The Enforcer (Men Who Thrill Book 1) (4 page)

“Where is it? I know it’s around here somewhere,” she mumbled, becoming increasing agitated as the seconds passed.

Rather than sit, I closed the distance between us and placed a stilling hand on hers as she reached for yet another cabinet door. Her fingers were cold and trembling, and I squeezed them tight, hoping to give her warmth and steadiness, to let her know that she wasn’t alone.

My touch broke something in her, and on a loud sob, she pulled her hand from mine and hunched her shoulders, seeming to try and curl into herself. The sobs racked her body, and only intensified when she covered her mouth with her hand.

I didn’t hesitate. I wrapped a hand around her shoulder and pulled her to me, enfolding her in my arms. She didn’t hesitate, either, and pressed her face against my chest and let out a low wail that almost broke my heart. I slid my hands up and down her back, trying to ignore the play of muscle underneath softness as she sobbed. When she returned the embrace and wrapped her arms around me as tight as she could, I couldn’t prevent the hardness of my erection from poking into her soft belly. But if she noticed, she gave no indication and instead held onto me as if for life.

And I did the same. I hated that she’d been put through this, wanted to go find those fucking guys and deliver what I’d promised. But even more, I was relieved that I’d been there, relieved that I was here now and able to provide some measure of comfort. And that, no matter the circumstances, I had a chance to hold her in my arms.

The sheer rightness of having April this close to me, her body filling my arms, her spirit filling my soul, as if she’d been made for me was unspeakably amazing. I’d treasure this moment for however long I managed to live.

I don’t know how long we stayed that way, second or minutes or hours, but gradually she calmed. When she straightened and stepped back, I released her, and she glanced up at me before quickly looking away, though I hadn’t missed the puffiness of her eyes or the embarrassment that burned in them.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping at her face and still resolutely not looking at me.

“Sit,” I said, wrapping a hand around her forearm and leading her to the table.

She complied, and once she’d settled, I went to the cabinets and began rummaging through them myself. I soon came across an unopened bottle of scotch, which I retrieved, along with two glasses, before returning to the table. I poured two healthy shots and slid one toward her.

“Thanks,” she said and then she took a swig.

I did the same, letting the smooth flavor wash over my tongue, and then I just looked at her and waited.

“Grandma wasn’t too big on the ‘spirits’ as she called them, but Granddaddy always kept a bottle around for emergencies.”

“He was a smart man,” I said.

“That he was,” she said.

Silence fell again, and her eyes took on a faraway quality that told me she was again remembering what had happened, a fact that was confirmed when she spoke.

“I just keep seeing that gun, thinking about how we could have died tonight. If you hadn’t been there—”

“Don’t think about it, April,” I said quietly. “You’re fine, and that’s all that matters.”

“How will I go back?” she asked, her voice breaking on the last word.

“You will. It might be hard at first, but you’re strong; you won’t let that scum take something that you love from you,” I said, my voice low but full of conviction.

“How strong I am is yet to be determined, but I hope you’re right,” she said.

“I am.”

She smiled slightly at my words, and then went quiet again, her face taking on a thoughtful expression.

Finally, she said, “How did you do that?”

“What?” I asked.

“You stood up to them like it was nothing, took the gun away like it was no more than child’s play.”

I hadn’t considered how that might look to her; it had been a very,
very
long time since a gun had scared me, but normal people, even tough guys, or guys who thought they were tough, anyway, would have been terrified.

“A leftover skill learned during a misspent youth,” I said.

It was vague, but true, and she laughed out loud at the statement.

“Well, it was impressive, and more than anything, I’m grateful,” she said, her voice turning serious. “I mean it; thank you seems so small, but thank you. You saved my life.”

“No need to thank me. Anyone would have done the same thing.”

“They wouldn’t have,” she said, and as she did, she reached across the table and stroked a finger over the rough rise of my knuckles.

Her touch, so gentle yet so bold, had my arousal roaring back. That simple touch was the most honest I’d felt in as long as I could remember, left me raw and exposed, so much so that I almost wanted to pull away.

