Hell for Leather: Black Knights Inc. (21 page)

“Am I hurting you?” he managed to ask.

She shook her head, her silky hair brushing against her shoulders, rasping over the red, ripe tips of her up-thrust breasts. “God, no,” she whispered, grabbing him and pulling him to her so she could plant a kiss on his chin. He felt the tip of her tongue dart out to tickle the dimple there. His balls tightened in response. “You feel amazing,” she whispered in his ear, nipping the lobe. “Please don’t stop.”

And just like back in Sander’s bedroom, stopping was the absolute last thing on his mind.

He trailed kisses along her neck, sucking lavishly on her pulse point, rewarded for the effort by her silky walls convulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him. Everything about her, about this, about what they were doing together, was amazing. The sound of her sighs, the feel of her heels hooked together above his ass, the swollen delectation that was her hot, hungry mouth…

When he grabbed her hips to push forward the last two inches, seating himself to the hilt with one final, forceful jab, and his tip pressed tight against the hard entrance to her womb, she speared her fingers into his hair. Sealing their lips, her satiny tongue darted deep. And he was completely awash in the smells and sounds and sensations of sex.

It’d never been this good. Never, never. And that’s when it occurred to him.

“Condom,” he croaked.

“Mary and Joseph,” Delilah groaned, resting her forehead against his.

When her inner walls squeezed around him again, he gasped, “Stop that.”

“Can’t help it,” she husked, biting her lip, each of them holding still. Holding perfectly still. Because one small move, one slick slide, might be all it took to send both of them careening over the edge.

“I-I don’t have—” he began, lamenting the fact that he didn’t carry a spare condom or two in his wallet like the rest of the Knights. What was the point? He wasn’t a horndog like Ozzie or Steady. He didn’t bed everything on two legs. When he had a woman—and he
did
have a woman on fairly regular occasions despite what some of the boys at BKI might say to the contrary—it was always planned ahead of time. A nice dinner. A movie. And the inevitable fall into bed.
Then
he came packing. A true-blue Boy Scout to the core. But now? Nada. Zippo. Zilch. How the hell could he have let it go this far? Where was his head?

Oh, right, offline right now because Little Mac was doing all his thinking for him.

Delilah drew back. “I’m on the pill. If you want—”

That’s all she managed because, in the next instant, he pulled himself from the decadent warmth of her body only to slam back home on a stroke that rocked her against the top of the dresser. The pill? That’s all he needed to know. Because the monthly physicals and blood work he was required to undergo working for BKI told him he was clean and free of disease. And four years for her? Yeah. No worries. She squeaked at the force of his thrust. But one look at her face told him everything he needed to know. It wasn’t a squeak of pain; it was a squeak of pleasure. So he repeated the move, over and over. Slipping, sliding, impaling. She met him stroke for stroke. Her hands on his ass, her nails digging into his flesh.

“Yes, Mac!” she moaned against his lips, her breath hot and sweet. “Yes!”

He felt it then. That fist sharp edge of release building in his balls, racing along his shaft. He wanted to stop it. Wanted to keep on taking her forever. It was so good. Too good. But he couldn’t stop it. He didn’t have the strength or willpower. Not this time. Maybe later. But this first time his hips pistoned wildly. This first time, his mouth greedily devoured her lips and tongue, her cries of pleasure.

And then she did it. She threw her head back and screamed his name right before she detonated. Her back arched. Her breasts thrust up at him, the hard, wet tips a temptation for his eyes. The walls of her vagina squeezed him like a hot fist.
Lord
have
mercy!
His orgasm answered in kind, bursting through him. And it was the most explosive, heartrending, gut-twisting, delicious, melting, decadent sensation he’d ever experienced.

He had no idea how long his body spasmed as he held himself deep, as he poured himself inside her. It seemed like forever. And all that time she clasped him to her, kissed him, her mouth so unbelievably sexy, so unmistakably greedy.

“Delilah,” he finally groaned, pushing himself deep inside her one last time, reveling in the little tremors of residual pleasure that shot up his shaft.

She squeaked again when he wound an arm under her butt, lifting her from the dresser. Making it to the bed took some doing, what with his jeans bunched down around his ankles, but he managed it. When he separated himself from her body to toss her atop the bed, the sudden feeling of loss shocked him with its strength. But he quickly pushed the sensation aside, reaching down to drag off his boots, his ankle holster, his jeans.

