by Lora Leigh
She shivered at the caress, her thighs tightening on his, her hips undulating at the subtle pressure of his cock head against the slick folds of her sex.
She needed him there. She needed him to take her. Hard. Fast. Deep.
“I missed this,” he crooned as his lips began to kiss a path down her stomach. “Missed touching you, feeling you against me.”
Her back arched as a tremulous cry tore from her.
“Do you remember it, Chay? So hot it burned us alive? So much pleasure we thought we were dying.”
She remembered it. She remembered all of it. Like an inferno blast that she had convinced herself was no more than her need to escape her pain. It had been so much more though. Because it was hotter this time, the ache deeper. It was Natches. His touch was like an addiction, and the need only grew the longer the separation. There was no going cold turkey. No escaping the effect of it.
“Ahh, so sweet.” His tongue licked over the top of the mound between her thighs. So close to her clit. So close she could feel the heat of it, anticipate the wild ecstasy it could bring her.
When it came, it shattered her. Because it was even brighter, hotter, than she remembered, the pleasure swirled through her fear and dissipated it. The need for control evaporated. She was lost in the pleasure, and there was no other place to be. No other place she ever wanted to be.
His tongue slid around her clit, and he groaned against it.
“So sweet, Chay. You taste like summer.”
Her hands speared into his hair, the thick, silken strands twining around her fingers as she fought to pull him back to her.
And he chuckled against her flesh, a dark, greedy sound. His tongue licked slow and easy through the narrow slit so rich with awakened sensations. Nerve endings came fully alert, too close to the surface of her skin, reveling in his touch again.
She called out his name, her voice hoarse with need, begging him to take her. His hands pushed her thighs farther apart, his head dipped, and his tongue filled her. Ecstasy nearly shattered inside her. So close. She was so close.
“Please.” She moaned, feeling her release, so close, almost there. Oh God, she needed to come. She needed that wild explosion tearing through her, the release she had only known one other time, had only known with Natches.
“Are you mine, Chaya?” His voice was a dark, seductive croon, pulling her in as he licked again, drawing her taste to him, stroking her into an abyss of sensation and pleasure.
She would give him anything for this. Be anything he wanted as long as she had this.
“Yours.” She was barely aware of the word tearing from her lips. “Always yours, Natches. Oh God, I’ve always been yours.”
He paused, a short moment of stillness that her breath caught, then his lips surrounded her clit, drew it into the suckling heat of his mouth, to the licking tip of his tongue, and he pushed her over that edge.
She felt the explosion rip through her, drawing her up, arching her against him as a throttled scream left her lips and she dissolved into him.
She melted. For a moment, just for a moment, she felt herself sinking into the very pores of his flesh, and understood that this was where she belonged. This was the addiction that was Natches. To belong to him so deeply that she was a part of him.
And it lasted for an endless moment. Then he was lifting his head, pushing her legs apart, and before the final wave of release washed through her, he began working the hard length of his erection inside her.
“Look at me, damn you.”
Chaya’s eyes jerked open at the command. Dazed, almost unfocused, she stared up at the dark vision of every woman’s sexual fantasy come to life.
Black hair framing savage features, green eyes almost glowing in his sun-darkened face, nostrils flared in desperate hunger as his lips drew back from his teeth.
Raw erotic pleasure tore through her at the sight. This man, this sexual intensity, centered on her. On plain Chaya Dane, and God only knew Natches was more man than she had any hope of controlling.
And there was no need to control him now. Pleasure swamped control. There was no thought of control, only sensation—the feel of him working his cock inside her, the thick crest parting tender tissue as perspiration began to form on his shoulders and chest and run in small rivulets along the center of his body.
“Look at me, Chay.” His voice was deep, hoarse. “Let me see you, baby. Let me see if I’m making you feel good. Does it feel good, Chay?”
