast against his hand.

He
eased his hand up her shirt, teased her nipples without barriers, and she
moaned again, a soft, keening sound that vibrated through him as his fingers
neared the promised land.

He
slid a finger over the taut peak through the lace of her bra, and she pulled
her mouth off his but stayed close, pressed her forehead to his and whispered,
"God, that's good."

"It's
going to get even better," he murmured as he unhooked the front clasp on
the bra so he could worry one bare nipple between his finger and thumb, the way
she'd done it herself. She clutched his shoulders hard, as if she was still
fighting to stay in control and losing the battle fast, and then she let her
hands wander down toward his waist. She yanked his T-shirt up, out of his
pants, her cool palms like heaven against his overheated skin, and she kissed
him again.

The
right side of his body throbbed—sweet, aching agony as she sucked his bottom
lip between her teeth and raked her nails lightly down both sides of his chest,
pausing to play with the ring on his left nipple.

When
he moved his hands down to the waist of her pants, her mouth moved off his, her
lips lingering on his cheek and then his neck, and he got it—she was going to
follow the tat down as far as it went. He wondered if she'd stop at the waist,
catch her breath and get herself together, or if she'd follow the trail all the
way down.

She
eased away from his hand, which had nearly worked the zipper of her pants down,
and reluctantly he let her. He was shivering, splitting nearly in two as she
ran her tongue along his chest to trace the intricate tribal patterns that were
coming alive under her caress.

When
he'd come downstairs, his plan had been to tell her that they were pretty much
screwed in this house, that Kat mentioned that the spirit didn't plan on
letting them out, and that when he'd tried the doors and windows, they wouldn't
open. He also had no cell service and the main phone lines were down.

He
was going to have to force the spirit to talk to him more, the way it had
earlier. Him, and not Annika. It was the only way to keep both her and Dev
safe.

Whether
they escaped now or later, the danger in the house was still the same. The
closer Annika stayed to him, the safer she'd be.

Shit,
he couldn't have made up a better excuse if he'd tried. He hadn't planned on
getting screwed
this
way—although, hey, a man could dream. And Annika
dropping to her knees in front of him was a definite sight worth seeing.

She
traced the pattern under the waist of his pants with one finger while she used
her other hand to unbutton and unzip the soft leather. She was going to be in
for a few surprises, the first of which she seemed delighted with. He'd always
found underwear to be overrated anyway.

She
yanked the pants down to his ankles. He watched as she tried to take it all in
at once, the way the tat wound around his right thigh and buttock, down his
calf and across his foot.

But
she hadn't gotten that far, because she was busy staring, openmouthed, at his
dick.

"Oh,
my God," she breathed. "How… Didn't this hurt?"

He
shook his head slowly. "I was born with this."

Her
hand caressed the right side of his shaft, decorated with the same types of
patterns, and the rest of his explanation caught in his throat. He pulled in a
harsh breath as she explored his balls, her hand pausing to cup the tattooed
one.

"What
are the symbols?"

"Native
American in origin. And I don't have the patience to explain each and every one
to you right now."

Her
hand circled his cock, stroked it even as he leaned his head back against the
wall and groaned. "That's nice, baby. You going to do some screaming for
me?"

"I
figured I'd even the score first," she said.

Evening
a score had never felt so damned good, especially when she rolled her tongue
around the head of his cock and his eyes rolled to the back of his skull.

"Yeah.
Oh, yeah," he murmured, just as she shoved his thighs apart impatiently so
she could gain easier access to his balls. Her tongue ran down the right side
of his shaft, like she knew how much more sensitive it was, and she continued
the path down to his right ball. She suckled it gently, took it inside her
mouth, and his thighs began to shake.

A
long, low moan escaped his throat. She laughed softly and did it again. Fuck,
she wanted to hear him howl. And if she kept up this slow, sweet torture, that
wasn't going to be a problem.

He
brushed one hand over the silken bob of her hair, then let his fingers twine
through the soft strands as if that could keep him from sinking to the ground
as she took him deep into her mouth.

The
warm, wet heat of her mouth and lips and tongue, combined with the way she
alternately stroked his balls and suckled him, was rapidly causing him to lose
control. As always in sexual situations beyond simple masturbation, his senses
started to overload, and he began to straddle the line between pleasure and
pain.

