Shoot Out (The Baltimore Banners Book 7) (15 page)

She raised the camera and snapped several pictures before coming closer. She leaned over and kissed him, running her tongue along the seam of his mouth. He reached for her but she pulled away with a shake of her head.

"Unbutton your shorts."

"Excuse me?"

She tugged on his hand, pulling him off the bed, then took a step back, the camera ready. "Unbutton your shorts."

"Nicole—"

"Not all the way. I just want to get your hands."

"My hands?"

There was that shy smile again, that playful gleam in her eyes when she looked at him. "You have amazing hands."

Mat laughed, the sound odd in his ears. Not really forced; more like…surprised. Or maybe stunned would be a better word. "You're not going to call me Rose, are you?"

Her brows lowered and she shook her head, her confusion obvious.

"Rose? And Jack? He had a thing for drawing hands." But she still looked confused and Mat suddenly felt like an idiot. "Uh, it's from a movie, that's all. We'll have to rent it one night."

Or they could just watch the copy he had in his library but he wasn't about to tell her that. Christ, he'd never hear the end of it if the guys ever found out he watched that movie, let alone owned it.

Nicole still didn't say anything, although this funny little look crossed her face when he suggested renting it. Or maybe he was just imagining it. Then she smiled again and held up the camera, silently letting him know she was waiting.

"Okay, unbutton my shorts. Got it." He dropped his hands to his shorts and quickly unbuttoned them, the sound of the camera clicking loud in the background. "There."

"One more time, but slower."

He would have refused—he already felt like an ass—except Nicole's voice had changed, becoming a little huskier. He looked over at her, saw her gaze focused on his waist, her pupils a little darker. The swell of her breasts rose and fell with each short breath. Holy fuck, she was enjoying this.

His semi-hard cock went to full alert, pressing against the zipper. He swallowed and quickly closed the button of the shorts, his hands hesitating at the waistline for a few seconds, not sure what to do next. Nicole moved in closer, bending over slightly and aiming the camera, waiting. Her breasts pushed forward with the movement, nearly falling out of the lace with each quickening breath she took.

Mat watched her, heat racing through him, turning his blood into something like lava. Slow, hot. He finally moved his hands, the motion slow and deliberate, his fingers hovering just above the button.

Click. Click.

Pause.

Click.

His fingers worked the button free, the rasp of plastic against the material loud in the background. He held his hands in place, his own breathing suddenly a little faster as Nicole moved even closer, doing something with the camera lens.

Click. Click. Click.

And holy fuck, he didn't think his cock had ever been so hard. Didn't realize that he could get so turned on just by having his picture taken.

No, it was more than that. So much more. It was the way Nicole was watching him, the way her skin flushed and her breaths came in shallow gasps. The way she came closer, aiming the camera, capturing each small movement.

Click. Click. Click.

Mat reached for the zipper, eased it down. Slow, so slow. Teasing her. Tormenting himself.

Click. Click.

Pause.

Another inch, down even further. He tugged at the waistband, spreading the material open as he pulled the zipper lower.

Click.
Pause.
Click.

Nicole moved even closer then dropped to her knees, the camera held in front of her. Ready. Waiting.

Another inch. One more until it was down all the way, no longer pressing against his rigid erection. He slid his hands up his hips, hooked his thumbs into the waistband and edged his shorts down. Just a little, just to tease her.

Click. Click. Click.

His cock sprung free and he stood there, his hands wrapped loosely around the waistband of the shorts. He held his breath, wondering if she was going to take another picture, torn between telling her to stop.

Or encouraging her to keep going.

And fuck, this was probably a bad idea. Definitely a bad idea. He knew better, knew what could happen. But it was such a fucking turn-on. Something he never expected, something he didn't think he'd ever do.

And he didn't want to stop.

Nicole lowered the camera and looked up at him. Her eyes were dark, glazed with the same passion and desire that throbbed in his veins. In his cock. She was just as turned on as he was, maybe more. Had she done something like this before? Or was this as new to her as it was to him?

"Do you want me to stop?" Christ, even her voice had changed. Deep and husky. Smoky. So fucking hot, so fucking sexy.

Mat held her gaze, common sense warring with curiosity, warring with desire—for less than two seconds. He pushed the shorts down past his hips, wrapped one hand around his cock, and stroked. Long. Slow. Hard. He clenched his jaw against a hiss of breath and dropped his head back.