Feel good? He was destroying her with pleasure. Her lips parted to tell him, but all she could do was moan his name and stare back at him. And feel him. Feel him stretching her, burning her. She was locked in a grip of ecstasy—it thrummed through her veins, heated her blood and tormented her nerve endings.
“Look at me, Chay.” His voice hardened when she would have closed her eyes.
Forcing them open, she stared back at him. His jaw was clenched, sweat dripped along his forehead and down his face. His shoulders bunched, and she felt his thighs tighten as he pulled his erection back, then worked it into her farther, deeper, taking her until she was trying not to scream, until she was burning around him, and with a strangled groan, he buried himself full length inside her.
Hard hands clenched on her hips as he penetrated her fully, and some dark emotion in his eyes flared.
“Has there been anyone else?” She watched him speak, heard the words and tried to make sense of them.
“What?”
“Other men. Has another man taken what’s mine, damn it?” Pure male dominance flashed in his expression, in his eyes.
Another man? She shook her head; she couldn’t bear another man’s touch. Didn’t want it. Never, ever thought of it.
She shook her head again. “No one. No one but you …” She wanted to tell him she only wanted him, only needed him, but as the words tried to slip past her lips, he moved.
As though the admission broke the last of his own control, he was moving inside her, plunging, fucking her with fast, furious strokes that threw her almost instantly into orgasm.
It was like that with Natches. So wild there was no hope of holding on. So hot there wasn’t a chance of not burning alive.
She arched and cried out his name. Her eyes closed, her neck lifted, and she felt him tighten, heard his hoarse exclamation before she felt him spill inside her. Heated, fierce jets of semen spurted into the quaking depths of her vagina and pushed her into another, destructive release, and to an edge of fear. Just the tiniest spark of concern because she knew there was something she should have remembered, something she should fear in this pleasure. A pleasure that left her sated, filled, and somehow, she knew, irrevocably bound to Natches in a way she never had been before.
SEVEN
Natches wasn’t certain what brought him awake just after daybreak. The sun wasn’t shining through the windows yet, and there was a light chill to the air.
At the end of October, it could get cold on the water. His bed was warm though, and he was drowsy and seeking the touch of Chaya’s body when it hit him.
She wasn’t in the bed.
He listened carefully and couldn’t hear her moving on the houseboat or in the shower. Irritation washed through him instantly, as well as a healthy dose of anger.
He sat up in the bed, his eyes narrowed against the gloom that filled the large bedroom as he glanced at the clock.
It was barely seven, too damned early to be up and moving around unless he had actually intended to be at the garage that day. Which he hadn’t. He’d intended to spend the day happily rolling around the bed with Chaya.
As he moved to flip the blanket back, he saw the paper on her pillow and picked it up before reading it silently.Am meeting Sheriff Mayes this morning. I have work to do. Will call you this evening.
She would call him this evening?
He crumpled the note slowly in his hand, and for just a second, only a second, a grim sort of humor touched his mind. How many times had he either written or
stated that sentiment, never to return?
Oh, if she thought for a single damned minute she was getting away that easily, then he’d just have to show her different. He’d let her go twice. Third time’s a charm, sweetheart, he thought furiously. This time, she was stuck, and he’d make certain she understood that. Clear to her soul. No matter what it took.
Stomping from the bed, he headed for the shower. If he knew Zeke Mayes, and he did, then sweet little Chaya’s day wasn’t going to begin until after ten. Zeke had his rounds to make, his paperwork to do, and then he headed to the diner for breakfast around nine thirty or ten. Plenty of time for Natches to get ready and reach Chaya’s hotel. He’d drag her back to the houseboat and show her exactly how this relationship was going to work from here on out.
He paused as he stood beneath the shower spray. Relationship. Hell, he’d never had a relationship. Until now. Until Chaya. He’d never kept a woman around long, never wanted to, but he was starting to suspect he wanted to keep Chaya forever.
He finished his shower, dressed, and was downstairs in the living room pulling on his boots when a fist landed in imperative demand against the door.
