Bang: B-Squad Book Two (10 page)

Damn, she looked good spread out on his bed. Isaac's dick was as hard as a steel-coated two-by-four, but he had to take a moment to appreciate the way the moon turned her long, blond hair silver, how her full tits bounced when she'd landed, and the way her legs went on and on and on as she spread them wide. One look at the glistening softness of her pink pussy and observation time was over. He stormed over to the bedside table and yanked the drawer open, grabbed a condom, and laid it on the top of the table where it was in easy reach.

Tamara had rolled onto her side, her fingers lazily playing with the tips of her nipples, pinching and stroking them. She was close to the edge of the bed, her mouth already open, her tongue wetting her lips. The invitation in her eyes snapped what little bit of control he still had.

He was on his knees, the bed sinking beneath him and his dick sliding into her hot mouth before he had time to process the move. The gentle swipe of her tongue around him as she sucked napalmed what was left of his brain. She took him deep and swallowed. Pleasure rocketed through his body, making him almost ache with it. Then she did what she always did—she surprised him. The little tease skimmed one hand down over the full curve of her tits, down the flat plane of her stomach and to the juncture of her spread legs. He didn't know where to look. Her fingers playing with her swollen clit or his cock disappearing between her slick lips? He'd fucking sell his soul to be able to watch both at the same time.

That was it. Tamara was going to kill him. He'd never looked so forward to dying.

"Does that feel good, darlin'? You want to be all filled up?"

She moaned around his dick and his balls vibrated with mind-melting pleasure, but it wasn't enough. It couldn't be unless she was right there with him, skating along the edge.

"Let me help." He reached over and put his fingers on top of hers and she stilled. "No. Show me. Let me feel how you make yourself come."

Another lusty moan around his cock as she sucked and stroked him with her mouth, then she swirled her fingers around her clit using the fingertips of two fingers with a slow, light touch. Tangling his fingers in her silky hair, he held her head still so he could match the stroke of his cock into her mouth with her leisurely pace circling her sensitive nub. Watching her, fucking her mouth, letting his fingers slide down so that he could dip inside her opening. She arched against his hand, rocking against his fingers.

"Is this how you touched yourself when you thought about me?"

She pulled away from his hold on her head and let him slip from her mouth. "What makes you think I've pictured you while masturbating?"

Feisty. Her attitude turned him on just as much as her traffic-stopping curves. "Because I sure as hell have pictured you."

"Tell me." Breathy. Needy. Heat so hot she'd burn with a blue flame.

This was the real Tamara—not the ice queen she showed the world. She was a sight to behold and he counted himself damn lucky to be getting an up-close-and-personal view—and if he didn't get even closer soon he was going to lose it. He withdrew his fingers and tasted her sweetness before stepping down off the bed and reaching for the condom on the bedside table.

"You want to hear about all the ways I've fucked you in my mind?" He tore open the foil wrapper.

She licked her lips as she watched him roll the condom on. "Yes."

He grabbed her legs at the ankles and spun her around on the bed, spreading her legs as he ran his hands up the outside of her calves, knees and finally up to her thighs so that he stood between them. "No."

"No?"

"I'd rather show you."

"Lucky me."

She hooked her ankles together at the small of his back. The move pulled him closer to where he wanted to be and let him slide his palms up and around so he cupped her ass and lifted her hips higher. He lined up his straining cock with her entrance.

"Which of us is the lucky one is up for debate, but not at this moment because I can't wait any longer for this."

He slid home in one long, excruciatingly amazing stroke until he was buried balls-deep in her clinging warmth. Better than he’d imagined? Hell, he hadn't even come close. Sensation bombarded him as he withdrew and plunged forward, his whole body was buzzing and alive. The whole world disappeared. There was only them.

Her body responded to his rhythm, increasing the pace and arching her hips upward to take more of him, let him hit that bundle of nerves just inside her entrance. As soon as he did, she squeezed around his dick like a hot fist.

"Isaac," she moaned as she rotated her hips and angled her body so that only her shoulders touched the mattress.

"How can I make it better, darlin'?" He'd do it. Whatever it took.

"Fast. Hard. Now."