Click. Click. Click.

A small hand closed over his, following his touch, drifting down and cupping his balls. Squeezing. Teasing. Christ, he didn't think he'd ever been this turned on, this ready to lose his shit.

"Mat." Nicole called his name, her voice barely above a ragged whisper, harsh and needy. He groaned, slowed the long strokes of his hand around his cock, and forced his eyes open.

She was kneeling in front of him, her mouth parted, hunger blazing in her eyes. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips, the sight of just that enough to make his balls tighten.

She held the camera up for him. He reached for it, thinking she wanted him to place it on the bed, place it somewhere so it wouldn't get damaged. Then she smiled and wrapped her hand around his once more, sliding it off his cock.

"Your turn." She pushed the camera into his hands, her eyes still holding his as she leaned forward and took him into her mouth.

Fuck. Holy fuck. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, said a brief prayer that his self-control wouldn't explode. That
he
wouldn't explode. Then the image, the memory, of her taking him all in, sucking, swallowing his cum, came to mind. Sharp and vivid. And holy shit, he damn near exploded right then.

But she pulled away, her hands still stroking him, caressing him. "Your turn, Mat."

His turn? What was she talking about? He forced his eyes opened, looked down at her. She held his gaze for a second then glanced at the camera in his hands. Another smile lit her face, shy and playful at the same time.

"Your turn."

Oh holy fuck. Did she mean what he thought she meant? Yeah, she did. Mat swallowed and raised the camera, hesitating, not believing he was actually doing this. Then he aimed the lens down just as she closed her mouth over him once more.

Click.

Holy fuck. It was surreal. Like he was watching from a distance but feeling it at the same time. And Christ, her mouth was so hot. So wet. Sweet. Torturing him.

He swallowed again and looked through the viewfinder, adjusting the lens, zooming closer.

Click. Click.

Christ, he'd never experienced anything like this. Desire, hot and searing, ripped through him. Too many sensations, tearing at him from too many directions.

Click.

Her lips, full and moist, sliding around his cock, back and forth.

Click.

Her hands, so feminine and gentle, cupping his balls, squeezing.

Click.

The heat of her breath against his thigh, the nip of her teeth against his flesh.

Click. Click.

Her eyes focused on his, the pupils so dilated with passion they were nearly black.

Click.

The swell of her breasts, pushed together by her arms, the creamy flesh of her skin nearly spilling over her bra.

Click.

Fuck, it was too much. He was going to explode if she didn't stop.

If he didn't stop.

"Nicole—"

Her head tilted to the side, that shy smile tilting the corners of her mouth as she watched him. "Come for me Mat."

Fuck. Did she want—?

She closed her mouth around him again, taking him in. All of him, down to the base of his cock. Sucking, teasing. Harder. Faster.

Click. Click.

And fuck. No more. He couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed her head with his free hand, his hand twisting in her hair, holding her in place as his hips pumped.

Once. Twice.

Click.

She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers digging into his ass as his hips thrust forward. Harder. Faster. Again and again.

Click.

Click. Click. Click.

Mat dropped the camera behind him and reached for the bed post, his hand clenched around it as he exploded. A hoarse shout filled the room, harsh, breathless. The orgasm ripped through him, tearing him in half as Nicole kept sucking. Her own breathing was shallow, short little gasps punctuated by small feminine moans as he held her head in place.

Lights exploded behind his eyes, everything around him going gray as sensation washed over him. He groaned again, dragged a deep breath into his lungs, tried to open his eyes.

He eased his grip on the bedpost and forced his eyes open then looked down. Nicole was still on her knees in front of him, a dazed look in her eyes as she rested her cheek against his thigh. He still had his hand tangled in her hair and he cringed, wondering if he had been too rough, worried he may have hurt her. He relaxed his fingers, let his hand drop and reached down with one finger to stroke the soft skin of her flushed cheek.

"Did I—" He paused, not quite able to say the words, not sure he could bear the answer if she said yes. He dragged another deep breath into his lungs and let it out in a rush. "Are you okay?"

"I've never been better." God, her voice was like sweet sin and silk, all rolled into one. Mat grinned and grabbed her hand, helping her stand. He kicked off his shorts then guided her to the bed, arranging the pillows behind her so she was propped up.