She lay on the bed like the incarnation of provocation. Eyes heavy lidded and sparkling. Lips red and swollen. She drove him crazy when she lazily ran a finger back and forth over the tip of one violently puckered breast. Her right knee propped up, allowing him a small peek at the plump, wet flesh between her legs.

“I thought this was a one-shot deal,” she said when he crawled up to her, over her, her eyes darting down to his dick. Little Mac, the boy wonder, had already begun to harden with new life.

“That first one had to be done to take the edge off,” he told her. “Now we’re ready to start the real show.”

Shawnee National Forest

Southern Illinois

“Did you make it to the second location safely?” Haroun asked, and Qasim glanced around the walls of the cave. The kerosene lanterns danced their light, creating shadows that writhed and moved like living entities.

A cave. Qasim had seen his fair share. The difference was that the caves he was used to were arid and dusty. This one…well, this one was cold and damp. The walls glistened with water and moss, the chirp of bats echoed from deep inside. He was unbelievably happy to hear from his second-in-command, and when he pulled in a relieved breath, the smell of damp earth and minerals tunneled up his nose.

“We are here,” he told Haroun. “We had to carry the Marine. I think Jabbar might have broken one of his legs. It made the hike difficult. But, we are here.”

“You did not stop?” Haroun demanded, something in his voice causing Qasim to frown. “You did not refuel? You were not caught on any cameras entering the park?”

“No. Everything went as we planned. What is it?” he asked. That feeling of foreboding was back, settling like a poisoned stone in the pit of his stomach. “Is it your wound? Are you hurt worse than you led me to believe?”

“No, no,” Haroun insisted. “It is not that.”

“Then what is it, brother? What is wrong?”

The poisoned stone of foreboding grew to the size of a boulder as his second-in-command told him of the helicopters, of being forced to abandon the rental vehicle, of the men in black suits with machine guns who sounded less like local law enforcement officials and more like well-trained government agents.

“How is it possible?” he demanded. “How could they have tracked us?”

“I do not know,” Haroun admitted. “Perhaps our papers were not as well-forged as we thought. Perhaps we were caught on camera somewhere and facial recognition software—”

“Enough,” Qasim cut him off. He knew the Americans had ways, unimaginable ways of tracing people, of protecting their precious borders. Now, the question was how Qasim and Haroun should proceed? In this arena, he relied on his second-in-command. Haroun usually knew when the risks outweighed the rewards. “What do you propose we do?”

“Nothing has changed,” Haroun assured him. “I was able to steal a truck from the barn of an old farm. I followed the signal of the cellular phone to a motel. Miss Fairchild is being held inside, guarded by the bikers and two additional men I can only assume are agents. I am hidden in a tree line behind the place. Watching. When the time is right, I will sneak up on the man positioned outside her back window. He is not very attentive. In the last two hours, he has barely glanced up from his phone. Before he knows what has befallen him, I will slit his ugly throat. And then I will climb into Miss Fairchild’s room and take her.”

It seemed dangerous. Too dangerous. Qasim told Haroun as much.

“No,
habibi
,” Haroun insisted. “
This
is our chance, our moment. The one we have been waiting for. We must grab it with both hands. I will come to you soon with the woman. Wait for me. And trust in Allah.”

Qasim couldn’t argue with such staunch bravery, such formidable belief. “Very well.”

***

Mac was, without a doubt, the sexiest man alive.

His smell, that uniquely
Mac
smell, was a constant in her nose as she fought to catch her breath. Mac and sex. It was decadent. And as he lay beside her, propped up on one elbow, the breadth of his shoulders overwhelmed her. The hair on his chest delighted her. And the angry red thrust of his once more fully erect penis sent a frisson of awareness zinging across her nerve endings.

She’d just had two unbelievably hard orgasms. But looking at him—at his corrugated stomach muscles, at his long, long legs, at the sweat making the dark hair near his temples curl boyishly—she knew two wasn’t going to be enough. Not nearly enough. Hell, two
hundred
wouldn’t be enough. Not when it came to this man. The man she…loved…

Her thoughts stopped on a dime. She fancied she could hear the
errrrtttt
of squealing tires inside her head.

