Nauti Temptress

His lips brushed against the outer curve of her breast, kissed it in passing, then eased higher, his tongue probing, licking, searching—

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Brogan.” She gasped, arching to him as his lips surrounded the tight, violently sensitive peak and sucked it into the heated depths of his mouth.

Liquid flames surrounded it.

The heated stroke of his tongue against the nerve endings gathered there sent pure ecstasy racing to her womb, her clit, exploding inside them and driving the need tearing through her higher.

Eve tore his belt loose. Her fingers tugged at the metal buttons of his jeans. Pulling and tugging, she struggled with them until they were free, pushing aside the material before freezing in shock. A harsh moan escaped her as her hands found the long, broad length of his cock as it rose between his thighs. The flared crest was slightly damp, the shaft throbbing, pounding with the blood racing through the heavy veins just beneath the silken flesh that stretched tight over the iron strength.

There were too many sensations.

She felt a roughened heat against her nipple as he sucked at first one delicate tip, then the other. With thumb and forefinger he gripped the other peak, tugging and milking it with his fingers as electric forks of sensation slapped at her clit with each stroke.

She fought to breathe. She fought to understand the force of the sensations whipping out of control and blazing through her senses, and couldn’t seem to do it.

As his hand moved from her breast and slid down her waist, over her abdomen, then tucked between her thighs as his knee eased back, Eve knew she was doomed.

Right here in this bed on this sultry summer night, she lost herself.

And she wasn’t entirely certain she would be able to find herself once the pleasure was over.

SIX

Eve never imagined pleasure could be this extreme.

She’d never before had her control stripped by a kiss or a little heavy petting.

She’d never lost herself to the point that a man had actually managed to get his hands between her thighs, or to the point that she was so wet, so wild, that nothing mattered but Brogan’s touch. She’d been waiting for this. For a pleasure so extreme she couldn’t deny it or the man giving it to her. Until Brogan, that hadn’t happened.

His fingers slipped through the thick layer of juices that gathered between the folds of her pussy. As they slid through the narrow slit, he parted the inner lips, his thumb pressing against her clitoris as he rubbed the clenched entrance with his fingers.

Lifting closer, desperate for his touch, aching for more, Eve whimpered at the heat flooding her senses and the driving hunger spurring it. She parted her thighs further, her hips shifting, arching to him, the feel of his mouth devouring her nipple as his thumb pressed against her aching clit dragging a low, harsh cry from her throat.

Suckling, licking, rasping the hardened peak of her breast, Brogan began to ease the tips of two fingers inside her. The feel of the entrance parting, stretching, her juices flowing to meet his touch suspended her breath for precious seconds.

Her fingers clenched in his hair as a gasp burst from her lips. It was all she could do to keep from screaming with the pleasure.

Sinking, falling deeper into the rapture surrounding her, Eve gave herself to the drowning sensations. So much so that when the sharp knock against her patio door exploded through the room, she wasn’t entirely certain what it was, or where it was coming from at first.

Brogan’s head jerked up and turned to the doors as Eve stared back at him, dazed.

The knock came again.

“Eve, are you awake?” Dawg called out. “I know you are; the light’s on, sweetie. Come on; I just want to talk to you for a minute.”

The sound of her brother’s voice was like cold water suddenly surrounding her body.

Oh, God, what had she done?

Staring up at Brogan, she was suddenly horrified. The thought that she was betraying Dawg, betraying every belief he had in loyalty to one’s country and defending their freedom, rushed through her.

If he found Brogan here he would never forgive her.

If he had been disappointed in her before, how much more would he be now?

“Come on, Eve; just talk to me for a minute,” he called out again as Brogan moved back from her, his jaw clenching, his blue-gray eyes flickering with frustration.

Jerking his shirt from the floor, he tossed the towel to her bed and hurriedly moved to the door connecting the bedroom to the sitting area.

Jumping from the bed, Eve grabbed her robe from the tall dressing screen on the other side of her bed and quickly pulled it on, tying it as she rushed to the patio door.

She opened the door just enough to face him, glaring at him, uncertain whether it was Dawg or herself she was suddenly angry with.

“Don’t you ever sleep, Dawg?” she questioned him, hearing the roughness in her voice, feeling the heat that still flushed her body, and terrified he’d realize what she had been doing.

The look in his eyes sent guilt tearing through her.

He looked as miserable as she had felt at the bar. His celadon eyes were a shade darker, still such a light color it was hard to tell whether they were green or a very light blue or gray in the dim light of the room.

A heavy frown pulled at his brow as he reached back, rubbed at his neck, and sighed wearily.

“I couldn’t go home without checking on you,” he admitted. “I had to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine, Dawg,” she said with a sigh, her chest tightening with such regret and pain that the ache actually tugged at her heart. “But isn’t it a little late for a married man such as yourself to be running the roads?”

A heavy expulsion of breath met her question. “Some things can only be done at night, it seems.” He grinned back at her. “But this couldn’t wait.”

“Well, as you can see, I’m fine.”

He shook his head, ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, then propped both hands at his hips before sliding them into the back pockets of his jeans.

