Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(138)
She nodded. “I understand that, but I didn’t want to tie him up, and you should have known that. You need to come to my rescue when your friends are pushing me to do something that makes not only you, but me, uncomfortable. They’re your friends. It’s your brotherhood. I’m trying to fit in and follow your lead. I don’t know how to have friends. I don’t know how to work with a team. If you don’t have my back, I’m floundering and will most likely make mistakes neither of us want.”
His hands smoothed back down her spine to that hollow just above her buttocks and then lower to slide over the swell of both cheeks again. Soothing her. Soothing him. He held her to him, savoring the feel of her there.
“That’s what I’m asking for, Trap. You have a care when you feel jealous or fearful of losing me and you take my back. I don’t need diamonds or beautiful dresses, I need that from you.”
He took a breath. Let it out. Searched her face. She meant that. The only thing she asked of him. Not his money. Not what he could get her. Just this. “Then it’s yours, Cayenne. Understand I’m going to fall down a few more times before I get it right, but I’ll be trying my best to give you what you need.” He locked his arms around her, holding her to him. “Sleep there. Right there. I’m going to be waking you up in a couple of hours again. You know that, don’t you?”
She nuzzled his chest and flicked his flat nipple with her tongue. “I expect you to wake me up, and I’ll be very disappointed if you don’t. I should go get cleaned up though.”
He heard the exhaustion in her voice and kept his arms locked tight around her. “Sleep with my seed deep inside you baby. If I’m lucky, you’ll get pregnant.”
She closed her eyes. He felt the drift of her lashes against his skin. “I already am,” she whispered against his heart, and then her breathing evened out.
He lay there just holding her. His heart pounding. His mind shocked at the happiness flooding him when he knew his uncles were coming for him. No, coming for her. For Cayenne. His pregnant wife. He should have been reaching out to his fellow GhostWalkers to help him dispose of his uncles, but he had her. His very lethal, pregnant wife.
CHAPTER 22
Trap woke Cayenne two hours later and made love to her. Gentle, tender love. He was careful of her, each stroke almost lazy. Languid. As if they had all the time in the world. It was still light out, and he ran her a bath, carried her to the bathtub and sat in it with her so he could wash her body with just as much care and tenderness. After checking the security tapes and seeing no action, he tucked her back in bed, tight against him, his arm around her waist, her breast cupped in his palm and they fell asleep like that, close, his body around hers protectively.
Cayenne woke him not more than an hour later, her mouth working his cock. Taking him deep, so that he was already hard and ready before he opened his eyes. Groaning with pleasure, he watched her, appreciating the sight of her, loving that she derived so much enjoyment from the act. She loved him with every stroke of her tongue. Every tight pull of her mouth. When she took him deep or brought him shallow. When she hollowed her cheeks, hummed and flattened her tongue or sent it dancing.
She straddled him and rode him rough. He used the strength of his hips to surge into her while his hands at her waist brought her down with firm, intense strokes. He loved watching her breasts jolt and sway each time he slammed her down on his cock. She changed the pace repeatedly, spiraling her hips down, working his cock the way she would a pole. Impaling herself over and over until her entire body was flushed a beautiful rose. Until her breath came in ragged pants.
He watched her face as the powerful orgasm swept her away, and her body took his with it. She merely slumped over him, right there, with his cock deep inside of her.
“Lift up a little, honey,” she murmured. She sounded sated and happy. “Put space between your hips and back and the mattress.”
He obeyed without question. Her body still sheathed his cock in her tight, scorching tunnel and that was all that mattered to him. She slid one hand under him and silk began to enclose them both, wrapping them in a tight weave, a cocoon of sheer silk, tying them together, her body over his, her head on his chest. His thighs and lower legs were free as were his arms and head, but they were locked together, woven in silk. He knew, had he asked, she would have suspended them from the ceiling so they could rock together in a cradle. He knew he’d suggest that one day soon.
She murmured something soft against his chest, mostly breath. Mostly air. He knew it was love. She fell back asleep. Trap lay awake for a long time, savoring the feeling of her there, locked to him even in her sleep. She wrapped him up with her arms and legs so that she surrounded him, and they were locked in her silk together, his cock deep inside her, so that he breathed her in with every breath he drew.
He fantasized about all sorts of things she could make from her silk. Various swings, from bondage to double swings to spinning ones. So many possibilities. A sex stool with maybe a vibrating dildo she could impale herself on while she sucked him off. A sling. One that he could restrain her in, keeping her wide open to him. One she could restrain him in. Definitely endless possibilities.
Go to sleep, crazy man.
I’m working here. For us. I’m an idea man.