Hell on Wheels (Black Knights Inc. #1)(70)

“Pill,” she told him breathlessly, aching so badly she thought she’d die if he didn’t get back inside her. “Oh, Nate. Please f*ck me,” she whimpered.

And then he was. His hips pistoning wildly as if they were attached to a motor. And she was flying, flung from the highest cliff of passion until her body was nothing but sensation. Pulsing, liquid pleasure started in her womb and spread through her entire body.

“Sweet Jesus,” she vaguely heard him growl before she felt the hot wash of his release as her body continued to rhythmically contract around him, taking everything he had to give her.

***

Lavender.

He’d been right. Her underwear were lavender with little pink bows. Nate had a pretty good view of the flimsy bra dangling by one strap from Ali’s perfect shoulder while his head was pressed against the wall beside hers. He struggled to catch his breath after the most mind-blowing orgasm of his entire life, and his body hadn’t even finished convulsing when self-disgust had him pulling back to look at her.

Geez, Raquel would be sorely disappointed in that performance.

Although…Ali didn’t seem to notice his total lack of finesse.

Her head was thrown back against the wall, her slim throat arched, her beautiful golden eyes squeezed closed, and a deep crimson blush stained her soft cheeks—the telltale color of a woman coming down from a convulsive release.

Still, that did nothing to appease his regret.

“Shit, Ali,” he lifted one hand to smooth damp hair away from the dimpled corner of her kiss-swollen mouth, “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t even open her eyes when she murmured, “For what?”

“For not makin’ it better for you. For…for, Christ, for mountin’ y’like a ravening bull.”

Her lips twisted into a smirk. “I seem to recall requesting exactly that.”

“But you deserve—”

“What?” This time her eyes popped open, and he noticed the golden hue had darkened to deep amber in spent passion. “What do I deserve?”

Candlelight, he thought. Soft music. Slow, thorough seduction that starts with a thousand kisses and ends with a thousand more. But what he said was simply, “Gentleness.”

“Hmm,” she leaned forward, nibbling at his lips. “We can do gentle next time. We both needed that first one to take the edge off.”

And inexplicably, his unrepentant cock begin to twitch and swell. Was it any wonder considering he was still nestled snuggly inside her?

Her smile was one of feminine triumph when she noticed the added sensation.

Yep, next time. Well, next time was going to be pretty damned soon.

Stepping out of his jeans, he lifted her into his arms, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his hips and palming the firm globes of her perfect ass.

“Nate!” she squeaked. “Your wound!”

“I don’t feel nothin’ but you, sugar.” He told her as he stalked from the bathroom, intent on only one thing, the bed.

And, sweet Lord, he wasn’t joking.

The softest, sweetest, most delicious thing he’d ever encountered was Ali, the way she melted against him. And she was his. At least for the night…

Damn. He’d just had her, and he was hard enough to hammer nails at the thought of having her again.

Gently pressing her back against the mattress, he couldn’t fathom breaking the connection of their bodies, so he reached down and with a twist of his fists, ripped the side seams of her flimsy panties. He threw the scrap of ruined material over his shoulder.

“Hey!” she protested, but then totally ruined her attempt at ire when she grabbed his ears and ravished his mouth. Obviously the whole barbarian thing worked for her. Which was good, because that’s exactly what he was.

“Y’have a hundred more. I’ve seen ’em,” he told her when he could draw breath, right before he started in on those thousand kisses. He chose to plant the first one on the delicate line of her collarbone.

“Hmm,” she murmured as she tilted her head back to give him better access, “I suppose that’s true.”

He didn’t quite make the thousand kisses mark. Mainly because at about two hundred she was squirming beneath him and begging. But he did manage slow and gentle, and certainly thorough. After the third orgasm, she went completely boneless. He drifted to sleep with a contented smile on his face and the only woman he’d ever loved softly snoring in his arms.

***

“Shit!” Dagan swore into his cell phone and slammed his hand against the steering wheel.

“Yup,” Chelsea Duvall concurred, her husky voice even huskier over the patchy cell phone connection. Chelsea was the one person inside the CIA who still deigned to speak to Dagan after the incident. He was happy to call her friend, though at one point, years ago, he’d been determined to call her so much more. “And it gets worse.”

Great. Worse than finding out the photo of the dead guy depicted one Rocco De Lucca, a transplanted New York mafia goon who’d done as Kid Rock instructed and headed out west. Only Dagan was pretty sure ol’ Rocco hadn’t done so to be a cowboy, baby. Nope. Rocco no doubt found himself in Vegas because there were a lot more legs that needed breaking out that way. Mainly, Dagan suspected, of the gamblers-who-weren’t-making-good-on-their-debts variety.