Untouchable (The Blankenships Book 8) (9 page)

When had she closed her eyes? She had no idea. She opened them and looked down at her chest. She’d never been overly blessed in the tits department, but now with gravity on her side and a bra that actually fit, the cups looked over full, like every porn star fantasy, as if they’d just spill free at any moment. His slow movements made her move and sway, and it was sexy as hell.

He teased the opening of her, and she pushed back at him, wanting him so much that it stung. Her pussy was aching and begging, and she had to be wet enough now; she could feel her body swelling with sheer, delighted need, but he was still teasing her. He guided the head of his cock lower, tapping it at her clit as if he was spanking it just a little, and she tossed her head, her hair falling down around her face as she moaned. Could she come like this, in this position? She didn’t know. It seemed too much, somehow, too extreme. Her knees would go weak, and she’d fall.

No. No, she wouldn’t. He would catch her. He always caught her.

“Look,” he said. “Look at yourself in the mirror.”

She looked because he told her to. She looked, and what she saw there was a shock, a wonderful and delighted shock. She saw a girl, a woman, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with lust, her tits all but spilling out of her bra, and he kept doing that thing to her clit, tapping at it, teasing at it, and he was finding a rhythm now, a rhythm that matched her breathing. Her gasping. She was gasping now, eager and desperate, and her hips were twisting towards him because she was still empty, she was still so empty, and she wanted to be full, utterly full, completely full of him.

“Fuck yourself,” he said, and she didn’t know how to not obey him when she felt like this, when her body was this desperate. It was a bit of gymnastics, getting her hand back to her pussy without blocking his access to her clit—in the end, he let his thumb take the place of his cock—and she slid one finger in at first, not wanting to be greedy, not wanting him to think her desperate. But she was, she was so desperate and so eager, and she wanted to show him, show him how hot he made her—and that was a front after all, a silly game, because her pussy needed attention, and if he wasn’t going to fuck her, then she was going to fuck herself.

“Yes,” he crooned behind her, and she looked up in the mirror to see him, to see that while he was spanking her clit with his thumb, he was stroking his cock with long, smooth strokes that had to be driving him mad. His eyes were glued to her tits, and she wondered what he’d do if she could move the cups just enough to free her nipples, but there was no way in hell she was taking her hand away because she had three fingers in her cunt now, and there was this twist as she pulled them out, this sweet spot that made her cry out, and he told her to look at herself again, and she did. She did, and she saw herself as she came, as she spun out, and her knees did go weak, but he was there, he was right here, and he kept her from falling as she spasmed around her own fingers.

She didn’t even have to ask him. As soon as her hand was free, he was there, and he slid into her with that one long stroke that she craved, pushing deep inside of her. “Watch,” he said. “Watch yourself. Watch me fuck you.”

“Yes,” she murmured, and before she braced her hands on the vanity again, she did free her nipples. She felt his hips pulse into her, felt him search for and find the rhythm that he wanted, and then he was slapping into her with a rough, fleshy sound that made her grunt and groan. She had to brace against the vanity to keep from hitting it with her forehead, but she watched him, she watched them together, and it was amazing; it was something entirely other. There was an intensity building deep within her, not another orgasm exactly, but something thick and exquisite and filling.

He didn’t last long; a handful of thrusts, and his carefully constructed rhythm went to pieces. One hand rested on her hips, the other wrapped around her hair, and he fucked her, slapping into her in a series of grunts and thrusts and tight fingers. She watched him in the mirror, watched as his teeth gripped his lower lip, felt his fingers tighten on her hip until she thought they’d bruise, and then his eyes went wide, his nostrils flaring as he spent himself into her. She watched the release of tension and saw how much more it was than just the lust and desire between them. It was all the pain and fear of the last few days, the last few weeks, and it flooded out of him in a rush.

She knew that release all too well. It wasn’t forever; the fear and the strain would return, but right now, it was better. It was just the two of them, tangled together, his fingers idly stroking down her spine, and their eyes locked in the mirror. It was almost like it was the first time they’d seen each other.

“Hi,” she whispered.

He drew out of her, and she straightened up, taking a moment to raise her arms and ease out the kink in her back. Being fucked that way was always harder than it looked in the movies, no matter how good it felt. She turned to him, and let him gather her up in his arms. “Hi,” he murmured back, his lips brushing her hair.

“I thought we were going to have a shower.”

“We are now,” he said.

“And a bath?”

“Think we’ll make it through without falling asleep and drowning?”

“Probably.”

She let him take her into the shower. The stall was stocked with delicious smelling oils and soaps, citrusy and spicy, and she washed him down, scrubbing not just the stench of the last few days and the urgency of their sex off of his skin, but the fear and the stress and the hurry. They weren’t done yet—she knew that much—but they were getting closer.

When she was satisfied that he was whole, intact, and himself again, she let him turn his attention to her body. He was softer with his hands than he had been before, running over her breasts, teasing delicately at her nipples, and tutting over the place on her hip where his fingers had left three long, darkening bruises. He ran his hands down the flat of her belly, rinsing the stickiness out of her, and stroking his fingers over the tops of her thighs. “Question,” he asked. “I promise I’m just asking, not freaking out.”

“Hmm?” She’d draped her head back on his shoulder, letting her eyes close against the little bit of reflected spray that splashed onto her forehead.

“You were on the pill. But we’ve been—traveling for a few days. You probably didn’t bring them with you.”

It was a shivery kind of shock that he had thought of it first. “Crap. Thank you for reminding me. If Zhu can get us legit and faked passports, he must know someone who can scrounge up some birth control pills. I’ll double up, and we’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said. “I wanted to mention it, because it occurred to me that—if it were a year from now, and we had survived all of this, and things were like they are now between us—it just occurred to me that I wouldn’t mind. You know? And I’ve never thought that before. The way I grew up, I never—it just never occurred to me.”

She turned back to him and kissed him, soft but deep, and he held her close as the spray danced over both of them.

After the shower, he led her into the deep tub and turned on the jacuzzi jets. The tub was deep enough that she could almost float, but she draped her hair out over the wooden floor, out of the heat of the water, and let herself sink.

“We’ll make it through this,” Alex said.

She looked over at him, the deep relaxation of the evening slowly blurring into sleepiness for her. She was sated, for now. She was well fed, well fucked, and finally clean. There was no immediate threat to run from or towards, and there would be at least a few days of rest while they planned their next move. She smiled at Alex and gestured idly for him to keep going.

“I know we’ll make it through,” he said, and Zoey could hear the steel in his voice now. “Because there are people who need to pay for what happened to my family. They need to understand that this isn’t how we do things in the civilized world.”

She reached out through the water and took his hand. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

She felt the squeeze of his fingers in hers, and then he laid his head back, too, the hot water jets cementing the relaxation into place.

Tomorrow, they’d get in touch with Leo and Helen. They’d find out as much as they could about what was happening in New York. They’d gather as much evidence as they could from here, and they’d go back to the city with a plan. And then they’d take these bastards down. For Claire. For Olivia. For the twins, for Cindy, and for the people Zoey had never even met who had died because of greed and foolishness. They’d stop it before anyone else got hurt.

“We’re in this together,” she said.

“I never doubted it for a moment.”

Don’t miss the heart-stopping finale

Available Soon!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Evelyn Glass is a native of northern California who currently lives in New England with her wonderful husband and their two rambunctious Corgis. 

Her favorite past times include hiking and reading near the fireplace.

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