He
was never sure which one would win out, but he knew that it was rarely
pleasure. Sex was always a little bit like a game of Russian roulette.
Sometimes, it would hurt less than others, but the hope for that perfect
pleasure kept him in constant search-mode, made him resent Kat more and more,
since she was at the root of it all.

Her
way of reminding him not to get too close with any other women but her.

First,
the roar began in his ears, shutting out any other sound, and then his sight
began to dim. He closed his eyes to block that out, and lost his sense of
smell.

You're
shutting down, man.

His
fingers went numb and he couldn't tell if his hands were still in her hair.

Sensation
would be the last to go and he prayed that the feel of her mouth milking him
would not fade away. Not this time.

And
suddenly, he was aware of the light zing her fingers created as they dug into
his right hip. His cock throbbed and he opened his eyes, and the roar in his
ears stopped as he came, a shivering, screaming orgasm that pulsed pleasure to
every single part of his body, until he was sure he'd pass out. And he might've
too, for just a few seconds, but he caught himself before he slid down the wall
completely.

Annika
was already on her feet, and he reached out to her, to pull her close. Because
he was more than prepared to finish this job.

"We're
not done, Annika," he said, his voice rough and heavy.

She
brushed her hair back from her face. "Uh, yeah, we're done. I figured if I
took the edge off for you, you'd leave me alone."

She
looked so serious, even though her cheeks were still flushed and her nipples
taunted him through the thin fabric of her T-shirt. She wanted him, that much
he knew. What was holding her back was an entirely different story.

"This
is about Dev, isn't it?" he asked as he yanked his pants up.

Annika
spun back around, her unspent lust sparking frustrated anger, but shit, she
couldn't have sex with him, and she couldn't tell him the truth. Going down on
him had been a bad idea. She'd hoped to disperse some of the raging sexual
tension between them, but it seemed to have made things worse.

"Yeah,"
she said, looking him in the eye, because she was one hell of a great liar,
"it is. I don't screw around on him."

"You've
gotta be kidding me." He gaped at her like she was a fucking idiot.
"You can't possibly think he's faithful to you."

"What
I think is none of your business."

She
pushed past him, but he seized her arm and brought her back around, his
expression a conflicting mix of emotions. He respected Dev, but probably
thought she was getting a raw deal, how stand-up of him.

"He's
not, you know." His fingers tightened around her forearm, and she cursed
her inability to shock him. Then again, if she could shock him, she'd never
have allowed things between them to go as far as they just had. "He's in
love with someone else. And he's got women. Shit, the other day I had to cool
my heels for twenty minutes because Marlena was blowing him in his
office."

"I
don't care what he does with his secretary." Hell, she didn't care what
Dev did with any of the women—and, occasionally, men—he slept with, because he
always left them in bed to be with her when she showed up in the middle of the
night. And yeah, she knew all about his long-lost love, more than even Dev
probably realized she knew.

This
wasn't really about Dev, though. This was about not sleeping with Creed,
something she wanted badly enough to make the situation dangerous.

"You
love him, don't you?"

She
jerked out of his grip, looked him in the eye, and this time didn't have to
lie. "Yes."

She
loved him like a too-old brother or a too-young father. He was family, the only
one she had. She'd slept with him more times than she could count, both of them
fully clothed and tangled together on his couch, where they'd fallen asleep
after she'd cried on his shoulder.

No
one but Dev had seen her cry since she was a toddler. He alone knew her
history, and he alone had managed to reach her when she'd been little more than
a wild animal for months after ACRO rescued her. A danger to everyone, she'd
been kept in isolation, and had done some serious damage to anyone who came
within reach. Even Dev had suffered sprains, dislocations and electrical burns.

He
could have had her put down. Instead, he'd saved her. First from the CIA, and
then from herself.

"You're
going to get hurt."

She
laughed at that. "Why do you give a rat's ass? And don't tell me you care
if my little heart gets broken."

"I
care, because if Dev has you, no one else has a shot."

She
didn't have time to be stunned by his admission, because he raked his gaze over
her as he angled a little closer, close enough that she could smell leather and
sweat and sex, making her wetter than she already was.

"Look,"
he said, his voice low and rough, "I don't know what's going on between
you two, but he's not here. We are. And there's definitely something going on
between us."