I cry out, the pleasure more intense than anything I could ever have imagined. It completely overwhelms me, captivates me, transports me. I’m in a world where only Nash and I exist, only what lies between us. Only the passion that we share.
Nash slows his rhythm to a deep grinding, the friction accentuating each wave of my orgasm. Before the spasms of my pleasure subside, he moves me back up onto the bed until my h*ps are once more supported by the mattress. He eases out of me and drops to his knees, hooking my legs over his shoulders and burying his face in the warm, pulsing flesh there.
My body jerks at the first touch of his hot tongue. Gently, he licks at my swollen flesh until my orgasm has nearly died, and then he becomes more aggressive.
Reaching around my leg, resting his arm on my stomach, he parts my folds with his fingers and draws the rigid nub at the top of my crease into his mouth, sucking on it and flicking it with the tip of his tongue. Once more, I feel the tension escalate. I fist one hand in the duvet and curl the fingers of my other hand in his long hair, holding hold him to me.
“Ohmigod, Nash. That feels so good.”
“Let me have it, baby. One more time. Let me taste it all.”
The vibrations of his words stimulate me even further as he moves the fingers of his other hand to my core, thrusting one into me, pushing me closer to the edge.
Putting his hands behind my knees, Nash rolls my h*ps up, toward my head, pushing my legs as far apart as they’ll go, opening me completely to him and his wicked mouth. In and out he moves his fingers as he licks and flicks with his tongue, faster and faster.
I melt into my second orgasm in slow, breathtaking waves. I feel my body squeeze his fingers. “Oh yeah, that’s it. Come for me.” Spreading me wide, Nash rubs my clitoris with his thumb as he thrusts his tongue inside me, lapping up every drop of moisture my body spills for him, for his touch. Just the thought of what he’s doing, of him wanting to taste me like this, is enough to renew the spasms of my cl**ax.
When my body is limp and nearly numb from pleasure, Nash crawls up onto the bed, between my legs. From between the slits of my eyelids, I see him guide his engorged head to my entrance. And then he’s inside me and I can’t breathe again.
He stretches me so tight, he pauses to let me adjust before he withdraws and plunges into me. Wetly, he pulls out and thrusts again.
His lips find mine and he groans into my mouth. I swallow it along with my own sounds of abandon. I taste the salty sweetness of my body on his tongue. It sends a thrill through me that this was what he so wanted from me—my essence, the evidence of my pleasure.
His lips are rough on mine. Hungry. His hands are callused on my breasts. Urgent. His body drives deep inside me. Desperate.
My entire world is on fire. I can’t tell if I’m nearing my third orgasm or if he’s just managed to rekindle the embers of the last one, but I feel my body clutching at his, milking it, begging for its release.
He tears his mouth away from mine long enough to whisper into my ear. “Tell me I can come inside you. I want you to feel it.”
His words strengthen the contractions of my body around his. More than anything, I want to feel him come inside me. “Yes,” I pant shallowly.
With a growl, I feel him stiffen as the first hot spurt of his orgasm fills me. Two more thrusts and then Nash slows his rhythm, grinding his h*ps into mine, rubbing me both inside and out, liquid heat spilling into me and out of me at the same time. The sensation is violent in its intensity. I dig my nails into his back to keep from falling off the edge of the world.
“Mmm, that’s right, baby. Feel it.”
His words are like gasoline on an already raging fire. They’re a physical touch that keeps me on the crest of swell after swell of my cl**ax.
SEVENTEEN
Nash
I knew sex with this woman would be satisfying. The depth of satisfaction I feel right now—lying on top of her, still inside her, our damp chests clinging together—is just a testament to how much I needed this.
Badly.
Very badly.
I fully expect my desire for her to start tailing off. It always does. No woman holds my attention for very long, and it’s always strictly sexual while it lasts. Besides, I still have a feeling Marissa will remember one of these days. And when she does, when she realizes what happened, she’ll hate me. As well she should. It was a pretty shitty thing to do.
