Thrill Ride (22 page)

He held up a hand he was disgusted to see was shaking, but,
thanks
be
to
Jesus
, the move stopped her mid-stride.

“I don’t want this,
chere
,” he insisted as she stood there looking at him, refuting him with the spark in her eye, the quirk of her brow, and the sexy tilt at the corner of her delicious,
too
goddamned delicious mouth.

Then she did something unbelievable and glanced, rather
pointedly
, at the bulge behind the fly of his Levi’s. “You’re lying,” she breathed in that sex-operator tone she’d donned upon first propositioning him.

And,
oui
, she was right about that. Because the truth of the matter was, he wanted it more than he remembered wanting anything in his whole sorry life. He wanted
her
more than he remembered wanting anything in his whole sorry life. But this
wasn’t
right. He was trained to figure out what people were hiding, to discover their true motivations, and though Vanessa talked of simply wanting him, in reality, she was operating under the harebrained impression that if she could get him to succumb to her physically, he’d succumb to her emotionally as well.

And that
wasn’t
going to happen. It
couldn’t
happen. Because then
she’d
succumb emotionally—more than she already had, that is. And he’d be left knowing when he died—and chances were still pretty good that could happen sooner rather than later—she’d be left with nothing but heartbreak and loss. He couldn’t do that to her. He just couldn’t…

He tried shaking his head, but it was hard given he appeared to be paralyzed from the waist up.

“I know what you’re afraid of,” she said as she took another step toward him. It was followed by another and another until she was standing in front of him, close enough to touch. Close enough to grab and kiss. Close enough that her cherry-red toenails were almost touching the tips of his alligator cowboy boots. And after one craptastically tough day—oh, who was he kidding? It’d been a craptastically tough
six
months
—she still somehow managed to smell good enough to eat. Clean and fresh, slightly minty and
very
womanly.

The brainless wonder in his pants certainly appreciated her nearness. The stupid bastard started pounding against his zipper like a convict pounding against the bars of his cell.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he managed, even though someone, at some point, had shoved a giant fist down his throat.

“You’re lying again,” she whispered, reaching forward to run a finger—one soft, delicate finger—down the length of his arm. Goose bumps exploded in the wake of that finger. “I can hear it in your voice. You’re afraid that if you give yourself to me, if you let me give myself to you, then that brick wall you’ve built up around some of your…
softer
emotions will come crumbling down.”

“You’re dead wrong about that,” he growled, grabbing her hand to stop the motion of that maddening digit. “It’s not
my
softer emotions I’m worried about. It’s
yours
. The last thing I want to do is hurt you,
chere
.”

“That’s just an excuse. You’re hiding behind this oh-so-honorable notion that you have to protect me from myself, when the truth of the matter is you’re scared to death that I might be right and you might be wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“Prove it. Take off your clothes.” She said the words clearly, decisively. And, pig that he was, that authoritarian tone went all through him. In that instant, he could totally picture her in a leather catsuit, wearing six-inch heels, and slapping a satin-tipped whip against her palm while she stalked toward him—he’d be tied to her bed with fuzzy pink handcuffs, of course.

Mon dieu,
I’m in some serious trouble here.

“Vanessa,” he warned, but she just cut him off.

“It’s time to put up or shut up, Rock. I want you. I know you want me. You’ve warned me away multiple times. And, yet, here I am. So…Take. Off. Your. Clothes.”

He opened his mouth, only instead of words coming out her tongue went
in
.

He hadn’t seen her move, hadn’t seen her take that last step toward him, but suddenly she was in his arms, up on her tiptoes, her cool palms on either side of his face, her lush lips planted over the top of his mouth, and her sweet, agile tongue trying like hell to memorize the exact dimensions of each and every one of his teeth.

And that’s when it happened.

That’s when the tenuous hold he’d had on his self-control, on his
self-denial,
broke. God help him, but he was going to take what she was offering. Because she was right. He’d done his best to dissuade her, but he was finished fighting his own wants and desires…He was finished fighting
her
.

