Extreme Danger (McClouds & Friends #5)(111)

He would never survive pleasure of this intensity.

He’d had lots of blow jobs in his life. He’d started young, and never lacked for opportunities. He loved the lazy luxury of them, the feeling of godlike power, the wallowing in carnal bliss. Throwing his head back and just enjoying the sensation of a woman’s hot mouth sucking on his swollen cock until he exploded. It was one of those perennially dependable things like pizza. Even when it was bad, it was good.

True to form, with Becca, it was different. New world, new rules. She was honey sweet, red hot, a wildcat. He’d been with women with lots more experience and sheer technical expertise, but he’d never felt a woman go down on him as if she— Loved him.

Whoa. No. Don’t go there. Not even in the privacy of his own mind. Shudders racked him, pleasure and terror in equal measure. He forgot all about godlike power, about power-tripping sex games. He just struggled to stay on his feet before this onslaught of selfless, ardent generosity. It humbled him, made him want to fall to his knees.

Her lush mouth moved over him, her strong hands twisted sensuously around the root while she laved the crown and sucked him in, deeper and deeper. So deep, for a clueless novice. And that agonizing…slow…swirl on every instroke, the deep hungry pull of suction, friction on every outstroke, and again, and again, and again. Yes.

He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t slow down. With the volcanic force gathering, it was too damn soon, but that was just too damn bad— He wound his fingers through her hair and shouted, hoarsely. Spasms of violent pleasure wrenched through him.

He was kind of surprised, some time later, to find that he was sitting on the bed. Good thing it had been right behind his knees, or he’d be flat on his ass. He was hobbled by the jeans that Becca at some point had jerked halfway down his thighs. His torso was collapsed over her body. Her head was cradled on his lap, her warm lips kissing his thigh. His cock, still long but finally softened, was nestled tenderly in her damp hand. Spent, home safe and happy. He couldn’t stop making that sobbing sound with every breath he sucked into his lungs.

He didn’t dare even look at her until it eased down, and that took what felt like forever. A dark, hot forever of nuzzling, of cuddling, wordless closeness, skin on skin. He never wanted it to end.

But everything had to end. Everything had to be let go.

He forced himself to sit upright. Every muscle in his body shook. He was soft and limp. Weak with pleasure, wet with sweat. Speechless.

Becca smiled at him as she raised her head. She wiped her mouth, and stroked her fingers through the wiry tuft of dark hair that curled around the base of his cock. “You know what? You were right,” she said, in a tone of discovery.

He cleared his throat. “About what?” he asked cautiously.

“This color,” she said, lifting his cock to the side to show him the smears of lipstick she’d left on it. “Slut red. It does look good on you.”

He started to laugh, helplessly. The laughter dissolved almost instantly into something else. Something that he was afraid to face.

All he could do was just grab her again, hide his face in her hair.

Her slender arms slid around his ribs and gripped him. Holding him as tightly as he needed to be held. They strained, fighting to pull the other closer, hold the other tighter.

Muscles shaking with the effort of becoming a single being.



The Vor was intensely irritated.

He jerked his chin in the direction of his coffee cup, but it took Kristoff ten seconds to catch on, and then the man fumbled, slopping coffee dangerously close to Zhoglo’s snowy cuff. If the coffee had spattered one centimeter closer, Kristoff would be dead.

Or perhaps not. His ranks of useful and experienced men had been decimated by Solokov’s bloody spree on Frakes Island. He could not afford to kill any more out of pique. Too much work to be done, now that the thrill junkie surgeon was creating extra work.

Idiot, to involve his half-witted mistress in his business schemes.

He stared at the weekly schedule laid out on his laptop. The secret clinic was now fully operational, the doctors comfortably settled into their new homes, ready and waiting for the call. Each one of them was firmly in his grip, pinned by a complicated web of threats and promises. Fear and greed, the great motivators of humankind.

He should have brought more men, he fretted. Perhaps he should contract out the anesthesiologist’s demise. They were being watched from God knew which angles and directions. Anyone who left the house would be seen, and followed.

Then again, it would be a very easy hit. The woman lived alone, in a single home surrounded by foliage. If Mathes was correct, she should be in a drugged sleep. No intelligence was required for this.

He cast an appraising eye on Pavel, and dismissed him out of hand. Pavel would have to be put down soon. Until that moment, he required close watching. But it seemed a shame not to delay the mercy blow until Pavel’s punishment reached its grand climax. Zhoglo was always curious to see how people came apart in extremis. It was like watching a scientific experiment. This chemical, plus that, created such and such a reaction. Add heat, add pressure…ah, fascinating.

It had destroyed Pavel. His haggard face was dull, vacant.

Zhoglo stirred more cream into his freshened coffee, and toyed for a moment with the thought of lifting the sword that hung over the man’s neck. Letting little Sasha live. He could be merciful. Theoretically.