I guess it’s a good sign that I’m starting to feel bad about it. Guilt is a nuisance, but maybe the presence of it means I’m starting to remember what humanity feels like. It’s been lost to me for a long time, living among the animals. The criminals. The lowest of the low.
But I could do without the return of guilt. It figures that it would be the first sentiment to pierce my thick scar tissue, the only one sharp enough to penetrate my years of emotional exile.
Marissa wiggles beneath me, situating, settling in for a long snuggle. My immediate inclination happens inside her. Blood rushes to my soft head, turning it semihard. I’m ready to go again, which is not unusual for me at all. I have a very healthy sexual appetite and short recovery time.
No, it’s my second reaction that I find strange and bothersome. The muscles in my arms actually twitch and I nearly pull her in closer to me. That is very unusual.
Maybe it’s just the fact that I haven’t had any in a few weeks. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. I’ve just missed women close. Any woman.
That rationale doesn’t make me feel any better. It doesn’t make me any more comfortable with it. And still, I don’t like it.
Extricating myself from the tangle of our arms and legs, I roll to the end of the bed and get to my feet, zipping my pants. “I’m thirsty,” I say casually. “You want something?”
Marissa is sitting up in bed now, her arms curled around her torso, covering herself. Her expression isn’t as much wounded as it seems to be puzzled. I’m okay with puzzled. It’s the wounded part that bugs the shit out of me. I hate it when women get all pissy and hurt because I’m not the warm and fuzzy type. You’d think they’d figure that out within ten minutes of talking to me, but they don’t. That or they all think they can be the one to change me. But that’s just not gonna happen.
“Um, no. I’ll, uh, I’ll use the bathroom and get ready for bed, I think.”
I nod and make my way to the kitchen, leaving her to all her girly rituals.
I grab a beer from the fridge and take it to the sofa, intent on doing some brainstorming, going over my plans in case the Dmitry situation doesn’t work like I hope. Of course, even if it does, all the other pieces would have to fall together perfectly, too. And that doesn’t happen very often. So it behooves me to have as many other options as I can think of.
My mind is whirling away on the different pieces and players in the grand scheme of this tangle when an image of Marissa moaning beneath me rises up to distract me. I push the thought aside in favor of the faces of the Russian mafia members that I’ve seen. Within two minutes, I’m thinking of her again, of how soft her skin is and what her neck smells like.
I take another long pull from my beer bottle, examining it closely and feeling guilty all over again. Over what I did so long ago.
Damn, she’s gonna be pissed.
Maybe she won’t ever remember. Maybe she’ll never find out. I don’t know why I even care, but I kinda hope she doesn’t. It’s not like I set out to make her hate me, like I want for that to happen.
The swelling of my dick behind my zipper is making it impossible for me to think, so I drain my beer, put the bottle in the trash, and head back toward the bedroom.
Let’s see how willing she is to play along now.
When I get to the door, she’s just pulling back the covers to get into bed. She stops and looks at me. We stare at each other for at least two full minutes before she drops the covers and turns to fully face me.
I cross the room slowly and stop in front of her, giving her one last opportunity to change her mind. I thread my fingers into the hair at her temples, gazing into her beautiful blue eyes. When she shows no hesitation, no sign of resistance, I take her lips in a kiss that’s meant to consume. The problem is, within seconds, I’m not sure who is consuming whom.
* * *
I rub the thick, soft towel across my chest and down my arms, drying water droplets and thinking about how rested I feel. I don’t think I’ve slept that good in months. Maybe years.
Good sex’ll do that to a man.
I dry my abdomen, making note of the red line where I was stabbed. It doesn’t bother me at all this morning and looks to be healing perfectly. I continue drying.
The muscles in my arm flex, drawing my attention to the winding, scroll-like tattooing that covers my right arm from elbow to deltoid. I think of the significance of each band of swirling art and I hope that maybe, just maybe the days of not knowing if I’ll live to see my next sunrise are over. Maybe I’ll never add another layer of tats to my arm.