Grabbing her amazing ass in both hands, he leaned back against Patriot’s seat and lifted her until they were aligned.
Dieu.
He could feel the heat of her through her yoga pants, surrounding him, hinting at the silky, sultry bliss he was sure to find between her legs.

He kissed her with everything he had. He
loved
kissing her. Because kissing her was absolutely breathtaking, like oh-my-God-I’m-about-to-come breathtaking. Except they still had all their clothes on, which come to think of it, was a definite plus since he’d undoubtedly already be balls-deep inside her if they didn’t, and they happened to be missing one very important component.

Tearing his mouth away, he started to say something then completely forgot what that was when she immediately kissed her way back to his ear, tugging his lobe between her teeth and licking sweetly.

His eyes crossed, and his toes curled inside his boots. How did she know to do that? How did she—

It took everything he had to grab her shoulders and push her back. And when she looked up at him, her eyes half-lidded, sparkling with dark feminine triumph because,
oui
, she’d certainly won this battle—he was a goner, no more fight left in him—he nearly forgot,
again
, what it was that’d made him stop in the first place. But then she moved, rubbing herself against his throbbing erection, and a mere wisp of sanity returned. It curled like a thin line of smoke through his passion-hazed brain and set fire to just enough synapses to have him gritting one word through clenched teeth, “Condom.”

Then, even with most of his brain focused on the place where their bodies were sliding together, he had the wherewithal to wonder if he’d be able to hold off long enough to even make a condom necessary because,
merde
, she felt so damn good in his arms. All smooth skin and soft curves. Feminine in every sense of the word.

His gaze was riveted to her movements when she lifted a hand and reached into her T-shirt. Then he was surprised he didn’t start drooling, tongue hanging out and eyes bulging like a cartoon dog, when she began pulling out the accordion-folded length of condoms she’d stored between her breasts.

Belle
ange—
his beautiful angel—had come equipped, had she? And Lordy, just the thought of her upstairs, stashing those condoms in her bra because she was bound and determined to seduce him, ratcheted his desire to another level. He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, considering right at this moment, he was hornier than he’d ever been in his life, but the way she pulled those condoms out of her shirt, slowly, seductively, had his breath sawing from his lungs and his knees going weak.

Thankfully, he was supported by Patriot’s sturdy chassis, or he might’ve proven just exactly how much of a goner he really was, how wild she really drove him, and taken a header into the shop floor because…

“
Merde
, woman,” he breathed, “that might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” And it reminded him of the time she pulled a pistol from a thigh-high holster beneath her skirt. It’d been during a hotel stakeout, and he hadn’t thought it could get much better back then…

Whowee, had he been wrong.

The corner of her mouth twitched just as another flash of lightning illuminated the shop, electrifying the air around them to a fever pitch. He actually felt the hairs along his arms and the back of his neck lift as she leaned forward to whisper against his lips, “Oh, honey, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

And then she did it. She took a step back, whipped her T-shirt over her head, reached around to unfasten her bra—damn, he barely got a look at it, just a quick peek of ball-tightening red lace before she tossed it over her shoulder—and pushed her yoga pants down the smooth, tan expanse of her legs.

And, as if that move needed a symphonic accompaniment, thunder boomed overhead, an auditory exclamation point to emphasize the sweet spectacle in front of his eyes.

Holy, holy,
holy
shit. He wanted to prostrate himself before her and swear fealty to all things woman. Because she was the very picture of femininity: round hips, round breasts, high, round ass. Her sex—her
bare
sex, Lord help him—was swollen and plump, and looking at her, he couldn’t help but feel awkward and gangly, made up of sharp corners and hard planes. The very opposite of her lush ripeness. And he was so overwhelmed by the beauty that was Vanessa Cordero, by the temptation she represented just by standing there, he was surprised he could talk. Yet somehow he managed, “
Tu
es
magnifique
.” And it was the first time since he’d left the bayou that he didn’t have to translate when he told a woman she was magnificent. “But,
chere
,” he had to rip his eyeballs away in order to glance around the shop, then up at the dark second-floor balcony. “Here?”