Loved him? She
loved
him? Was that true?

She searched inside herself, inside her heart, and saw that it was.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!
What in the world had she been thinking? Had she
really
believed that once she had him, she’d stop wanting him? Had she
really
believed that her heart wasn’t already involved?

She was a fool. A goddamned self-deluding fool! And,
oh, holy shit
, this was going to hurt.

“What is it?” Mac asked as he ran his thumb along the ridge of her collarbone, gently, studiously, as if he’d never touched a woman there before.

She forcibly smoothed the frown from her brow, swallowed the tears burning at the back of her throat. It was either that or ruin everything. And she wouldn’t do that. If she only had this day, this one brief moment in time to hold the man she loved in her arms, then she was going to revel in it, luxuriate in the opportunity to take pleasure from him and to give pleasure in return. She’d lost too many people she cared about not to treasure each moment for what it was, not to rejoice in those precious, few instances that brought her sheer happiness. Like now.

“Nothing,” she assured him, smiling, loving the play of light in his eyes when his gaze searched her face. Loving…
him
. “Just ready for round two.”

A sexy little smile curved those wickedly skilled lips of his. “Good,” he rumbled, bending forward to lick her nipples, pulling back to blow air over them.

Oh, for Heaven’s sake…
The tips of her breasts tightened until the sensation was just this side of pain. But he didn’t stop there. He continued to pluck and suck, to lick and flick the tips with his tongue until she was writhing, nearly coming from that alone.

“Not yet,” he growled when her mewling and squirming alerted him to the fact that she was close to the edge. “The next time you come, it’s gonna be in my mouth.”

And if
that
wasn’t the sexiest, naughtiest, most delicious thing a man ever said to a woman, she didn’t know what was.

“Mac. Oh, God, that feels good.” She speared her fingers into his hair as he slowly kissed his way down her body, stopping to swirl his hot tongue into the hollow of her bellybutton. And she’d never noticed it, never seen it on any of her biology class diagrams, but there was obviously a nerve that ran from the navel straight to the clitoris. Her toes curled into the sheets, her hips lifted from the mattress.

She
wanted
his mouth on her, his tongue
in
her. She wanted to feel his beard stubble rasp against her most private parts. In the simplest terms, she wanted sex. All of it. Every which way. Until she couldn’t think. Until she couldn’t lament that this time, this one time, would be all she had…

“I love the way you smell,” he told her, kneeling between her legs, his broad shoulders forcing her thighs wide. “I love the way you look.” His eyes were on her. Drinking her in. “And,” he said, palming the globes of her ass in his warm, rough hands, lifting her hips, pressing one all-too-brief kiss to her heated core, “I love the way you taste.”

“Mac…” His name was sigh, a prayer, a curse… But then all thought escaped her. Because his tongue lapped up the length of her, tapping against the distended bud of nerves at the top of her sex, and her center pulsed, becoming a throbbing void of yearning. Of hunger. And then…

Oh…he wrapped his lips around her clitoris and started flicking his tongue in a rhythm that drove her straight to the edge. Two fingers filled her, pumping, rubbing. His growls of triumph and pleasure echoed in her ears.

She strained. Strained toward release and away from it at the same time. She wanted an end to the glorious misery. And yet she wanted it to go on for eternity. Stretching out to infinity.

Her head thrashed on the pillow. She plucked at her own nipples. Mac bit her, ever so gently, catching the nerve-bundle between his teeth. And that was it. She exploded. Her orgasm hitting her with the force of a runaway train.

She screamed…something. She didn’t know. She didn’t care.

Divinity. She’d heard the word. Knew what it meant. But never had she experienced it until this moment. The sensations Mac pressed on her as he continued to coax more and more from her were divine. Mystical. Spiritual.

This
was making love.
This
was what it was supposed to be like. She never knew. Oh, God, she never knew…

“Again,” Mac told her when the last pulse of orgasm ran through her. He pressed up on his knees, grabbing his shaft by its thick base and angling his plump head toward her entrance. “Do it again just like that. With me inside you.”

