Deadly Fear (Deadly #1)(29)

“Monica…” A warning edge there. One she chose to ignore.

The pounding of her heart filled her ears. Better that than the sound of screams.

Rain fell lightly onto the cabin. The cabin. The only place left for visitors in the dot on the map that was Gatlin, Louisiana. Made of old wood, the one-bedroom cabin probably was supposed to be cozy and quaint.

Maybe for someone else, it would have been. But not for her.

The old cabin, the dark swamp, the constant chirp of the crickets and God knew what else outside—not for her.

They’d arrived after midnight. He’d taken the couch, hadn’t pressed her for sex—and why not? And she’d taken the bed.

Then the damn dreams had come back.

“Talk to me. What were you dreaming about?”

There he was. Caring, being a good guy. That was Luke’s problem. Deep down, past that tough veneer, he was nice. Didn’t he know that was dangerous?

“Talking is the last thing I want to do.” She’d never spoken truer words to him. Her hand flattened over his chest. His heart drummed beneath her fingertips, racing just as fast as her own.

His jaw worked, and she could see the lust on his face, but he held back. Dammit, he held back. “You can’t keep hiding forever.”

Her breath caught. He knows. “The dreams don’t matter.” She wouldn’t let them. “Tonight, I want you.”

Her right hand swept out. Hit the lights. When she had him, she didn’t need the light.

Her lips took his. A wet, open-mouthed kiss.

The fire hit her. Hard and fast. The need that shot through her blood and moistened her sex and made her want. Made her want—

Luke. The rough slide of his body against hers. The feel of him in her, and his voice, whispering to her.

She moaned into his mouth even as her nails bit into his skin.

He came down on her, the strong, hard length of his body pushing against her. His lips were tight on hers, and she knew he was as hungry as she was. Six years.

But it seemed just like yesterday.

His mouth ripped from hers, and his lips took her throat. Kissing. Sucking. Licking. Her sex creamed as she arched her hips toward him. The man knew all of her weak spots.

After all this time, he should have forgotten, he should have—

“Luke…” Her turn to lick. A swipe of her tongue near his ear. Because she still remembered what he liked. “Ditch the jeans.” There’d be no pulling back tonight. She needed him too much.

Silence the victims. Make the cries stop. Make me forget.

Her fingers eased their hold, then skated over his chest. Over the slight ridge, the new scar he’d added to his collection. A killer’s mark.

A chill skated down her spine but she pushed her hands between their bodies. He had on jeans. Easy enough to get rid of those, but, ah, damn, he’d have to move his hand—

“Easy.” His rough whisper in the darkness, rolling with his smooth drawl. That drawl always grew thicker when he was pissed or when he was aroused.

Easy?

“Not what I want,” she whispered right back. He should know better. She wasn’t the kind for cuddling and soft kisses. Not her.

Her fingers drifted away from the scar. Stroked over those abs. She found the snap of his jeans.

He slipped back. She pushed forward. A hiss, and his zipper eased down. No boxers. He must have dressed fast when he came to her.

She wrapped her fingers around the straining length of his cock. “You know what I want,” she told him as her fingers tightened. “And I know just what you want.” Her left hand pushed against his shoulder, trying to ease him back.

He caught her wrist, curled his fingers tightly around her. “Not. This. Time.” Gritted.

But what—

He stood up, fast. Luke fumbled in his back pocket, then ditched the jeans. “It’s been too f*cking long,” he muttered.

Yes, it had been. But she’d been afraid…

And then her past had come calling.

Can’t run. Won’t run.

She shoved her panties down and kicked them away.

He caught her legs. Spread her wide and, even in the darkness, she felt the heat of his stare. “Too f*cking long,” he said again and then his fingers were on her. Sliding between the damp folds of her sex and finding her clit and rubbing, just the way she needed. Her head tipped back. A moan built in her throat. Her nipples were tight, aching, the soft fabric of the shirt rubbing against them as—

He shoved her shirt up to her neck, exposing her breasts. His mouth closed over her nipple. His tongue swirled over the hungry peak, his teeth scored her flesh.

And he drove two fingers into her.

She clenched around him and stiffened.

Not enough.

The fingers retreated. Plunged deep.

“Luke!” The bastard knew better than to tease. He knew.

His head jerked up. His eyes glittered down at her. “Ready?”

Not like she could get more ready. He had to feel the cream coating his fingers, the tremble of her sex around him.

“Hope to hell you are,” he growled, then pushed up on his arms. A packet was in his hands. Condom.

He’d had that in his back pocket? The man was a freaking Boy Scout.

She loved that.

He ripped the packet open with his teeth. Sheathed his cock, that long, thick length that she’d really wanted to taste again, because Monica knew she could drive him to the edge and beyond with her mouth and she wanted— He shoved her thighs apart wider and pushed between her legs.