Her mouth curved into a smile as she tilted her head to the side and looked at him. "What are you doing?"

But Mat didn't answer, just gave her a smile in return. He reached into the nightstand and grabbed some condoms, tossing them on the bed next to her, like he had done their very first night together. Then he climbed into bed, straddling her legs and leaning forward to kiss her. Slow, deep, possessing.

She raised her arms, tried to wrap them around his neck and pull him closer, but he shook his head and sat back. He didn't miss her small groan of disappointment or the slightly confused expression on her face.

"Mat—"

He shook his head, interrupting her. Then he reached behind him and grabbed the camera from the foot of the bed, holding it out to her.

"Now it's your turn."

"What?"

Mat grabbed one of her hands and forced the camera into it. Awareness flashed in her eyes and she started to shake her head.

"No. I couldn't—"

"Your turn." Mat slid down her legs, his thumbs snagging the tiny waistband of her thong. He eased the scrap of lace down her legs, trailing kisses along each inch of her silky skin. He moved, readjusted her legs so he was kneeling between them, and propped her right foot on his shoulder. Then he bent his head, teasing her with the lightest of kisses along the inside of her thigh. Higher. Higher still, not stopping until he dropped his mouth against the warm sweetness of her smooth, bare flesh.

She gasped, the sound nothing more than a sharp whisper of breath in the still air. Mat lifted his head, a grin on his face as he looked into the lens of the camera.

Click. Click.

Music filled the sunny kitchen, the volume down low enough that only Mat could hear it. He caught himself humming, stopped, smiled—and resumed the humming. And why the hell shouldn't he? It was a gorgeous morning, with a bright sun and clear blue sky and, best of all, no sign of oppressive humidity. At least, not yet.

Best of all, a beautiful woman was upstairs in his bed, sound asleep. He had thought about waking her up—with gentle kisses and even gentler caresses. But Nicole had looked too content, too sweet and flushed and warm, that he couldn't bring himself to wake her. Not after last night.

A wide smile spread across his face as memories raced through him. Just that was enough to send all the blood rushing to his cock. He groaned and readjusted himself through the loose gym shorts, wondering how in the hell he could be ready again, after last night.

After everything they'd done.

No, he couldn't wake Nicole, not just yet. She needed her rest. So he'd done the next best thing and came downstairs to fix her breakfast.

He moved away from the stove and reached for his coffee cup, taking a long swallow as he stirred the eggs with the spatula. A few more minutes and they'd be ready. He placed the spatula on the spoon holder then leaned down to pull the bacon from the warm oven.

He snagged a piece and bit into it, chewing as he grabbed plates and silverware and napkins and arranged everything on a large tray. His hand hovered over the coffee pot, hesitating. Did Nicole drink coffee? If so, how did she take it? A brief surge of disappointment sparked inside him. Shouldn't he know the answer to such a simple question? He pushed the disappointment aside. He'd learn the answer soon enough.

He just hoped she didn't use artificial sweetener, because he didn't have any in the house.

He moved to the refrigerator and grabbed the half-and-half, pouring some into a small pitcher. Mugs, cane sugar, creamer. And the coffee pot. There, everything was set.

He grabbed the tray, cursing under his breath when the entire thing tilted to the side. He placed it back on the counter, moved things around to better balance the weight, and tried again. There, much better.

Mat breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the top of the stairs without spilling anything. He stopped in front of the door, nudging it open with his hip. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty."

The room was still dark, filled with an odd gray light filtering through the closed curtains. He moved to the side of the room and placed the laden tray on the small coffee table. "Nicole. I fixed breakfast."

She didn't answer. Mat grinned, thinking she must be more tired than he realized. And what better way to wake her than with those gentle kisses he'd been thinking about?

Nicole shifted on the bed, turning on her side with a small moan as she kicked off the covers. Her head moved, shifting from side to side, her hair tangling in her face. Mat sat on the edge of the bed and reached out, brushing her hair to the side. Heat seared his palm and he pulled his hand back, frowning. Nicole's eyes blinked open, slow and sluggish, her gaze unfocused, her eyes glazed.

He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, surprised at the heat radiating from her, at the dry parchment quality of her skin. "Hey. You okay?"