Almost, but I didn’t. Couldn’t,
wouldn’t
risk losing the contact between us, however it made me feel. I stared down at my hand, at her fingers as they caressed it, and at some point, though I couldn’t tell when, the air in the room shifted, and her touch changed from exploration to invitation. I looked up and saw that her eyes now glittered with pure, unabashed, and breathtaking desire.

I turned my hand and captured her fingers in mine, letting my thumb trace the softness of her palms, idly wondering how she, who worked so hard, managed to keep her hands so soft. The thought was a distraction, and a poor one at that. I wanted her, deeply, profoundly, but some chivalry I hadn’t known I possessed held me back. She was feeling vulnerable, probably just needed solace, something I’d be happy to give but something that I feared she’d regret.

She closed her fingers and stared at me, eyes imploring. Slowly, slow enough that she could stop me if she wished, I raised my hand, bringing hers with it, and when I reached my mouth, I pressed my lips against her soft brown flesh, unable to resist smiling when she shuddered, this time in pleasure.

And at that simple reaction, I pushed my reservations aside.

Hand still entwined with hers, I stood and she did the same, and without words, she exited the kitchen, my grip still tight in hers as I followed, equally wordlessly. I’d anticipated this moment so many times, imagined what it would be like to take her, but though the excitement and desire coursed through me, I wasn’t frenzied like I’d expected. The opposite in fact. I was calm, for once fully at peace.

She walked quickly down a small hall and then turned to enter the bedroom at the end of it. It was dark, a few subtle lights in the hallway providing the only illumination, so I wasn’t able to make out the decorations. That I couldn’t tear my eyes from her didn’t help, but I didn’t look away, didn’t even blink as she walked to the edge of her bed and then stopped and turned to me, looking up at me with the naked desire in her eyes.

There was shyness, too, a faint hint of nerves that I wanted to smooth away. I released her hand and trailed my fingers up her arm, goose bumps rising on her silky skin in my wake. When I reached her face, I traced the outline of her full lips and then leaned down to kiss her.

She opened her lips on a sigh and then grasped my shoulders for the second time tonight, but this time out of passion and not fear. I ran my hands down her back and then lower down the curve of the full hips that I had fantasized about so many times before resting my hands on her ass, gripping and kneading the heavy globes before I pushed her into me, letting her feel my desire for her.

A moan escaped her throat, and then she returned my touches, letting her hands roam my chest before she reached down farther and cupped my cock, moaning again when she closed her hands around the hard ridge that stood prominent through my pants. It was my turn to moan as she stroked me, gingerly at first and then with increasing fervor. I broke our kiss and stared down at her, the hunger in her glittering gaze I was sure reflecting that in my own.

I grasped at her blouse, pulling it up and over her head and then unbuttoning and pulling her pants down, leaving her in her underwear. I then traced my way up her legs and hooked my thumbs into her panties and pulled them down slowly, groaning as her hair-covered mound was revealed, nestled so beautifully between her strong, full thighs.

I stroked back up her legs, running my fingers up her calves, her knees, and then her thighs before resting my hands on her thighs, gripping the generous flesh tightly.

My desire to see her reaction warred with my desire to see myself touching her, but I found myself unable to look away, especially not at the sharp inhale of breath that made her thighs shake. I decided to trust what I felt and kept my gaze riveted to her body and my large hands on it, the brown of her skin and the softness of it, contrasting with mine.

I loosened my grip and then moved my hands closer to her center tracing her pussy lips with my thumbs and then doing it again when she moaned. She moved one leg a tiny bit, opening for me, and I took the invitation, moving my thumbs back and then forward, the heat from her core scorching. But I didn’t move my fingers; I was enjoying torturing her, and myself, too much, and only did more so when I felt the dampness that clung to her lips intensify.

She’d removed her hands from my cock and now ran them up and down my chest, but I wanted more, wanted to feel her hands against my skin, so I moved mine away, loving her little grunt of protest, and discarded my shirt. I stole a quick glance up and smiled at the pleasure in her eyes. She liked what she saw of me, as I did what I saw of her. When she reached for me again, I avoided her hands and pushed her back on to the bed.