***

Mac had lost his mind. His body was in control now. And it wanted to devour Delilah, claim her, mate her, leave its mark on her until she’d never be able to look at herself in the mirror without thinking of him. Of them. Of this time together when their two bodies became one in what had to be one of the most phenomenal, cosmic couplings since the beginning of time.

He was so hard he could barely bend himself enough to press into her tight channel. With a growl, he adjusted his position, letting go of his shaft in order to plant his palms beside her head. He used his knees to spread her thighs wider. Ducking his chin, he thrust forward, watching the raging head of his cock separate her silky folds. Watching himself grow shiny with the evidence of her passion. But just when he gathered himself, tensed his hip muscles in readiness to flex forward, she tilted her hips, changing the angle.

He moaned. In frustration. In unspeakable, horny delight when she grabbed him, rubbing herself against him before pressing the head of him tight against her throbbing little clit. He was nearly cross-eyed, but he could still see her mouth fall open on a gasp of pleasure when he pulsed against her.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, rocking back slightly, supporting himself with one arm so he could grab his shaft and tap his tip forcefully against the hard bundle of nerves guaranteed to send her to the moon. She sighed blissfully, her knees falling to the sides. He kept up the motion until he thought he’d come, until he thought
she’d
come. Then, in one smooth stroke, he plunged home.

Delilah climaxed instantly, writhing against him, scratching his back, neck arched in a lovely bow. With gritted teeth, he held on until she finally quieted. Then he began to move. Slowly, steadily, the tension in his balls, the pleasure along his shaft building with each glorious glide.

“I want you to come again,” he told her, pressing kisses into the damp hair along her brow, breathing in the scent of her. “And this time,” he reached down between them so he could rub her tiny nub with the pad of his thumb, “I want you to take me with you.”

“Yes,” she breathed, fisting her hands in his hair, claiming his mouth as she drew her thighs higher along his sweating flanks. “Yes, Mac. Oh,
oh,
yes.”

He rode her then. Drove into her over and over again. Staked his claim. Marked her. And when she began to shatter, he went with her, holding himself deep, flooding her with his passion.

When it was over, he lay atop her, body spasming, breath sawing from him and ruffling the ends of her fiery hair fanned out beneath his face on the pillow. Finally, he gathered enough strength to pull back, and he choked out a laugh.

Delilah…was asleep. Eyes closed. Lids fluttering every so often. A soft little snore grumbling from between her lovely, kiss-swollen lips.

Holy smokes, he’d screwed her unconscious. And if he wasn’t such an evolved guy, he might just slap himself a high five.

Then it hit him. Just how exhausted she must be. How scared. How…vulnerable.

Shit.
Had he taken advantage? Had he made a mistake?

Slowly, with infinite care, he rolled off her. She murmured her dislike of his sudden absence, the desertion of his heat, shivering slightly when the air from the window AC unit raised goose bumps all over her body. Her nipples tightened and, in response, his spent cock jerked with interest.

With a frown, he admonished Little Mac for being a witless wonder. Then he pulled her close, brushing strands of fragrant hair away from her temple so he could press a kiss there. Brave Delilah. Strong Delilah. Wonderful Delilah…

He didn’t want her to regret this. Didn’t want her to hurt because of him.

Daring Delilah. Charming Delilah. Beautiful Delilah…

She was the kind of woman to make a good dog break his leash. And she made
Mac
wish everything was different. She made him wish
he
was different. A man with fewer emotional scars, a man who didn’t know better than to lay it all on the line and give it a go. Sweet Lord almighty, she just made him…
wish
.

And wishing was a dangerous business. After wishing came hoping. And after hoping came
what
the
hell; let’s try.
And after
what
the
hell; let’s try
came—

Jolene!
That broken cry from that ravaged voice echoed in his head. He could still feel the unfathomable ache in his chest.

As he looked down at Delilah, so pretty, so…everything a woman should be, he knew he could fall, if he let himself. Perhaps he
had
fallen…just a little. And that right there was enough to scare some cotton-pickin’ sense into him.

This
is
a
one-night stand, asshole. Nothing more. You’d do well to remember that.

Good advice.
Great
advice. And since it
was
just a one-night stand, he’d be damned if he wasted one single, solitary moment of it.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, rubbing his burgeoning cock against her silky hip, thumbing one of her delicious nipples to rigid life. “Wake up. I want you again.”