Deep (Chicago Underground #8)(37)

His cock pressed against a spot inside me I’d never even felt before. It was like discovering a part of me, like discovering that I actually was submissive, actually was sexual. My body came alight with every stroke of his cock over that spot, until I was burning up.

Every place in me felt hot and tight, my breath coming faster. “No more,” I said, panicked.

“I know you’re afraid,” he murmured, his voice like dark honey. “The only way down is to let go.”

I wavered on the slippery cliff face of pleasure, sliding, sending pebbles into an unknown abyss. And then I couldn’t hold on anymore. Not when he licked his thumb and rubbed it against my clit. I soared over the edge, head over heels, falling, hitting the bottom with a blinding crash.

He wasn’t done yet. He kept pumping into me, changing the angle so that it pleased him best, using me like a sheath for his cock. He moved faster now, rocking my whole body with the force of him, holding me steady for a million fast thrusts. It felt like only a machine could move that fast—but I felt the sweat of his skin, the bunch of his muscles. Not a machine. A man. And he was going to rip himself apart.

I placed my hand to his cheek, feeling the stubble there, his breath against my wrist.

His eyes met mine. I expected to see lust there, and I did.

What I didn’t expect was the pain, a deep well of it, inky black. His expression was harder than ever, a warrior in battle—but in his eyes I saw ancient wounds, buried deep.

“Philip,” I murmured, my heart breaking.

He was coming apart, and I could let him. I could break through the walls he’d spent a lifetime fortifying, I could find the man underneath. And maybe that man wouldn’t be a criminal. Maybe he was the kind of man who could be with a woman like me.

Except the thought of him shattered was like a physical blow.

In the space of these seconds, I held him together, my hands on his shoulders, my gaze locked on his. My body remained open to him, letting him invade me, letting him hurt me—but my mind was focused completely on him.

“Let go,” I whispered. “I’ll catch you.”

I wasn’t sure if he’d know what I meant, but he groaned as if he did. Then his body jerked once, twice. He stiffened, his cock flexing inside me. I flinched at the friction against sensitive inner walls. I was raw inside and out, twisted and turned upside down.

He collapsed on top of me, my body cradling his. And I did catch him.

I held him while he trembled, held him while he buried that pain deep where it had been for an eternity. Because it wasn’t worth risking his destruction, not for the possibility of us. Not even for the promise. I loved him too much as he was—powerful, mysterious. Dangerous.





Chapter Twenty-Three

SHELLY MET LUKE when she was a call girl. He was a cop. It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was definitely desire. They’d circled each other for a long time, Luke pursuing Shelly and Shelly working as his informant. In the end he helped her escape the life. And she helped him reclaim his.

She’d been raised in a life of luxury with a very dark underside. There was no one who deserved a strong, patient man more than her. After some of the things I had seen, I could definitely appreciate the appeal of a cop, a good man—the security of it. The safety.

Only he didn’t look very safe now, leaning against the porch rail of their ranch-style house. He looked dangerous, like he had already been crossed and he was waiting to return fire. Something about his stance told me that he was armed too.

Philip stowed his gun in a side compartment and moved to exit the vehicle.

I had been to this house before, had visited Shelly under very different circumstances. And this was all wrong. Terrifying, in the way that guns and violence always felt. But even more wrong because I knew from the way Shelly still spoke about him that she cared.

I stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Wait.”

She cared, and she’d never have betrayed him.

He turned back, one eyebrow raised.

I looked again at Luke—who had clearly been warned of our arrival. Who was clearly prepared to defend his home. I didn’t think he wanted to shoot Philip, but I knew he’d do anything to protect Shelly. The thought of Philip approaching him without a weapon, without his men, completely defenseless—and at my request—made my stomach clench.

At the same time, I couldn’t ask him to bring it. I couldn’t handle the thought of him shooting Luke or Shelly. I wanted everyone to walk away from this.

Philip must have read my worry in the silence. He laughed softly. “Do you think so little of me, kitten? You think a cop is going to get the jump on me.”

“Luke is a good cop,” I said defensively.

A small smile. “That’s how I’d beat him. Disarm. Detain. Killing only as a last resort. That’s what good cops do.”

I bit my lip. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

And I knew he understood the unspoken plea—I don’t want you to hurt anyone, either.

He placed a hand on the crux of my shoulder and neck, both possessive and comforting. His dark gaze captured mine. “I wasn’t going to wave a gun around, kitten. That’s not how I operate.”

Don’t ask, don’t ask. “How do you operate?”

Damn it.

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I don’t pull out a gun unless I’m about to shoot someone.”