She landed with a little bounce, her legs parting just enough for me to make out a faint picture of her cunt. There were so many things I wanted to with her, to her, but now, seeing her up close, tasting her, was the only thing that mattered. I kneeled down at the edge of the bed and again gripped her thighs, using them to pull her closer and then spreading them so that I could see her.

And she was beautiful, her engorged clit peeking out from her hooded flesh, the dark, damp crisp hairs that covered dark skin hiding the center of her. I used my thumbs to tease her lips again, tracing the inner flesh as I had the outer and repeating the motion when she whimpered. She was so wet, getting wetter by the second, and I could tell from the way she slackened her thighs and opened them wider what she wanted.

But I didn’t give it to her, not yet. Instead I traced her lips again and again, her rich, musky scent rising to me anew with each fresh release of moisture, and her scent only intensified when I swiped down her slit, letting a finger dip into her hole before pulling it back. Heat radiated from her pussy, beckoning me, so I leaned down and kissed her lower stomach softly, loving how the muscles under the flesh of her abdomen pulled tight when I did.

Then I kissed lower, rubbing my lips across the thick hair that covered her mound and then lower, gently caressing her hardened clit with my lips. She twisted under my touch and reached out as if seeking something, grasping desperately at my biceps, squeezing them so tightly that I couldn’t doubt her desire. I kissed her again, and again, and she cried out.

“Please,” she said on a broken whisper that almost had me shooting in my pants.

I couldn’t deny her, or myself, any longer, so I rasped my tongue across her engorged clit at the same time as I pierced her pussy with a finger. Her taste, sweet and spicy, exploded across my tongue, and her tight, silken walls clamped down on my finger. The sensations were more incredible than I could have imagined, and made me wonder that if my finger being gripped by her cunt was so amazing, would I be able to survive actually having my cock inside her.

I’d find out, but for now, the need to taste more of her, feel her tightening around my fingers drove me on. I swiped at her clit in earnest as I pumped one finger, then another into her, the slick glide and her softly panted breaths driving me on. I added another finger and then swooped down, tracing my tongue down one side of her cunt as I moved my fingers inside her.

I traced my tongue up and down, gathering moisture and then moved back up to her clit, teasing the little pearl relentlessly. April went stiff and then cried out, her cunt clamping down tight on my fingers and another gush of moisture issuing from her. And yet I continued, wanting to string out the pleasure, pushing my fingers in and out of her and licking her clit until she lay prone against the bed.

She shivered, and with one last kiss to her clit, I withdrew my fingers and then slid my body up hers, again kissing her mound, her stomach, her bra-covered tits, and then finally, her lips. She returned my kiss and reached up to grasp my head, letting her fingers curl around the short hair at the back of my head. Then she moved her hand down my chest, tracing her thumb around my nipple, twining her fingers in the hair that covered my chest and abs, and then cupping my cock as she had before.

I broke the kiss and grasped her wrist, pulling her hand away as I stared down her. Through the glazed pleasure in her eyes, I saw surprise.

“Let me—” she started on a soft, husky whisper.

“No. That was for you,” I said, cutting her off.

I was drunk with pleasure, high from the taste of her, the sound of her crying out her release, the feel of her soft hands on my body. And that was enough for me, though my steel-hard cock might have disagreed. But I ignored the need that clawed at me, and though I was as lethargic as I would have been if I’d reached my own climax, I quickly removed my pants, peeled back the covers and tucked her underneath, and then crowded behind her, pressing her soft body against mine as we both drifted to sleep.

Chapter Six

I woke as night was just giving in to day, and as the sun rose over the horizon, I watched April. She was curled into me, an arm thrown across my waist, her fingers against my chest, and one of her legs hooked between mine. The weight of her soft thigh against my hard one, her bra-covered breasts resting against me, and the heat from her body soon had my arousal stirring, the sharp tug of desire washing away any vestiges of sleep.

What would it be like if she were my woman, if I had the freedom to roll atop her and slide my cock home, to watch the play of emotion on her face as she awakened to me fucking her with slow, deep thrusts, or maybe hard, fast ones?