Damn, her brother was nervous. She had never seen Dawg nervous.

“You know,” he finally said roughly, “I was damned proud of you tonight at the bar. You kept your head and didn’t let Sandi goad you with her insults. But once she struck, you took care of things damned well, Eve. I worry, you know.”

He looked away from her for a second, clearly not finished.

“Why?” she asked anyway.

“I worry about you and your sisters,” he admitted. “That somehow you’ll get hurt, seriously hurt, because I might not be where you need me. Or because someone decided to go on a rampage wherever you are. Knowing you have the ability to defend yourself makes me breathe a little easier. I’ll sleep a little better.”

God, he was serious.

The surge of thankfulness that he even thought about her while she wasn’t in his sight rushed through her. It was almost as strong as the guilt tearing her apart now that Brogan was no longer touching her.

“Dawg, I try to be careful,” she promised him. “And I know Piper, Lyrica, and Zoey do as well. You, Rowdy, and Natches have taught us to fight and how to use our heads. The rest of it is up to us. You can’t watch us twenty-four/seven.”

He nodded slowly, looked away again for long moments, then turned back to her.

He cleared his throat. “About Brogan—”

“No.” Eve gave her head a hard shake as her hand clenched on the side of the door. “I can’t talk about Brogan, Dawg. Please.”

This was tearing her apart. It was destroying her as nothing ever had. As nothing ever could. Guilt at her deception, at the knowledge that Brogan was standing just on the other side of the door between her bedroom and the sitting room, dug into her heart. It was like a lance piercing her soul, the knowledge that she was breaking her word to the only person who had ever given a damn about her besides her mother and sisters.

* * *

Dawg knew guilt when he saw it. Just as he knew the agony of thinking, believing something that should have been his never would be.

The day Christa had told him she had lost their baby when she had been little more than a teenager, that summer she had run from Somerset. He’d felt it then. Felt his soul being sliced in two with a jagged blade.

That was the pain he saw in Eve’s eyes now as nervous guilt darkened them.

How could he tell her he hadn’t meant for her to believe she was betraying him with Brogan without effectively giving her permission or the go-ahead to have a man he knew would endanger her?

She would become a weakness to Brogan as well. A man doing what Dawg suspected Brogan was doing couldn’t afford such a thing. A woman like Eve could break a man’s soul when she was harmed because of his job or something he was doing. But even more, it would destroy Dawg and ensure that he killed Brogan himself.

“You know, Eve,” he finally said, “I’ve always been proud of you, and I’ve always been proud to call you my sister.”

She stared back at him, the pain in her expression only intensifying as she looked away from him, blinking.

“You’ll always be my sister, Eve,” he tried again, knowing he was failing.

“Thank you, Dawg,” she whispered, nodding as she stared back at him. “That means more to me than you know.”

He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. Maybe he should have brought Christa with him.

“I’m really tired, Dawg.” Those were tears in her voice.

He sharpened his gaze on her face, catching the glitter of moisture in her eyes, and cursed himself. He could kick himself if he could reach his own ass, he thought. Son of a bitch, what was he doing to her? Was this the kind of father he was going to be?

His sisters were practice, he’d always said. Lately, all he’d done was make them cry.

“I don’t want to see you hurt, Eve,” he tried again. Pulling his hands from his pockets, he laid them on her shoulders, forcing her to stare back at him. “Sometimes, just because our instincts might be right about the person, they’re not always right about whether or not we can trust our hearts to them, you know?”

“Please, Dawg.” She stepped back from him slowly. “Go home to your wife and daughter. Get some sleep. I’m all tucked into bed, safe and sound. No one’s going to hurt me tonight.”

No, she didn’t understand.

He breathed out in irritation and self-disgust.

Yeah, this was a job for Christa.

“I’ll do that.” He sighed. “Get some sleep, Eve.”

“Good night, Dawg.”

Stepping back, she closed the door, and a second later the sliver of light at the side of the heavy curtains covering the glass blinked out.

Dawg shook his head, paused, then turned on his heel and forced himself to walk to the main porch entrance where he’d parked.

Once he reached the steps, he paused.

Eyes narrowed, he looked around slowly.

Something wasn’t right. . . .

* * *

Brogan stepped back into the room, finding Eve as she stood by the patio doors. Her head was lowered, the midnight black silk of her hair falling around her face as he watched her shoulders tremble for a second.

He could shoot Dawg.

The son of a bitch just didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

“I can’t keep doing this.” Eve shook her head as she lifted it before moving across the room to where he stood.

Walking past him, she jerked the door open and stalked into the other room of her suite before turning to face him.

“Afraid he’ll be watching for me?” he asked, unable to keep the mockery out of his voice.

“He’s suspicious.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t want him to know I broke my promise to him, Brogan. Until I decide what’s more important, how my brother feels or what you want from me, then I can’t keep doing this.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he frowned down at her. “Have you asked me what I want from you, Eve?” Hell, no, she hadn’t. But she didn’t have a problem making decisions about what he wanted from her without his input, it seemed. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">