Primal Instinct (2 page)

She shook her head. “No. Just a fan, I guess.”

“Lucky you.”

She chuckled down into her drink and then met his eyes again.

Lucky her, indeed.

Colt Priestley took a long pull on his beer, his eyes once more roving over Taylor's long, lean body. She was so tall, almost as tall as him, and as he was six-two, that didn't happen very often. His eyes kept sliding down to her long, slim legs, wrapped in black denim. For now. Soon, they'd be wrapped around him, if he got his way. And when it came to women, Colt almost always got his way.

Huey Lewis began thumping through the bar's speakers, and Taylor made a face, scrunching her cute little nose. “I thought this was a rock bar.”

“Hey, don't rag on Huey Lewis. He had some great hits.” Colt smiled and bopped his head with cheesy, put-on enthusiasm in time to the music. She touched her fingers to her mouth and stifled a laugh before her eyes found his, and suddenly, her hand was on his chest. Hopefully she couldn't feel his heart pounding harder than a damn kick drum.

“I would've thought with this”—her fingers traced over the Led Zeppelin logo on his T-shirt—“and this”—the fingers of her opposite hand trailed up his right forearm and over his tattoo—“you'd have better taste than Huey Lewis.”

He tried to think of something sexy, something flirty to say back, but his eyes were glued to her mouth, and goose bumps were trailing up his arm where she touched him. He cleared his throat and flashed her a smile.

She bit her lip and looked up at him, amusement flashing in her huge, blue eyes. “Did you know that Huey Lewis and the News were originally called Huey Lewis and the American Express? They had to change it when the credit card company threatened to sue them.”

“Now who's hip to be square?” He shot her a teasing smile.

She flung her head back and laughed, a throaty, husky sound that sent blood flowing straight to his already heavy cock.

“Touché,” she said, taking another sip of her drink.

God, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. The bar could've been on fire and he wouldn't have noticed. He wanted to fist his hands in all that blond hair and pull her close, taste her mouth, feel her skin against his and lose himself in her. But just for tonight.

It was all he could offer. All he had any right to want.

He watched her as she took another sip of her drink, trying to memorize the exact way her hair was falling over her shoulders, the precise shade of blue in her wide, bright eyes, the sound of her laugh.

“So why feathers?” Her fingers still trailed over his arm, sending little sparks of lust shooting through him.

Fuck. Nope. Not talking about that. Not with her, not tonight. He'd come here not to think about all of that shit. He'd come here to find a woman, or get drunk, or to start a fight. Colt knew that as long as he kept the demons fed, he wouldn't have to feel anything he didn't want to feel.

And there was a lot he didn't want to feel.

“You like it?” he asked, dodging the question. If she noticed, she didn't seem to mind.

“Mmm. I do.” Her voice was beautiful, rich and sultry with a slight rasp to it, and he couldn't help wondering what she'd sound like moaning out his name. He was already imagining the feel of her fingers digging into his shoulders, her heels pressed into his ass as he sank himself deep inside her.

He forced himself to take a breath and a swallow of beer.

“You have any?” he asked, relieved she hadn't pressed him about the meaning behind his own ink.

She slipped out of her leather jacket, rolled up the sleeve of her denim shirt, and flipped her arm over. A swirled line of black stars decorated the inside of her right wrist. “And,” she said and swept her hair up, showing him the Egyptian ankh on the back of her neck, just below her hairline. “I have a couple of others.” She let her hair drop back around her shoulders, the blond waves fanning out around her.

His eyebrows rose. “Oh yeah? Where?”

She took one of his hands in hers and pressed it against her rib cage. Instinctively, his fingers flexed into her, and her eyes fluttered closed for a second. “Here.” She felt warm and soft through the fabric of her shirt as he moved his hand down her side toward her hip in gentle strokes, still not quite able to believe that this wasn't a fantasy.

“Where else?” His eyes held hers. She slipped off the stool and stood between his legs, erasing all distance between them. She slid his hand up and around to her shoulder blade.

“Here.” Her warm breath tickled his ear, and he clenched his jaw against the need to bury his face in her neck, right here at the bar. “What about you? Any others?”

With his free hand, he took one of hers, placing it over his heart. “Here.”

