Storm: (Blood Legion MC) (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 3) (16 page)

“Tell me, Blaize.”

She pushed up. Her head snatched back and she bit at me, a nipping stinging bite to my neck. She swiveled back and forth, riding my dick like she owned it.

Owned me.

I watched the in and out. My hands circling her waist. My eyes pinned to the grinding gyrations of her cunt pulsing around me.

“
Tell me
.” I rose to my knees and took back control.

Wild Ride

ONE THRUST.

One more
pounding
thrust.

Then I pulled out, placed my cock against her clit. Rolled that huge purple-red crown against her tiny exquisite nub.

Blaize rolled up, too. She sat back, opened her legs over my thighs. Her back pressed against my chest. And she undulated. Dipped up then down.

Her body shuddered, and she held my forearms around her waist. “This isn’t just another mission, Storm. It’s you and me.”

The catch in her throat. The glint in her eyes when she glanced back at me. The sheen on her skin. I thought I’d lose it right then.

Grabbing a handful of her hair, I thrust languorously into her.

I held her hips, riding the soft pulses, the waves of her taking each stroke.

“God, Storm! Finish me!” She fell forward onto her hands.

A chuckle rumbled out of me. “You mean
again
?”

When she moaned, I kept plunging into her, holding myself up on strained arms, flexing into her with a rock-solid cock.

We came, merged together, my lips at her neck, her body rippling beneath me, rippling around me.

I couldn’t even form complete words after that.

I collapsed on top of Blaize.

Until she started wheezing. “Too heavy!”

Chuckling, I slowly withdrew from her and moved to the side, bringing her right with me.

“C’mere, beautiful.” I clasped her face, kissing her all over.

“You have a lot of moves, Storm. You used those before?”

“Got no moves with you. Like you said”—I swept her hair back from her face so I could look straight into her eyes—“you and me.”

“You were right.” She snuggled against my chest.

“’Bout what?”

“Walking tomorrow.”

“And I’m not even done yet.” I crawled low between her legs, drawing my hands along her body.

Blaize arched, presenting me with high tits, flushed nipples, warm skin, and the bowl of her belly.

I kissed her bellybutton. I smeared my lips across her hipbones. I sucked just above her mound.

Pulling her legs wide open, I peered at her pussy with that small tuft of bright penny-colored hair.

My lips hovered over her, and just when I was about to swoop down to get my fill she yanked my head back.

“Say please.”

Because it was Blaize, and because I knew she needed the control too, I gave just one swipe of my tongue along her sweet slit before asking, “Please let me eat you out, Blaize.”

Her grasp loosened and I lowered my face, burying it between her thighs.

Gasping, she arched her pelvis up, swaying to my lips, guiding me along the dips and swells of her most perfect flesh.

Getting a good grip on her ass to keep her in place, I made Blaize lose her tightly wound control one lick, one suck, one light circle around her clit at a time. She tasted like absolute heaven on my tongue, in my mouth. I couldn’t get enough of her. Wanted to keep her planted against my face forever.

The thick weight of my hard cock only registered when the tip coursed across the bed sheets, and the friction made me hiss into Blaize’s wet pussy.

She bucked up with a moan.

Melting against my mouth, the rest of her ratcheted higher, tighter, wilder.

The sounds coming out of her could’ve made me come alone.

She mewled and cooed and urged me on, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

Sucking at her labia, setting my teeth against her, driving my tongue inside her, I tasted her, tasted every part of her.

When she was so ramped every touch of my mouth made her arch and whimper, I fucked her with two strong fingers and rounded, rounded, rounded her clit with the tip of my tongue.

She snapped in a soft floating orgasm, clutching my deeply thrust fingers, vibrating against my tongue, flowing into my mouth.

“
Mm
.” I licked my lips and wiped my shiny chin against her breasts, cruising up against her. “Messy, aren’t you?”

Flushed and glowing. Stretched out and relaxed. Smiling with her eyes shut, her lips slightly parted, her hair in disarray all over a pillow she must’ve punched into submission when she came, Blaize murmured my name.

“Sexy, and I like it,” I growled.

Her palms smoothed down the muscles of my back and up again. “Hot.”

“Hard.” I rolled her quickly on top of me.

The sex was slower that time. She set the pace. I was just along for the ride. For the tight hot feel of her compressing around my cock. Her hands braced on my chest. Her nipples in my mouth. Her wet little puss snugged around me. Velvety skin. Shimmering hair. Dancing tits. Swiveling hips. Hungry kisses.

Hungry.

Greedy.

Endless.

My voice hoarse, I shouted in release when the tension—tension that’d built for over a year—broke. Slamming up into her body, I thought I’d break in two, shatter into a million pieces, float into the ether.

Her warmth.

Her flesh.

Her scent and skin and husky laugh and proud body.

Every single part of Blaize.