“Right here,” she breathed, stepping back up to him, winding her arms around his neck, sealing their lips once more.

Vanessa’s heart was a sledgehammer, pounding, drowning out the sound of the occasional thunder clap over the wet city outside. She’d done it! She pushed past his defenses, and she was in his arms and—

Oh, was she ever in his arms. His solid chest was a warm wall against her breasts, his strong hands anchoring her to him even as she dug her fingers into the deep divot of his spine, reveling in the hard line of muscles on either side.

They were so close, touching everywhere, but she wanted to get even closer, she wanted to absorb him into herself. Since she couldn’t do that, she satisfied herself with reaching down to grab the hem of his T-shirt, releasing his lips just long enough to whip it up and over his head, tossing it aside before clutching him to her again, reveling in the feel of his pectoral muscles, warm and hard against her furled nipples, glorying in the sensation of his flat stomach cushioning the gentle curve of her own. And then she reclaimed his wonderfully wicked mouth.

Holy
cow
, could Rock ever kiss. And simply kissing him was more pleasurable than many of the full-on sexual encounters of her life. And she didn’t want it to stop. She
never
wanted it to stop. But she had to. Because she couldn’t figure out how to undo his stupid belt.

Ripping her mouth away, she frowned down at the offending accessory. “What the hell? Does this thing have a combination lock?”

Rock was breathing hard, and his rough chuckle tickled her ears and sent a frisson of pleasure skittering down her spine where it exploded at the base of her belly. Oh, man, she could listen to him do that all day. And if he did it while he was inside her…?

Of course that would require her getting off this ridiculously stubborn belt!

Sonofa—

“Here,” his long, tan fingers brushed hers aside, and she watched, for future reference, how he grabbed the big buckle, pulling it in the opposite direction she would have guessed. And then the belt was undone and it was her turn to push his hands away.

“Let me,” she said. And they both watched as she undid the top button on his Levi’s and slowly, tooth by hard,
scritching
tooth, unzipped his fly.

“Ah, there you are,” she breathed when she shoved his jeans and his boxers down the length of his legs and his erection sprang free, thick and violently red, the tip swollen and weeping.

“Indeed.” His voice was like a rusty hinge when she reached forward to stroke him. And, oh,
hot
.

He was so hot, burning her hands, scorching her brain as she watched her fingers move over him, around him.

“
Non, chere
,” he pulled her hand away. “I’ll never last if you start doin’ that thing again.”

“What thing?” she asked, tearing her eyes from the unapologetic jut of his impressive sex in order to drink in the corrugated ridges of his flat stomach and the delicious line of muscles that formed a V above his hipbones. A smattering of hair grew in the center of his chest and narrowed into a path that trailed down his belly. There were a couple of raw patches on his pectoral muscles, no doubt from the plastic explosives—plastic explosives…Jesus!—that’d been strapped there. And tattooed over his heart in big, loopy cursive? The words
Always
Remember.

She’d seen the ink before, of course. But now that she knew what it meant? Now that she knew all he’d suffered? Well, just throw on the scuba gear and air up the tanks, because she was sunk. Completely, totally, sunk. In over her head.

And she wasn’t going to think of what it’d mean, or how bad it’d hurt, if by tomorrow he didn’t realize he was in the same sunken boat with her. Because for now? Bliss…The bliss she was feeling, the elation and passion, was all she could concentrate on.

Just
look
at
him.
With his pants bunched down around his alligator cowboy boots and all that maleness on display, with his dark hair messy and his hazel eyes heavy-lidded and sparkling, he looked like he belonged on a
Cowboys
Gone
Wild
beefcake calendar. And, oh, how she wanted to touch him again. To feel him pulse and throb and fill her hand…

“That thing you do that shoots me to the moon,” he grumbled, reminding her she’d asked a question. And, okay, so he wasn’t in the mood for a repeat of what happened out in the jungle. Which was just fine by her. Because she wanted more this time, too.

