Deadly Fear (Deadly #1)(100)

“Watch your ass with Romeo, got me? I don’t want him getting any kind of hold on you again.”

“He won’t.” Because she wasn’t afraid. Not of the Watchman. Not of Romeo.

It was time Romeo started to fear her.


She came to him. After the press conferences and the newscasts, she came to him.

Her knock on his door had been so soft, but he’d known it was her.

Now she stood before him on the threshold of his room, and Luke could only stare at her.

Monica. She was so damn gorgeous she took his breath away. She’d used makeup to hide her bruises for the camera and her lips were slick with gloss, her eyes even more blue with dark shadow.

“Luke… I—” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be away from you anymore.”

He opened his arms. She stepped toward him. Pressed her body against his and fit.

She’d always fit.

He had stitches in both arms. His shoulder had been patched. He had bruises and cuts all over his body, and he looked like a freaking Frankenstein.

He didn’t care. Neither did she.

Monica stripped him. Carefully, slowly. Her fingers fluttered over his wounds, and her lips pressed against the darkness of his bruises.

This time he knew it would be different. He let her lead him. Right then, he would have followed her anywhere.

She slipped off her dress, the dress that had driven him crazy during the press conference. A slinky little black number that had hugged her hips, cupped her breasts, and made his body ache.

When the dress fell, he swallowed when he saw the black panties and matching black bra. Small scraps of lace. She walked before him, her hips rolling, and his cock swelled even more.

“Lay down.” Her sensual order. “I’ll be careful. I won’t hurt you.”

He’d be damned if he ever hurt her.

The bed squeaked beneath him. He stretched out, unable to take his eyes off her. What sane man would?

Her fingers hooked under the edge of her panties. She pushed the lace down. Stepped out of her strappy shoes.

Ah, he liked those. Sexy. She could have kept those on while they—

She climbed onto the bed. Crawled over him.

So. Fucking. Sexy.

Her mouth found his, and she kissed him. Her tongue pushed inside his mouth, tasted him, licked, stroked. Then she eased back and sucked his tongue.

Luke’s heels dug into the mattress. Her hand slid between their bodies. Found his cock. Ready and thick. Heavy with need. Desperate to thrust deep and hard into her.

She pumped him, worked him over and over with her tight fist and he groaned. Fuck, no. “I want… in you.” But he had to make her ready. He’d stroke her first. Find her clit. Caress that soft nub until she moaned against him and pushed her hips against his hand. He’d take her breast into his mouth. Suck her nipples. Hear her breath catch.

Monica shifted, widening her legs, straddling him, and the folds of her sex brushed over his cock.

“No, wait—”

She arched up and pushed down on him.

Luke’s back teeth clenched. Ready. Wet. Tight. Hot.

So good.

He tried to grab her, to slow her down. Luke didn’t want to hurt her shoulder—

“No. Don’t move your arms.” She shook her head. Her dark locks fell around her face. “I need this. Let me.”

He was already gone. She could do anything she wanted. As long… ah, damn.

Her hips rose, fell. Her sex clenched around him.

He slid his fingers between their bodies. Pressed against her clit. Plucked. Stroked.

She started to move faster.

He thrust harder. Deeper. Inside. As deep as I can go.

She rose onto her knees and arched down. The black lace hugged her breasts, but he could see the shadow of her nipples, stabbing out. Such pretty breasts…

Heat flushed her skin, face, chest. Her breath panted out. So did his.

The climax was coming. Her sex milked him, stroking every inch of his cock and driving him out of his mind.

He thrust his cock into her. Slammed balls-deep. She took him. Took everything.

Faster.

Deeper.

Harder.

Her sex convulsed around him, contracting hard, squeezing so tight. Jesus!

She stared right at him, her eyes blue and blind with pleasure, and she whispered, “I love you.”

He exploded. Pleasure, so intense it stole his breath.

Just like she’d stolen his heart.


No light spilled from the bathroom. There was no gun under her pillow. Or his. Just the two of them, touching on the bed.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” she told him, her voice husky in the darkness.

He turned toward her, feeling the pull of his stitches. He hadn’t felt a thing before. “It was a long time ago.” Easy words. Words most people would expect.

But he wouldn’t just give her those words. He’d tell Monica everything. “The man who killed her… he was a serial. No one knew. He’d killed three women in Texas, then one in Arkansas. He was killing them when he was with my mom. Then he killed her.” She’d been so beautiful. Tall and blond, with a slow smile that he loved. She’d read him stories at night. Always tucked him in.

And she’d died right in front of him.

“My grandfather raised me. My dad was in the military. When mom died, I don’t even know where he was. But my grandfather taught me how to live. How to be strong.” Grandpop had helped him to channel the rage. “Focus son, stop the ones who need stopping. Make a difference.”