Trying to find my voice, remember to breathe, act like that final orgasm hadn’t robbed me of every last brain cell, I curled her against me. I blindly found a blanket shucked way down at the end of the bed by our feet, or—I peered one eye open—I guessed our heads were at the end of the bed, our feet at the top.

Whatever
.

I covered us up and held her against me. Reaching to the floor, I found a pillow and stuffed it behind our heads.

Still couldn’t breathe at a normal rate. Couldn’t even drag my eyes open again.

I grunted instead. My hands seemed to have no problem working, though. They caromed all over Blaize’s body.

“Are you in there?” she whispered.

“
Unghh.
”

She laughed brightly, like she’d just woken from a refreshing nap, not just been part and party to The Fuckfest of 2015.

“You are kind of handsome, like Simone said.” She slipped her hand up and down my chest.

I managed to peel one eye open. “You're just figuring that out?”

Damn but I liked this new,
new
side of Blaize.

She tried to get me to flip over to my stomach, pushing at my shoulder, but I was like a lazy lead weight. I let her huff and puff a little before I switched to my front like she apparently wanted, taking only a corner of the blanket with me.

With any luck she’d just cover me with her body.

Folding my arms beneath my face, I grinned. Eyes still closed.

Her fingers wandered over me, a little rubbing, a little tickling, a lot of making my skin shiver.

“You regret the tat?” she asked.

The giant backpiece, the replica of the Legion emblem, stretched from one shoulder to the other, and ink covered my skin all the way to my lower spine.

“Because it represents the Legion?”

She laid a kiss between my shoulder blades, her fingertips lightly drawing patterns on my back. “
Mm hmm
.”

“I regret a lot of things. Especially about Angel.” My voice deepened. “The tat? Not so much. It’s part of my history.”

She rested her chin on my shoulder. “You regret us?”

“
Cher
.” Turning over, I hauled her into my arms. “For a woman who likes to kick the asses of elite operatives all before breakfast any given day of the week you sure have little confidence in yourself.”

“Is it okay if I'm actually a little shy with you?” She kissed me tenderly, her hair falling in a curtain around us. “I’m not really a relationship kind of gal.”

“Oh yeah. That's okay.” More than okay. Made me like her even more. “’S’it okay if I wanna sleep all snuggled up to you?”

Blaize wrapped her arms around me, her legs finding a home curled between mine. “Affirmative.”

Target Practice

SITREP: ALL IS RIGHT in my world.

Got the girl.

And I currently had her breast in one hand, her ass in the other.

Preach.

I’d woken half on top of Blaize, possibly crushing her, but she didn’t seem to mind. Squinting my eyes open, I saw her, felt her, watched her for just a second.

Because to watch was to want more, and I knew she was damn cranky in the morning without her java.

She sort of snuffled-snored and twitched her nose when I carefully extricated my limbs from around her. Then she rolled right over where I’d been. I covered her back up, a smile on my lips.

After hitting the bathroom, I pounded on Angel’s door down the hallway. “Wake up, ya fuck!”

I heard him stumbling through the room, swearing when he probably stubbed his toe, and just when I was about to bust through his door, Angel appeared, the blond curls of his hair damp at his neck. Fresh from a shower and—when I booted the door wider—a fuck, it appeared. A woman was arranged on his bed, on her stomach, half covered up.

He stepped out.

I cleared my throat.

He closed the door.

“You know what I said about condoms, right?”

“You know I’m twenty-two, right?” He came right back at me.

“
Bien sur
.
Mais
, the birds and the bees and the
honeys
sometimes get all mixed up with baby daddies before they’re ready.” I motioned him down the staircase.

And he squinted back at me with the same blue eyes peering at him.

Fuck.

It was hard keeping our connection a secret.

I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Just cover it, okay?”

“
Oui
. Sure. I ain’t stupid, Storm.”

“I wish you’d call me Nash.”

He snorted, taking the steps two at a time. “No one else does.”

“’Cause I’d kick their asses if they did.”

“So I’m still you’re special project.”

“Special.” I slapped the back of his skull. “In the head.”

We hit the front door at the same time, our shadows falling over Solomon . . . on his ratty old chair.

0800 hours and the man was wide awake. Or possibly still awake.

And he had griddle cakes cooking on his grill.

“Do you ever sleep, Sol?” I stopped beside him.

“Dese old bones be rattlin’ in my big ol’ lonesome bed.”

Angel cupped his scarecrow shoulder. “Why don’t we get you a fine old woman?”

Solomon cackled. “Heard tell the two of you rule the roost full of hens.
Uh huh
. Dem be the cock of the walk.”

Angel and I ambled off, with him rooster-calling after us.

“Bring you back a cup of coffee if you cut that shit out!” I tossed back.

He crowed some more.

“Beignets?” Angel asked, clapping his hands together.

“Beignets.”

Our old ritual . . . When he was nineteen and I was a lot more stupid. CIA stupid. I’d collect him every morning, we’d walk the streets, talk to the locals, exchange the usual barbed insults with one another, and I’d try to make him see he wasn’t cut out for this life without outright saying it.