Hell, she wanted it all. And she wanted it fast and hard.

She wanted it
now…

“Touch me,” she breathed, realizing she’d never craved anything as badly as she craved Rock’s touch. His hands were so big and hard, so knowledgeable…

“My pleasure,
chere
,” was what he said. But what he did?

Oh, good grief!

He spun her until she was bent over Patriot, her stomach cradled on the alligator skin seat, one hand braced on the back fender, the other on the big gas tank. And her ass? Well, her ass was there on display. And the sight must’ve pleased him, because he sucked in a ragged breath before making a low growling noise that tickled her ears—she could swear she felt the resultant rumble in the wet, aching spot between her legs.

His erection brushed her hip when he leaned forward to smooth a hand over her ass, and it was so hard. So hard and so hot it nearly burned her, branded her. And she welcomed it. She wanted to be marked. By him. And screw the feminist movement, because right now she was glad she was a woman and he was a man, stronger and bigger and able to bend her to his will. The operative word being
bend
.

“Poor,
chere
,” he crooned, rubbing a callused palm over her butt cheeks. “Too many bruises on this beautiful, beautiful ass.”

And until he mentioned it, she’d forgotten. Forgotten she was sore, forgotten she was discolored, forgotten everything but the mesmerizing feel of his hands on her and the way they made her womb pulse and throb until she thought she couldn’t stand it another second.

“Please, Rock,” she begged. “Please touch me.”

And he knew what she was after, because he used one booted foot to spread her legs wide and then…

Holy
cow!

His hand slid over her ass one last time before traveling farther. Down to the swollen lips of her sex where he cupped her in his palm. Then, when she was about to open her mouth to beg him for more, he used two fingers to gently grind her lips against her aching clitoris. Her eyes crossed, her head fell to the side, and she moaned.

It felt so good. So good and almost enough.
Almost.

“Rock,” she panted, pressing back against his hand. Wanting more.
Needing
more. “Please.”

And, delightful man that he was, he gave her what she needed. With one hand, he reached under her braced arm to cup her breast, stroking her beaded nipple with the edge of his rough thumb. And with the other, he spread her lips, finding her entrance with two thick fingers and pressing, ever so gently but ever so surely, inside.

Three pumps was all it took. Just three forceful pumps of his fingers in and out, and she lost it.

She came hard and fast, her inner muscles squeezing and pulsing and aching. Stars danced on the backs of her eyelids, every follicle of hair on her head felt like it lifted, and she rode the waves of her orgasm with abandon. Reveling in the intense pleasure, celebrating the joy that was the human body brought to the sexual brink. And when she crested that last wave, when her body spasmed for the final time, she realized that low, keening wail that’d been filling her head was actually her.

***

Good
God
almighty.

Rock had never been with a woman who had a hair trigger before, and he had to admit, he’d been missing out. Because watching Vanessa go off like a bottle rocket every time he touched her was sexy as hell. Too sexy.

And all he could think was that he wanted to be inside of her. Now.

Catching hold of her waist, he spun her around and hoisted her onto Patriot’s seat, stepping between her thighs as she braced her bare feet on the chrome exhaust. And then she was grabbing him with one hand while she used the other and her teeth—
sweet
Lord
have
mercy
—to rip open a foil condom wrapper.

A second later he was sheathed and she was using him against her. Rubbing the swollen, aching head of him like a sex toy up and down the length of her until she put the very tip of him inside…

And even though his eyes were crossed in ecstasy, he couldn’t rip them away from what he was seeing. Because if he’d thought watching her go off like a bottle rocket while he’d used his fingers was hot, it was nothing compared to watching the length of himself disappear inside of her. Inch by slow, steady inch.

Hot and tight and wet…

“I just want to…” She hooked her heels above his butt and jerked him forward until he was seated to the hilt.

“Unh,” he exhaled, and she moaned, “Oh, that feels good.”