His head jerked up, then he lowered and shook it in resignation. He knew that knock.
Pushing to his feet, he stalked to the door, pulled the shade back, and glared at Dawg as he slid the door open.
“Isn’t Crista draggin’ your ass to the lumber store?” he smirked. Dawg’s wife kept him on a very short leash. Dry cleaned and pressed clothes that looked presentable rather than day-old and holey. A decent haircut. But the scowl on his older cousin’s face hadn’t changed by much.
“Crista’s not feeling well this morning.” Dawg shrugged as he stepped into the boat. “Where are you headed off to this early? I thought you took Fridays off from the garage now.”
Natches watched curiously as Dawg prowled the living room and the kitchen.
“When did you start checking up on me?” Natches leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched Dawg.
“When you came back from Iraq and started actin’ brick dumb.” Dawg grunted as he turned to face him. “You know, I always wondered what the hell made you so much harder while you were gone. What did she do to you? Screw around on you? And you’re heading right back into trouble with her?”
Natches stood still. “You don’t want to go there, Dawg,” he told him carefully. “Chaya’s not the reason for however the hell I was acting or whatever I may have done. I didn’t poke my nose into your hijinks with Crista, so I’d suggest you stay out of my relationship with Chaya.”
“Relationship?” Dawg narrowed his eyes on him. “You’ve never had a relationship in your life, Natches. Are you sure you know what the hell you’re doing here?”
Natches uncrossed his arms enough to scratch at his jaw and remember the fact that he had forgotten to shave. Again. But his cousin’s attitude was bothering him more than the growth of beard on his cheek. Dawg had been acting strange ever since he had learned Chaya was back in town.
“Did you know what the hell you were doing with Crista?” he finally asked. “Come on, Dawg; you blackmailed her into sleeping with you. Did I give you grief over it?”
Dawg grimaced at that. He stood there in his jeans, shit-kicker boots, and that perfectly pressed long-sleeved shirt of his and glared at Natches again.
“Why is Agent Dane back here anyway?”
Natches shrugged. “Tying up loose ends is what I hear. What do you hear?”
“I hear Cranston’s running another op,” he snapped. “And Agent Dane is smack in the middle of it. Did she let you in on that little piece of information?”
“We didn’t exactly get around to discussing it,” Natches informed him. “First you and Rowdy broke down the door to my nice warm apartment, and once I got back here, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to fight with her. What the fuck is your problem anyway? You’re acting like a worried father. I didn’t exactly stay out past curfew.” He smirked at the thought. “Man, Crista is so domesticating you that it isn’t even funny.”
And damned if a flash of pride didn’t hit Dawg’s expression, rather than anger at what he would have once termed an insult.
“Look,” Natches breathed out in irritation. “I know you and Rowdy have been following me around like a spy after secrets. You can stop now, okay? I’m a big boy. I do real good on my own.”
“Until Agent Dane hit your life?” Dawg snapped. “I’ve been doing some checking. Before that bullet took out your shoulder, Natch, you were self-destructing like hell. Taking every mean-assed suicide assignment you could find. Why? And why the hell did it come around just months after you rescued some blond agent from a hellhole in the Iraqi desert? Tell me that agent wasn’t the same one messing your head up now.”
Natches was quiet for long, silent seconds. He stared at his cousin, promising himself he wasn’t going to lose his temper. If he lost his temper, then he’d miss Chaya. And on top of that, he and Dawg would end up whipping on each other with enough force to leave both of them bruised and limping for days. Nope. Wasn’t going to happen.
“Lock up when you leave.” He turned and walked out the door before stepping from the small deck onto the floating walk.
He heard Dawg curse behind him, and he ignored it. His cousin was fishing, and Natches wasn’t biting. It was Dawg’s favorite means of getting answers from Natches, and it used to work. Piss him off and get him fighting. He didn’t give a damn what he said to Dawg or Rowdy then. He would just spill his guts right there in the middle of a fight.
