Move the Sun (Signal Bend #1)(26)

The look she turned on him was pure fire. Before he could put another coherent thought together, she’d knocked his hand free of her, and she was straddling him, one hand hooked around his neck, her thumb on his carotid artery, the heel of the other hand pressing his chin back. It hurt like a sumbitch, and he realized that she was very effectively cutting off blood flow to his brain. His vision was getting dark around the edges.

“Rough in the sack is one thing, *. Do not think you can knock me around.” He put a hand around her wrist to pull her loose, but she increased the pressure on his neck. Finally, he put his hands up in surrender, and she released him. She stayed on his lap, though, her weight right on his cock. She had to know how turned on he was. When his vision cleared again, he saw her staring at him, her look still fiery, but the heat coming from some other place now.

Now he was sure Bart was right. Skill with a gun. Hand-to-hand self-defense. Military-grade internet security. She was ex-military. Had to be. Or current military. That made her both even more interesting and possibly less of a threat. He couldn’t see his little enterprise pulling in that kind of attention when county law wasn’t even interested. She must have some other, bigger fish on her hook.

He slid his hands up her arms and felt gooseflesh form beneath his palms. “What are you after, Sport?”

“I keep telling you it doesn’t concern you.”

“Give me a reason to trust you.” He moved his hands to her head, threading his fingers into her hair.

She leaned in as he pulled her close, and their mouths met roughly. He kissed her savagely, as if he were trying to find the truth in her that way, and she matched him, grabbing his braid in her fist. She pulled away first, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing her fingers through the hair on his chest and belly. When she bent down and sucked his nipple between her teeth, he grabbed her hips and thrust up against her with a wrenching groan.

Then her hands were at his crotch, fumbling with his belt and jeans. He tugged at her tank top, and she stopped and pulled it off. Jesus, her tits were great. Remembering that she responded to rough pressure, he took a nipple between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and pulled briskly. She gasped and arched back, momentarily distracted from her efforts to free him from his denim. He did it again, and she ground on him with an earthy moan.

He needed a minute. Grabbing her hands and bringing them to his chest, he met her eyes and held them, getting control. The look she returned was heated and impatient at first, but then she settled, too. The thing that had passed between them the morning before, in her bed, was there again. He needed to think about what that was, but not now. Now she took her hands from him and reached into his jeans to pull him free.

Then she stood and slid those red plaid boxers off her hips, letting them drop to the floor. She was perfectly, beautifully naked.

Before she could come back to his lap, he got out a condom and rolled it on. He grabbed his cock at the base with one hand, and reached out for her hand with the other. They linked fingers, and she straddled him, easing slowly down on him. He felt every millimeter of his rod slide into her, and she squeezed hard around him, holding him tight.

“Fuck, you have a great cock,” she whispered.

“Yeah? You like that?” He held her hips down hard as he thrust up again and again, getting as deep as he could, making her moan. “You feel f*cking awesome yourself, baby.” A look crossed her face, and then she was flexing her hips hard and fast, driving him deep, really deep, and he didn’t know if it was the overstimulation of the day, or the weird thread of hostility weaving through this f*ck, or just the fact that she turned him on so goddamn much, but he knew this was going to be a quick one. She was working her muscles around him, milking him, and riding him in a frenzy.

He shifted, to sit up straighter and lessen the depth she was getting a little. Wrapping her tightly in his arms, loving the soft pressure of her tits on his chest, he kissed her, nibbling at her lip and then trailing over her jaw to her ear. “We’re gonna have to go again, Sport. I don’t have much longer in this f*ck. You feel too damn good.”

Pulling away a little, she smiled cockily. “Me first, though. Get me off.” She lifted her breast, and he understood. He loved a woman with really sensitive tits. He was going to have to see if he could get her off that way alone. Maybe later tonight. For now, though, he loosened his hold on her and let her grind away while he suckled her, moving back and forth between her firm, lovely globes until her hands were knotted in his hair, and she was arched back, her ponytail dancing over his legs. She came with a strained, keening moan, and when he felt her spasms around his cock, he let go and joined her, pressing his face to her chest, surrounded by her tits.

She folded forward and relaxed on him, her head on his shoulder. There was something sweet in her position, and he rested his head on hers, hooking his arms around her. Her hair was slightly damp at her nape; the heady scent of her sweat and their sex overwhelmed him.

He wondered how close was too close.

INTERLUDE: 2001



Johnny sat alone among a sea of family members on the green grass of the wide university lawn. The wooden folding chairs, numbering thousands and arrayed in military-precise rows, were hardly luxurious, despite the pretty picture they made. For Johnny, his chair was a mini-torture device after the first two hours. But they were finally calling the graduates’ names.

He’d hoped they’d go alphabetically. His Lilli had been first in line for every alphabetical arrangement her entire life, with the exception of third grade, when there had been a little boy in her class with the last name of Aarons. He was anxious to see his girl cross that stage. But the first name called was Riordan. Must be some other kind of order. Johnny was going to have to wait.