Nicole blinked again, nothing more than a few flutters of her eyelids before they closed once more. She murmured something and turned again, wincing. A hiss of pain escaped her, causing her eyes to pop open. Her brows were lowered in a frown, small lines of tension bracketing her mouth. She looked around, her gaze finally resting on him, slowly focusing. She tried to push up, putting the weight on her left arm. Another hiss of pain escaped her and she fell back against the mattress with a small whimper.

What the hell? Mat's concern morphed into something stronger and he leaned forward, sliding his arm under her and easing her to a sitting position. Her head dropped to his shoulder, the heat coming from her body alarming him.

"Nicole, talk to me. What's wrong?" Christ, had he done something to her last night? Even as the thought came to him, he was pushing it away. No, there was nothing they'd done that could have caused this. She was burning up with fever, her skin too dry, too hot.

She mumbled something, her words muffled against his neck.

"What was that, baby? Talk to me."

"Thirsty."

He brushed his lips across her forehead then eased her back against the mattress, adjusting one of the many pillows behind her head. Then he hurried across to the master bathroom, flipping on the light and making a beeline to the medicine cabinet.

Ibuprofen. Acetaminophen. Aspirin. Christ, he had all of them plus some. Which one should he grab? What if she was allergic to one of them? Fuck it. He grabbed all three bottles and filled the glass from the faucet before hurrying back to Nicole.

What could be wrong with her? Was it the flu? Would it have come on this fast, faster than overnight? She had been fine yesterday, fine last night. If it was the flu, wouldn't she have had some symptoms? A scratchy throat? Something?

He placed the glass of water and bottles of medicine on the nightstand then sat on the edge of the bed. Nicole hadn't moved, a frown still etched on her face.

"Nicole? I have your water. And some medicine. Can you sit up?"

Her eyes fluttered open, drifted shut, fluttered open again. She shook her head even as she struggled to push herself up. He reached over, slid his hand under her arm to help her sit up again.

A small scream escaped her lips and she pulled away, reaching for her arm as she rolled to her side.

What the hell? Mat jerked back, afraid he'd hurt her, afraid he'd done something to her. But that couldn't be. She was holding her arm, her hand wrapped loosely around the back of her bicep. It was the same arm she'd said she hurt at work. He looked down at his hand, saw a smear of something wet on his fingers and palm. What the fuck?

He leaned over and turned on the light. "Nicole, what's wrong?"

She shook her head, her lids fluttering open once more. Her eyes were still glazed, bright with fever as she looked at him. "Nothing. I'm just…" Her voice drifted off and her tongue dashed out, running across her dry lips. "I think I'm coming down with something."

"It's more than that." Definitely more than that, with the way she was holding her arm, with whatever was on his hand. But why would she lie to him? He reached over and gently moved her hand. "Here, let me look—"

She tried to pull her arm away but didn't have the strength. The muscles beneath his hands tensed, then went limp as he gently moved it, lifting her arm up so he could get a better look.

And immediately wished he hadn't.

Mat swallowed, a dozen different emotions tearing through him. Confusion. Concern. Sympathy. And rage. Rage like he'd never felt before. Burning, blinding.

Deep gouges ran across the back of her upper arm, along the sensitive fleshy part. Three of them, each about the width of a finger—or a fingernail. The gouges were deep, each an angry red. The skin around each was swollen, the flesh too hot, the marks themselves oozing pus and blood.

Mat clenched his jaw, biting back each curse that wanted to tumble from his mouth. Nicole hadn't hurt herself at work. No, someone had done this to her. Deliberately.

He eased her arm down then walked over to the curtains, pulling them open to let in even more light. Nicole's breath came out in a sharp gasp when light flooded the room but that couldn't be helped. Mat needed more light, needed to get a better look at her arm.

He sat down next to her and took her arm again, ignoring her weak protests when he raised it for a better look.

The bottom of his stomach dropped open, letting in an icy blast that momentarily froze him. It wasn't just gouges that marred her skin. In the bright morning light, he could now make out the bruising that accompanied the wounds, mottling the flesh and darkening the bright colors of her tattoos. The bruises circled her upper arm, dark shadows that mirrored the image of fingers and thumb.

Bile rose in his stomach, hot and acidic, at the sight; at the realization that someone had done this to her. Deliberately. Mat had been playing hockey long enough, had enough experience with bumps and bruises, cuts and broken bones, to know the difference.