Natches grinned at the thought. Hell, those were the days. Before the Marines, when they were young and wild and filled with too much damned ego. Long ago and far away. More than eight damned years ago.
As he dug his keys out of his pocket and moved from the docks to the parking lot, he glanced back down the marina, flashed Dawg a smile, and lifted his hand in farewell. His cousin was standing there with his hands propped on his hips, and even from where he stood, Natches could see the scowl on his face.
Dawg had never liked Chaya, and Natches knew why. His older cousin had spent too many years trying to protect his younger cousins. Seeing Chaya again last year had ripped Natches’s guts out. It had torn into him knowing she wasn’t ready to push past all that pain inside her yet, knowing it wasn’t time to claim her. And unfortunately, Dawg had witnessed Natches’s struggle; he just hadn’t been positive who the woman was.
Sometimes it concerned Natches, the way he knew things about Chaya. Knew when to push her, when to just hold her. It was in her eyes, those needs she had, swirling in the golden depths. And the harder she fought it, the more she needed.
Last night, she had been like a firecracker ready to explode before he had even touched her. Those pretty golden brown eyes had been frosty, her expression closed, every line in her body straining to hold distance between them. Because what she felt scared her, scared her all the way to the bottom of her soul, and she knew it.
He unlocked his jeep and pushed the key in the ignition as he considered that, and the implications of it. Maybe Dawg had reason to worry, because Natches had a feeling he was only just beginning to realize how far over his head he was with Chaya. He was very much afraid that he just might love her.
Dawg watched Natches drive away and shook his head before jumping the short distance between Natches’s deck and his own. And Crista was waiting for him, standing in the door, watching him curiously as he cast another scowl back at Natches.
“Well, you’re still in one piece anyway.” She looked up and down his body, her eyes twinkling in her still-pale face.
“You should be lying back down.” He let his gaze sweep over her now, his heart softening in his chest even as his cock hardened in his jeans. Damn what this woman could do to him.
“I’m feeling a little bit better.” She shrugged, looking away from him before turning and moving back into the houseboat.
“It’s too cool ou
tside for you to be standing in the doorway like that.” He closed the door before frowning.
Maybe it was time to move out to the house. It was almost finished. He could push the contractors and get the carpet laid sooner than the spring date they had quoted him. A little extra money and they’d come out sooner. It hadn’t been too cold last year, but still cold enough that she had insisted on wearing too many clothes. And the walkway had gotten icy a few times. He didn’t want to risk her falling into the water.
He made a mental note to call the contractors later that morning, deciding he didn’t want to spend another winter on the water. Summer and fall would work if they decided the house didn’t suit them to live in year-round.
“I’ll be fine, Dawg.”
He grunted at that as he moved to the refrigerator. “You ready for breakfast yet?”
She was silent; he turned back to her, and he swore she was more pale than she had been moments before.
“I think I need to go lie back down.” She headed for the stairs.
“I think you need to see the doctor.” Something snapped inside him then. Fear. Dawg had rarely known fear, but he had never seen Crista sick either. “Call him this morning, Crista.”
“I’ll be fine.” She shook her head as she headed up the stairs, her voice strained.
“Like hell,” he muttered, moving behind her and catching up with her as she was pulling the blankets over herself.
Sitting next to her, he touched her forehead. She felt clammy, but she wasn’t running a fever. She was pale though, and that worried him.
“It’s just a bug.” She sighed. “Everyone’s sick at the store, Dawg. Just because you can’t catch a virus doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t.”
She sounded jealous, and he had to grin. “We’ll get you nice and healthy before no time,” he promised her. “Just living with me will rub all those good healthy genes off on you.”
She snorted at that. “Go away and let me sleep. And you need to check the deliveries this afternoon. Don’t forget that.”
He frowned. “I’ll have Layla’s husband check them. I’m staying here with you.”