Her wish was his command. She met each of his forceful thrusts, their bodies urging each other toward that sweet spot where pleasure bordered on blissful agony. A strangled moan escaped as her orgasm exploded and she clamped down on him, holding his cock tight.

He drove into her, his balls slapping against her bare flesh. The tempo increased to a frantic rhythm, ecstasy laying just beyond her reach. The pressure swelled until it consumed him. In an instant, the world shattered as he plunged inside of her one last time, coming with her name on his lips.

Their breathing was ragged and satisfied. Every bone in his body weighed a thousand pounds. Letting go of her wasn't something he wanted to do, but logistics was a bitch that way.

"I'll be right back." He got rid of the condom in the world's fastest trip to the bathroom.

Before he could dive under the covers and pull her close though, she had both feet on the ground and a pinched look on her face. He knew that look. It was the oh-shit-what-have-I-done look. God knew he'd worn it often enough after some of his crazier nights. But this wasn't one of those nights.

So much for a warm, fuzzy, post-coital feeling. "Having second thoughts?"

Her chin went up ten degrees. "No."

His gut gave a twinge. "Then what?"

"I should shower." She smoothed her hair. "I'm all sweaty and my hair's a mess."

Oh hell no. He didn't know who in the world had fucked with her enough that she confused a sexy, just-been-fucked afterglow with being dirty, but he would very much like to shove his fist down the asshole's throat.

"Darlin', I like you just the way you are."

She giggled. "Are you stealing lines from Bridget Jones's Diary?"

"I do have five sisters." Taking advantage of her moment of distraction, he tugged her down to his side, letting go of a breath he didn't realize he was holding when she rolled onto her side and laid her head in the pocket of his shoulder. "I've watched every rom com there is."

"Oh, and you even know the lingo."

He could feel her smile against his skin. It felt good. Really good.

"Don't start with me, Tamara Post."

"Does that mean you’re finished already?" she teased.

"Not even close." He wrapped an arm loosely around her waist. "Sleep while you can. I'll be waking you up in the best of ways in an hour."

"Promises. Promises," she half sighed, half mumbled.

He turned his head and brushed a kiss across her forehead. "You know I always keep them."

Tamara said something, but her words were too faint to understand. Her deep, steady breathing told him everything he needed to know. Relaxing back into the pillow, his own eyes drooping, he picked up the tablet on the bedside table to triple-check that all of the security systems were engaged. He'd promised Tamara she'd be safe with him. He wasn't about to break that pledge. One glance at the proprietary app he'd designed confirmed that anything bigger than a gnat would trip the alarms. That plus the beautiful, complicated woman asleep in his arms was all it took to knock him out for the night, and with any luck, it would banish the recurring nightmare he'd brought back with him from Afghanistan.

T
he sun was still
a soft pink line on the horizon when Tamara started carefully scooting out from underneath Isaac's arm. It was a delicate procedure. Waking him up wasn't a good idea. There were things in the duffle that needed her—and only her—attention. The B-Squad was plan A, but if that fell through she needed to make sure plans B and C were already in motion, and that meant solo access to what was in the duffle. Her lungs tight from holding her breath, she'd made it from being flush against his naked body to almost the edge of the bed that seemed as big as Texas when his strong fingers curled around her waist and tugged her back against his hard form.

"Going somewhere?" Isaac asked, nuzzling the back of her neck.

The husky, sleep-roughened gravel in his voice set off a flurry of kamikaze butterflies in her stomach. "I wasn't sneaking out."

"Really?" He nibbled his way down the column of her throat.

It was really hard to come up with a plausible cover story when he did that. It made her brain foggy and the rest of her soft and wet. "Okay, I was sneaking out of bed, but that's it. Most human beings do have to pee after they wake up."

"And you just naturally wake up at…" He let go of her and reached past her to swipe his phone of the bedside table. He squinted at the screen. "God, that can't be right. Do they actually make a time this early? That's wrong."

He put the phone back and brought her in tight against him again, close enough that there was no doubt that not all of him was still asleep. She shouldn't stretch so her bare ass rubbed against his fast-stiffening cock. It was wrong...he had other things to do...but it felt so good.

He groaned and cupped her breast, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

"Not a morning person?" she asked, as if she wasn't doing her best to wake all of him up.

