Reaper's Stand (Reapers MC, #4)(71)

“Sleepy,” I murmured, which was true. It was also a great way to get out of conversation, because I hadn’t had a chance to figure out the proper etiquette one uses when destroying a man’s life. His fingers burrowed under the fly of my jeans, and then I felt him opening them. Wow. I hadn’t even gotten undressed last night.

I didn’t remember falling asleep at all.

My jeans opened and then he tugged at them, murmuring for me to lift my hips. I obeyed without thinking. He slid them down, along with my panties, and tossed my clothing across the room.

Then I felt his lips on my stomach again.

Instead of teasing me, this time they moved steadily downward, and then his hand caught at my inner thighs, pushing them apart. His tongue felt like fire on my skin and I shifted restlessly. A finger slid along the edges of my labia, pushing in just enough to collect some of the moisture growing there. He rubbed upward, finding my clit as it started to swell, circling it and teasing. I wiggled under him.

“Did I mention I missed you?” he whispered. “Probably a hundred bitches out there tonight, half of them ready and willing, but all I could think about was getting home to this.”

“Do you really have to call them bitches?” I asked, trying to focus. “Seems kind of ugly.”

“Just a figure of speech, doesn’t mean anything,” he said. Then I felt him shake his head, and he laughed. “No, guess you got me on that. We call ’em bitches because they aren’t that important.”

“Sharon seemed important enough to you,” I muttered, wondering if I was losing my mind. Why would a woman interrupt a man about to go down on her—or at least I assumed that’s what this was leading up to—to argue about what he calls someone else?

“You wanna talk semantics or get your clit sucked?”

Hmmm . . .

“That second thing,” I said. His mouth opened on my stomach and he made a huge raspberry noise. I squealed because it tickled, and then he was tickling me with his hand, blowing raspberries on my stomach over and over until I screamed.

“Stop! You have to stop it!”

He stopped, sliding up to cover me with his body, holding my hands prisoner on either side of my head.

“Now give me a kiss and let me know you’re happy to see me,” he said. “You wanna talk about other women, we can do that tomorrow. Right now’s about you and me.”

I lifted my head and met his lips. Despite the tickling and playing, this wasn’t a teasing kiss. It was hard and fast, nipping and dueling until I felt faint from desire.

Or maybe that was lack of air?

He pulled away, and we both gasped.

“Now. What would you like me to do?”

“Um, you could . . .” I trailed off, squirming. I still wasn’t so great at the explicit talk in front of him. Why I felt so inhibited I couldn’t imagine. I’d always assumed that I’d have things figured out by my thirties. Not even close.

“What did you say? I don’t understand,” he asked. I couldn’t see his smirk in the darkness, but I knew it had to be there.

“You could go down on me,” I said, the sentence ending on a squeak. “I think I need more practice talking about sex. It feels really weird.”

“Yeah, sort of picked up on that,” he whispered into my ear, nuzzling at it. “Kinda hot when you get all embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” I insisted. “I just don’t have a potty mouth.”

He stilled.

“Did you seriously just use the phrase ‘potty mouth’?”

I giggled. “I think I did.”

“Okay, let’s try this again. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“Will you suck my clit, Reese?”

“Why, yes, London. I’d be happy to suck your clit for you.”

“Gracious of you,” I muttered, but at least he was moving back down my body. His fingers found my folds again, and then his mouth caught me, hot and wet and completely amazing as he attacked my most sensitive place.

Within minutes I was moaning and squirming under him. When he started thrusting two fingers inside me, sliding up and along my inner wall, I lost the power of speech. Fortunately that didn’t matter, because I didn’t need words to scream when I blew apart into a thousand pieces.

I also didn’t need words to express my approval when he pushed into me hard and fast a minute later. Instead I wrapped my arms and legs around him, savoring the feel of him deep down inside because it was beautiful.

He was beautiful.

And he was wrong about using dirty words, too, because this wasn’t something dirty and it wasn’t f*cking.

We were making love.

Under the circumstances, I’d rather f*ck. The only thing worse than destroying the man you care about is destroying him after he makes heartbreakingly beautiful love to you.

I was still going to do it, though.

I didn’t have a choice.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN




“It’s not good enough,” the man whispered in my ear. “I told you to find me something or I’d cut off another piece of her. Did you think I was joking?”

No. I really, really didn’t think he was joking.

I don’t know which grip was tighter—my hand holding the phone or the one holding the steering wheel. Thankfully I’d been driving when he called, which was the only time I’d gotten any privacy since Saturday. Now it was Monday and Reese’s minion, Puck, was following me everywhere in the name of “extra security.” Fortunately, when I’d very politely told Reese that the minivan was off-limits, Puck quickly volunteered to ride his bike instead.