In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)(30)

Just a short slide down to those perfect tits, and he made her nipples gleam, teasing them to sharp, shivering points. Her heart thudded against his cheek. Her fingers twisted into his scalp. He loved the delicate bite of her little nails.

The world as he knew it was buckling, shifting into something new. He was going to pay for this, but right now, he didn’t give a shit.

He settled on his knees, his cock bobbing against her decorative frill of * curls. He wrapped her hands around his cock. “Take me inside,” he said. “Show me how much. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

She nodded. He propped her up, shoving pillows behind her back. She shut her eyes, flung her head back, lower lip caught between her teeth. His cockhead slipped between her satiny folds. She rocked forward, forcing him deeper. So tight. Ah, God. It had to sting, but she didn’t let on, tough babe that she was.

She raised herself onto her elbows and stared into his eyes. He was balanced on a razor’s edge in a motionless, agonized state of oh-f*ck-I’m-going-to-come-right-now. She surged forward, taking in a little more. Back, a slow, clutching glide. Her body said yes, again and again with each stroke. She reached out to drag him deeper . . . Yes. All in.

His heartbeat thudded in his groin, wedged in the tight, fluttering embrace of her body. He braced his hands on either side of her and breathed, struggling desperately not to come. He couldn’t lose control, not with a first timer, half his size. He hung on. Teetering.

“Does it hurt?” He got the words out, somehow.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“That’s not what I asked,” he said.

“It’s all you’re getting,” she retorted. “Shut up and move.”

She sprawled back onto the pillows and gripped his chest, bucking her hips beneath him. Heaving, to get him moving.

His body had to obey. Her gaze sliced in so deep, to places uncharted. She could see all his pointless yearning in his eyes. He should flip her over, take her from behind, but that would take a coolness that he did not possess. The next best option was the dark. He reached to snuff the candle’s flame, burning his fingers. Barely felt it.

Sveti made a protesting sound as the darkness fell. “Sam?”

“Shhh.” He stifled her objections by kissing her.

The darkness made it harder not to lose himself to the blind, mindless greed. Her * squeezed around his pumping cock.

He tried to slow it down, but she was so juicy and hot, and they moved together so perfectly. The frantic momentum built, and when he became conscious of how hard they were f*cking, his body would not let him stop. They were locked in that pounding rhythm. Sveti’s hips braced to meet his every stroke. Energy gathered in her body, like an animal with its muscles poised to spring.

She went off like a bomb. He held her close, to savor every jolt, every sweet shudder of helpless pleasure, the scalding rush of fresh girl juice on his cock to ease the way for his own wild finale.

Now. His climax smashed down on him like a landslide.

He drifted back, damp and destroyed, to the sensation of prodding in his shoulder. “Sam,” she whispered. “Let me breathe. You’re heavy.”

He rolled off. Sweat had chilled on his back. Dread gripped him, cold and nauseating. “You okay?” He braced himself.

“Fine,” she said softly. “Wonderful. It was so wonderful.”

Well. That was good. As far as it went. He got to his feet, stumbling drunkenly over her shoes on his way to the bathroom.

The condom had traces of blood. Not much, but it still made him feel like a jerk. He got rid of it and hid in the shower. This was the end. He didn’t trust himself yet to face it with dignity. Ice water roared down, needle-sharp. Punishment. The time of reckoning was at hand.

Bright white light spilled out over Sveti, curled on the bed when he opened the bathroom door. She flinched from it, covering her eyes. He grabbed jeans from his dresser. Strapped on his inside waist holster.

“There’s some blood again,” he said. “Not too much. Sorry.”

“I’m okay,” she said. “It was worth it. It was amazing.”

He grunted. Too late for compliments. He was not a goddamned trained seal, performing to have some dead fish flung to him.

He grabbed a sweatshirt. Sveti waited for him to say something, but he was all out of words. He flicked on the harsh overhead light.

Sveti flinched again. “Sam?” Her voice was small. “What’s wrong?”

He stared at the pink smears on the sheet, the streak of grease from the candle. “Get dressed. I’ll drive you home,” he said. “I’m done.”

Her eyes widened. “I thought you said til dawn. It’s barely . . .”

He pulled his Glock 19 out of the bedstand as her voice petered out, and tucked it into the waist holster. “Close enough.”



Sveti struggled into her dress with difficulty, being so sticky and damp. It didn’t fit anymore. Her body had changed dimensions. Her breasts felt bigger, her skin so sensitized. She was weak in the knees and angry and hurt, but for God’s sake, she was the hard-ass of this situation, not him. She had no business sniveling.

He couldn’t even bear to look at her, and she’d caused this disaster all by herself. By being slutty and grabby. Trying to have her cake and eat it, too. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy. She teetered on rubbery legs as she crouched, struggling with the buckles of her shoes.