For some reason Marissa pops into my head. She’s so different from anyone I’ve had in my life for the last seven years. She’s like a reminder of what life could’ve been, what it should’ve been for me. And it’s nice to experience a little bit of that, even if it is too late and only an illusion. My life can never be what it was meant to be. My future is set to some extent. Inevitable. Unavoidable. Unchangeable.
I growl at my thoughts, at the trapped feeling I’m getting. I don’t like inevitable. I don’t like anything I can’t control.
I’m partly relieved when I hear voices. On the one hand, they’re a welcome distraction. But on the other hand, I feel uneasy when I hear a man’s voice, one I don’t readily recognize.
I dress quickly and make my way out to the living room. I’m not at all pleased to see Cash’s friend Gavin sitting on the couch across from Marissa, relaxed and chatting away like he belongs there.
When I stop at the coffee table, arms crossed over my chest, Marissa glances up at me, causing Gavin to look up, too.
“Good morning, mate. Looks like Doc got you all squared away,” Gavin says. I couldn’t hear the hint of his accent from the bathroom, but now I can. It’s not thick, but it’s there.
His demeanor is friendly. But I still don’t like him.
I grunt in response. “What the hell are you doing here so early?”
“I was on my way to the club. Thought I’d stop by and check on Marissa.”
It aggravates the hell out of me that he’s not intimidated by me. He’s nearly as big as I am, so I wouldn’t expect my size to make an impression, but I’m a lot rougher than Cash, and I would think a guy like this might sense danger. And steer clear of it. He’s treading on thin ice right now. I’m not sure why his presence here irritates me, but it does and he ought to be smart enough to sense it and get his ass out of here.
“Well, you have. And as you can see, she’s fine. I’ve been with her. I’ll keep her safe. No reason for you to be concerned about her anymore.”
Gavin’s sharp blue eyes narrow on me. He makes no response, nor does he make any move to leave, which only further aggravates me.
Marissa clears her throat, drawing our attention to her. She smiles brightly. “Who wants breakfast?” she asks as she rises.
“We don’t want you to go to any trouble. I think I’ll just grab something later. I’ll follow Gavin over to the club. I need to talk to Cash, anyway.”
Gavin’s grin is playful, like he finds it amusing that I just cockblocked him. I don’t find it amusing at all.
Asshole.
Marissa just looks from me to Gavin and back again. No one says anything until Gavin gets up.
“You don’t have to leave, Gavin. And it’s no trouble to fix something, Nash,” Marissa says pleasantly.
“You don’t need any more trouble, Marissa. And I can tell you that this guy’s trouble. If he gives a damn about you, he’ll keep his distance.” I turn to Gavin, daring him to argue. “Right, Gavin?”
I’ve never been one to beat around the bush.
Gavin smiles again. “It’s funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”
“I’m here to keep her safe, not to bring more shit into her life.”
“You’re saying that your mere presence doesn’t put her in more danger?”
“I’m saying I can keep her safe.”
If I’m being honest, I can’t say that I don’t bring danger to her door, because I probably do. But that’s different.
“I can, too. Probably even better than you can. Maybe we should just leave it up to Marissa.”
I grit my teeth. This guy needs his ass kicked. “That’s a good idea, especially for me. She’s already said she wants me to stay with her.”
Even though that’s not exactly what happened, I doubt Marissa will refute it.
Gavin looks to Marissa. “Is that true?”
“Yes, I told him he could stay here.”
Gavin laughs and nods in my direction. “Not quite how he made it sound, but I understand your predicament. A nice sheila like you will always do the polite thing. Just know that if you need anything at all, you’ve got my number. I’m only a phone call away.”
He already gave her his number? What the f—
He turns to me, all smug and arrogant. “I guess we’d better be on our way then, right, mate?”
He gives my shoulder a friendly slap as he passes. The thing is, it’s a little on the firm side. Makes me want to rip his arm off and beat the shit out of him with it.
I clench my jaw against the urge. Instead of acknowledging Gavin, however, I walk to Marissa. Looking down into her face, I raise my hands to cup her cheeks and bend toward her.