Her long fingers curled into the cotton of his shirt, and heat crackled in the air around them. His stomach flipped, and if he was reading her right—and he would've bet a bottle of fifty-year-old scotch he was—she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Damn, but he needed this. Needed the release. Needed the temporary oblivion of hot sex with a gorgeous woman. He didn't want to think. Not tonight. Hell, not most nights.

Time to test the waters.

He slid a hand up to her face and grazed his lips against hers, a tease of a kiss. She held stone still, her eyes fixed on his mouth, her lips slightly parted. All of the noise around him seemed to drop away, and in that moment, Taylor was all that existed for him. Well, her and the erection doing its damndest to bust free of his jeans.

He closed his mouth over hers and felt the vibration of her sigh against his lips. He fought back a groan when she slid her tongue against his, and heat exploded over his skin as he tasted her, drinking in the soft warmth of her mouth.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so aroused from just a kiss. His chest tightened, and as he deepened the kiss, he pressed down the cold, hard knot of fear eating at him. Already, he knew sticking to his one-night rule would suck big-time. She felt so good, so perfect, so fucking
right
kissing him, as her fingernails scraped lightly down his back.

She opened her mouth to him a little more, which he immediately took full advantage of, greedily claiming everything she offered him. He caressed her mouth with his tongue, and she moaned softly, her hips nestling snugly against his. He wove his fingers into her hair and crushed his mouth against hers as arousal and lust and need all sang through his veins. Lips and tongues melded together with increasing urgency, and the kiss seared through him. She rocked against him and bit gently at his lower lip.

Fuck, this was going to be good.

“Get a room, why don't ya?” The bartender chirped at them, and Taylor broke the kiss, pressing her forehead against his. For a second, he just stood there, trying to breathe.

She was pretty much a total stranger, and yet the intensity of that kiss had been off the charts. Hot, and bruising and so, so promising.

He swallowed, trying to find his voice. “Come home with me.”

She nodded against his forehead, and his dick rejoiced.

From his little table in the corner, Ronnie adjusted his glasses as he watched Taylor walk out of the bar, her fingers laced with those of the brute who'd intruded on them earlier. He finished the rest of his Coke and slammed the empty glass down. Possessive anger coupled with an almost blinding jealousy churned through him. It'd been hard to watch that interaction, and now she was leaving with him? He'd been much happier watching her while she'd been alone, even if she'd looked sad.

He knew he shouldn't have gone over and talked to her, but he couldn't help himself. He'd been warned, but no one knew what they were talking about. They didn't see. They couldn't see. He loved her, and she loved him. Soon, everyone would know, and everyone who'd called him crazy and obsessed and delusional would fucking see.

Ever since he'd first heard her sing, he'd known he was listening to the future mother of his children.

He dropped a five on the table and pushed his way out of the bar, getting in his car just in time to follow Taylor. He had to. He couldn't let her go off alone with that brute, unprotected. And if she was going to betray him, he needed to know. He needed to see.

Because Taylor was his. Every part of her. Her gorgeous blond hair, those huge, blue eyes, the long, lean body. The incredible voice. The skilled hands. Her mind. Her soul. Her body.

She belonged to him.

C
olt and Taylor stumbled into Colt's dark bedroom in a tangle of limbs, their mouths fused, their tongues playing. He knew he should turn a light on or, fuck, just stop kissing her long enough to get her onto the bed, but he didn't want to. Knowing that he only had tonight with her, he couldn't bring himself to break contact with her for even a second.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he rasped against her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip as his heart pounded furiously against his ribs. In response, she made a melodic humming noise that went straight to his aching dick.

She wove her fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth hard against hers, her teeth scraping against his lips. He groaned and pulled her tight against him, still moving her toward the bed. He broke the kiss just long enough to yank his T-shirt up and over his head with one hand, then drop it to the floor and circle his arms around her waist.

Her fingernails scratched lightly down his back, and she leaned forward and licked a slow, hot path from his collarbone to his ear. She inhaled deeply before sighing. “Oh, hell yes.” She pulled back slightly, her fingers tracing over the tattoo covering his left pec. “What's this one?” she asked, studying it, her palm sliding over his nipple.

“It's the Army Ranger shield and insignia.”