"Darlin'…" He took a soft nip of her shoulder. "I'm more of a wee hours of the morning person."

The temptation to keep pushing, to just lay in bed and tease him until he couldn't take it anymore was so strong it almost made her forget everything that was at stake. Almost. Her mother may not have taught her the best lessons in life, but she'd given her an up-close and personal class on the most important one: Don't ever expect anyone to come to the rescue. Fate favored the hustler.

"Go back to sleep." She slipped his hold and scooted across the bed in the next breath. "We're not due at headquarters for another couple of hours. I'll just take care of a few things."

"Like what?"

Plane reservations. Buying a new piece of shit car to cross the border in. Hair dye. Working up some fake personas online to make her fake identities more realistic. "Shower. Get ready. Girl stuff."

He curled his body in one smooth motion so he was sitting up in bed staring at her, the sheets tangling in his lap and the morning sun touching the hard planes of his chest. "So why do you have the duffle?"

Damn, the man was persistent. "It's got a change of clothes."

She grabbed the duffle off the top of his dresser, ignoring the tug of the extra twenty pounds on one side, and hustled toward the bathroom and the door she could lock shut between them.

"Not to mention half a million dollars and a bunch of fake IDs."

She jerked to a stop and whirled around to face him. The smug satisfied look on his face just torqued up her annoyance. "You went through my bag?"

"Three in the morning and I are old friends."

"What, is that when you think about how awesome you are?" she put just enough disgust in her voice to make each word transform into a slap across his square jaw.

His eyes darkened to almost ebony, but he wasn't looking at her. He was gazing at something in the distance with a weary, mile-long stare that said too much without saying anything at all. Whatever haunted Isaac at 3 in the morning, it was eating away at him one chunk at a time—and she'd rubbed his face in it because he'd done the thing he was trained to do and left no stone unturned and no duffle unopened when it came to keeping her safe.

Tamara Post, you are a royal bitch.

Admitting this wouldn't help. No one knew better than she did that some wounds were best left unexplored. So instead of apologizing, she did what she always hoped others would do when her facade cracked. She pretended it hadn't happened.

"What, am I a prisoner?" Her tone didn't have the bitter heat the question required. "Do you want to watch me shower next?"

His attention snapped back to her and, in a heartbeat, the torment was gone from his eyes. "No, and yes, but for totally different reasons than you're insinuating." He drew out the Texas drawl, no doubt because he knew exactly what it did to her equilibrium.

Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was because of the way he looked at her. Maybe it was because it was hard to stay annoyed with a man who hid his hurt behind enough charm to catch all the girls in the state. Whatever it was, the giggles escaped before she had a chance to squash them. For his part, Isaac put his hands behind his head and leaned back against the pillows, a sexy grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

Her shoulders relaxed as the tension ebbed from the room. "Look, I'm not doing an Irish goodbye, but I do need to get some things in place just in case."

"Always a plan B, huh?"

"C, D, and E too." And wasn't that the truth.

"And you don't care to enlighten me as to what those plans are?"

"Essie is safer if fewer people know."

"Keeping you safe would be a lot easier if you trusted me."

"It's not you."

"You don't trust anyone."

"I trust my gut." And it was telling her to get her ass in the bathroom and start setting everything in motion, because the more time she spent with Isaac, the softer her edges got. She needed those sharp lines. Fuck the world before it fucked you first. The mantra was tattooed on her soul.

He narrowed his eyes, way more observant than a person would assume considering the pretty packaging. "What's your gut saying?"

The truth slipped out before she could stop it. "That you're too tempting by half."

He laughed, the big booming sound echoing in the room. "Go take your shower. I'll get breakfast started."

She strolled into the attached bathroom. "Black coffee is good enough for me."

"I don't think so." He shook his head. "My mom would skin me alive for having guests over and not feeding them properly."

"You really know how to cook?" she asked as she laid the duffel on the floor in the bathroom.

"Trust me," he said, his voice dropping a few octaves to the low rumble that made her thighs clench. "I could teach you a thing or two."

That her hand only trembled the slightest bit as she closed the bathroom door would have to go down as a top ten moment of triumph. The man was sex personified, and after last night, she had no doubt that he could definitely teach her a thing or two—and she'd more than enjoy returning the favor.