Blood Legion. Death. Vice. Drugs.

The fucking kid could have a future.

In no hurry, we strolled along, leaving the crappiest area of Central City behind. The buildings started looking nicer, people became friendlier, little mom-and-pop businesses actually turned a profit.

“Your woman Blaize. She’s a firecracker,
huh
?” Angel asked when we stopped to listen to a long-haired hippy chick playing some serious steel chords on the guitar

I placed a tenner in her open guitar case. “You could say that.”

“Did you lay it on the line with her last night?”

Laid something on her. Not what he was thinking.

“Took her in hand,” I said.

“Like that, is it?” The damn kid was cute.

Almost Justice-style—
GQ
magazine—pretty-boy-handsome.

He could own the fucking world.

I jerked my chin, and we moved on. “Not like that. I don’t hit women. Never would. Never gonna. I don’t take ’em for granted either. Nikki and me? Well that was done awhile before I left, but I never once disrespected her. Tried not to. Women? They’re mostly stronger than us. Not in size or muscle, but in heart and”—
fuck.
Felt like I’d already said too much—“beliefs. You hear me?”

We stepped into the bakery, and it felt like a soft cloud of fresh-baked sugary heaven wafted over us.

“I hear you,
brah
.”

Brah.

Brother.

I was Angel’s kin. And he might never know the truth because of who I was. What I did.

Man. I did
not
want Angel to grow up a drug- and gun- running thug of a motherfucker. Maybe I could get him into WITSEC, but he’d have to sell out the MC. No way that was happening. Not with his pappy’s legacy. The Blood Legion was the last thing he thought he had in the way of a family connection because he had no idea he had
me.

And he couldn’t.

Once Blaize and I completed our job, any connection to me could get him burned. Or worse, buried six feet under.

We got our go-bags of doughy confections and our cups of coffee plus two—one for Blaize and Sol each.

“Thought you’d at least contact me, Nash.” Angel’s eyes misted over, and it was the first time since I’d stepped back into the Thunder Road Bar that he showed real emotion.

That was when I realized the kid—the six foot-something, broad-chested babe-magnet—needed something more.

Me.

His big brother.

I glanced away from Angel, my fingers curling and crackling the paper bag. “I couldn’t. Wanted to.”

My one regret, apart from not taking Legion down from the inside out the first time, was losing him to this life.

“I gave up a lot. Lost a lot. But I’m not losing you. Someone has to learn you some common fuckin’ sense, right?” I shoved my shoulder against his.

“Heard.” He knuckled quickly beneath his eyes like shedding a tear or two was a frigging crime.

My throat goddamn stoppered up like a stone lodged in the middle of it.

I punched his shoulder.

He swung back at me.

We grappled our way outside of the bakery.

“Don’t fuck up my beignets, asshole.” I pushed Angel away from me. “I got a hungry woman to feed.”

“Here. Have a napkin.
Leaky
.” He balled a napkin and lobbed it at my head.

“You’re payin’ for that.”

“I just paid for breakfast.”

We parted ways at the front door of the MC. I slipped Sol his coffee then went to wake up Blaize. With a lot more than a kiss, a cup of coffee, and a few pastries.

****

Like I said, all was fuckin’ A right in my world.

A beautiful fall day in the Thunder Road courtyard AKA the MC shooting range. Late September, and the air was warm, the sun shining bright. Blaize and I had only been in New Orleans for four days. In some ways it felt like half a lifetime.

Birds freakin’ chirped. Sol’s flowers still blossomed. The fountain in the center that’d only been misfired on a few hundred times burbled with clear water.

And Blaize stood beside me, peppering shots at paper targets hung on a clothesline while I wielded my Sig Sauer and popped off rounds at empty beer bottles.

Kouto and Burn joined us. Lunchtime, and those lazy bastards were finally awake, still wiping sleep from their eyes.

They sat in a matching pair of wrought iron chairs, sharing an entire casserole of gumbo between them. And an early afternoon
aperitif
. Vodka. From the bottle.

Pure class.

I kept the two men in my peripheral vision and my ears tuned to them. Burn with his half-melted face, and Kouto with the razor-sharp grin and dark, dark all-seeing eyes.

They grumbled with every bull’s-eye Blaize killed. The fact she hardly paid attention to her aim was drawing a fuckload of attention to her skills.

And that was never a good thing.

“You might wanna try missing a few t-zones,
cher
.” I leaned into her, subtly changing her aim.

With a flip of her hair and a flirty giggle, she purposefully fired off a few wild shots.

Burn collected a handful of bills from Kouto. “Knew it. Last night was pure luck. The chick couldn’t really hit shit if she tried.”

They scraped back their chairs and left, barely glancing back.

Why did I feel like we were the ones under surveillance?

We continued pulling triggers and plugging holes into our targets.

My lips barely moved when I asked, “What are we doing about Slade?”