Good? It felt better than good. It felt transcendent. She was holding him so snugly while simultaneously melting all around him, and she looked like every fantasy he’d ever had come to life. Because she was once again bracing herself with one hand on the gas tank and the other on the back fender and her dark head was thrown back, which made her breasts stand up all pretty and round.

He bent to suck one of those proud peaks into his mouth, and the taste of her combined with the minty, clean smell of her had his orgasm threatening at the base of his spine. He felt his balls pull up close to his body even as they were smashed against the smooth globes of her ass.

And then he did something he hadn’t done in years…

He forgot about finesse and cadence and skill. He simply placed a hand at the small of her back so that her pelvis tilted forward and proceeded to pump into her with everything he had.

It was a hard, driving rhythm, a single-minded determination to sate the hunger of his desire. Of hers.

Each stroke ended with his name on her lips, each withdraw was a harsh, indrawn breath. And then she was coming again. Moaning and tightening around him, and he let her nipple pop free of his mouth so he could clench his jaw against the mind-numbing pleasure.

Too soon. He didn’t want it to end, but…

A litany of French curses spilled from his lips as he came and came and came some more, the storm raging outside, lightning flashing and thunder roaring.
Dieu
, it seemed endless, and yet it wasn’t enough, because it was the best orgasm of his entire life, and he never wanted it to stop.

He never wanted to be separate from the sultry grip of her body, never wanted the pleasure to end. But end it did. Finally. After many long seconds.

And when the world stopped spinning and his head stopped floating somewhere near the ceiling, he pulled back to find Vanessa watching him. Her succulent bottom lip caught between her teeth. A tentative little smile making the corners of her dark eyes crinkle. And for a moment, he was dumbstruck.

Because this woman, this incredible, wonderful, smart, beautiful, funny, lusty woman wanted him again. It was there on her face, in the question in her eyes.

“You’re insatiable,” he declared, chuckling and shaking his head. His chest was still rising and falling like he’d run a race, he was still shivering from the unbelievable orgasm he’d had, and she wanted him again.

“Hey,” she shook her head and tightened around him for emphasis. “If this is going to be the only night you tear down those walls, I want to make sure I take full advantage.”

God love the woman; she was nothing if not audacious. Honest to a goddamned fault.

“Well, how about we take that full advantage upstairs, to my bed,
non
?” he asked, then a tickling on the back of his leg had him frowning.

“What? What is it?” Her brow crinkled adorably.

“Is that your toe?”

“Huh?”

“On my calf?”

She dropped her chin and stared up at him like maybe he’d finally gone around the bend. And to add emphasis to their current position, she tightened her legs around him, reminding him that one: they were still locked together—
dieu
, she was so tight and wet and wonderful—and two: her ankles were still securely fastened together just above his ass.

So…“What the hell
is
that?” he asked, almost afraid to look.

Pushing aside his shoulder, she glanced around and down, and then sat back on the bike, her lips rolled in, her eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter.

He sucked his teeth and lifted a brow. “Is that a cat’s tongue?”

She nodded, but this time there was no suppressing her laughter. A snort turned into a giggle, which quickly morphed to a hiccupping chortle.

Rock glanced over his shoulder and down to find Peanut, the world’s ugliest, fattest, most odor-ific tomcat—and the Black Knights’ acting mascot—licking the back of his leg while one severely crooked tail swished back and forth happily.

“
Fiche
moi
le
paix
.”
Get
the
fuck
away
from
me
, he said, trying to nudge Peanut and his rasping tongue away with one booted foot. But his wide stance combined with the grip of Vanessa’s vice-like thighs and the fact that his jeans were still down around his ankles to preclude the movement. And then the stupid cat made everything so much worse by rising up on his back legs—quite a feat given Peanut’s substantial girth—in order to lick the back of Rock’s knee.

Vanessa lost it. She hooted with laughter and, had he not been being molested be an overzealous tomcat, he could have appreciated the way it made her wet sheath tighten around him. But really? This thing had just gotten weird. And he’d had some pretty funky fantasies over the years, one in particular that involved candy corn and a feather duster, but a fat cat with a sandpaper tongue was too much, even for him.