How in the fuck had he not seen this last night? Not noticed it? Because he'd been so focused on sex, so intent on driving himself into Nicole, on losing himself in her body, that he hadn't been paying attention to anything else. He'd been so fucking selfish, so intent on himself, that he'd completely missed it.

So what the hell kind of man did that make him?

Mat swallowed, forced himself to take a deep breath. He would have to deal with that later. Right now, it was only Nicole who mattered.

"Nicole. Who did this?" His voice was too clipped, his anger clear. He took another deep breath and repeated the question, but Nicole only shook her head.

Had it been someone at work? One of the patrons at the club? Or someone else? Why the fuck would someone hurt a woman this way? Who the fuck would hurt a woman this way?

"Nicole, your arm is infected. Now tell me, who did this to you?"

She turned her head away, her breathing ragged and shallow. For a long minute, she said nothing and Mat was convinced she wouldn't answer him at all. But she took a deep breath as he held his own, waiting.

"It was an accident. It was my fault."

"Bullshit." He growled the word, unable to help himself, unable to hide the anger, the rage, tearing him apart. She turned her head, not quite looking at him, her feverish eyes staring past him.

They sat that way for a few quiet minutes, the air around them thick and heavy. Mat slowly lowered her arm then moved from the bed, his heart thundering in his chest as he crossed the room to his dresser, each step short and clipped as he fought the anger roiling through his body.

He pulled open drawers, rummaging through each, not really seeing anything clearly. None of the clothes he pulled out would work for her, not really, but he didn't know what else to do.

He moved back to the bed, surprised that Nicole had moved, surprised to see her struggling to sit up, reaching for the water. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, supporting her, holding the glass as she drank. He placed the empty glass on the nightstand then held out the t-shirt he'd grabbed.

"Let's get this on you—"

"Where's my shirt?"

"Nicole, you can't wear your shirt, not with your arm. Come on, put this on then we'll get you to the hospital." He eased the shirt over her head, then her good arm. She blinked, frowned, shook her head.

"I need to go home. I…I have to work." Her voice was just above a whisper, weak and almost desperate as she leaned against him. Mat didn't even think she realized she was doing it.

"Not tonight you don't. You need to get that arm checked out before it gets worse." He finished getting the shirt on her, pausing to roll the left sleeve up so it wouldn't rub against the wounds.

Then he eased her back on the bed and worked the sweatpants up her legs, over her hips to her waist, tying them so they wouldn't fall off. Nicole barely moved, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow. Her skin was still too hot, too flushed.

How long had the fever been burning? And how high was too high? He knew there was a dangerous point, but what the fuck was it? He didn't know, only knew that a sense of urgency suddenly seized him. What if he'd already wasted too much time?

Stop. Mat closed his eyes and took a deep breath, filling his lungs, holding it in for a count of ten. One more. He needed to push away the rage and the worry, because neither one would help Nicole. Not right now. Once he got her to the hospital, got her checked out, then he could lose his shit. But for now, he had to keep his head on straight.

He took another deep breath then moved from the bed, quickly changing from the loose gym shorts into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His foot brushed against something and he nearly tripped, catching himself at the last minute.

Nicole's backpack sat on the floor, partially pushed under the bed. He started to step around it then stopped. She'd need her id for the hospital, and who knew what else.

Mat grabbed the backpack and hooked the straps around his shoulder. Then he leaned over and scooped Nicole into his arms, careful not to move her arm more than necessary.

Her head dropped against his shoulder and she muttered something, her breath warm against his neck. But he couldn't make out the words. It wasn't until he had her safely buckled in the front seat of his car, her backpack resting on the floor between her legs, that he finally caught what she was saying, finally understood her mutterings.

"I can't." She licked at her dry lips and shook her head, her glazed eyes meeting his. The look in their amber depths—fear, anxiety, embarrassment—hit him with the force of a puck to the throat. "No insurance."

Mat curled his hand around the doorframe, surprised the metal didn't crumple under his grip. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against her forehead, hoping to reassure her.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

Her eyes widened, just a fraction before her lids drifted shut and her head tilted to the side. Instead of looking reassured, she had looked frightened. Or maybe Mat was only imagining things. It didn't matter.