Bringing his mouth back to hers, he walked her the last few feet to the bed as his fingers began working on the buttons of her denim shirt, amazed at his ability to slip them free. Amazed he had blood anywhere in his body besides his throbbing dick. She'd taken him from zero to sixty with just her mouth on his, slashing his brake lines in the process, and he didn't give a shit if he crashed. Her shirt fell open, and as the backs of her legs hit the foot of the bed, he knew it'd be worth it.

She turned and climbed onto the bed, rising up onto her knees as she pulled her shirt off and tossed it to the floor. The room was dim, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside his open window, but her eyes met and held his as she reached behind her and unclasped her bra. Her breasts spilled free, and he joined her on the bed, his mouth on hers again, his hands skating up over her ribs and palming the soft, heavy flesh of her breasts. His skin tingled at the delicious contact, and he trailed hot, openmouthed kisses down her throat as his thumbs traced over her hardened nipples.

She moaned and tipped her head back, pressing into his touch. “Oh fuck, that feels good. Yes, Colt.”

He smiled at the sound of his name on her lips, and the smile grew when her hands moved down over his chest and arms, tracing the contours of his pecs, his abs, his biceps, until she reached his pants. With sure fingers, she undid his belt buckle and popped open the top button of his jeans.

“Someone's excited,” she said, rubbing her palm over the ridge of his cock through his jeans.

He cupped her cheek with one hand while tracing the other down, through her hair, over her shoulder, across her collarbone, dipping into the valley between her breasts. “Fuck, Taylor. Look at you. I'm about ready to die, here.” He buried his face in her neck, kissing and nipping at the skin there. “I want to spend all night finding out exactly how to touch you, how to kiss you, how to get you to scream out my name. I want to tease you and taste you until you beg me for more. I want to fuck you until neither of us can move.”

“You have a dirty mouth,” she whispered, her teeth teasing against the shell of his ear, and he smiled against her skin, shaking his head slightly.

“Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea.”

“Put your money where your mouth is and educate me.”

He laughed and guided her down onto the mattress on her back. Still on his knees above her, he undid her jeans and began working the tight denim down her long, slender legs, stopping to yank her boots free and toss them over his shoulders. Once her jeans were on the floor, he pulled her panties down, too, adding them to the growing pile of clothing. She stretched her arms above her head, and at the sight of Taylor, naked and spread beneath him like a feast, he had to remind himself to breathe.

“Where should I put my mouth?” he asked, easing his weight down on top of her. “Here?” He closed his mouth over her nipple, sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue over and around it. Taylor let out a gasping moan that filled him with satisfaction. After tormenting her for a minute, he moved to the other nipple. “Or here?”

“Oh, shit,” she moaned, arching her back off the mattress, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He bit at the swell of her breast and continued his downward path, tracing his tongue down the center of her stomach and then kissing his way over her hipbone until he was right between her thighs. He paused for a second, deliberately teasing her.

Her head came up off the bed. “Colt? What are you—”

But she didn't finish her question, because he'd sat back on his knees, put his hands on her calves and pushed her legs back, her knees almost at her shoulders. “Is this where I should put my mouth?” He bit one of her cute little butt cheeks and then kissed her wet folds. “Here?”

“Oh God, please, yes.”

“I told you I'd make you beg.” He licked a slow path up across her drenched pussy, and he was beyond satisfied at how wet she was for him.

She made a sound that was half moan, half scream, and he pressed her legs back a little bit farther, spreading her open and swirling his tongue over her clit. Her legs trembled, and he tightened his grip on her.

“You taste so fucking good.” He let out a low, approving groan and began to move his mouth against her in earnest, through with teasing. As he worked her slick flesh with his lips and tongue, sucking and licking and kissing, he slid his right hand down from her leg and eased two fingers into her, curving them up.

“Holy shit, you're good at this.”

He smiled against her as her hips shook, and he drank her in, savoring every second of having Taylor's wet, hot flesh beneath his mouth and around his fingers.

“You're gonna make me come.” Her voice shook a little, high and breathy.

He said nothing but kept up his steady rhythm, paying attention to the way she clenched around his pumping hand, to the way her hips jerked and her breathing faltered. She tensed, her entire body one long, slender, taut muscle, and then she came. Hard. Her hands fisted in the sheets of his bed, her body shaking as she moaned out his name and a string of curse words. His cock jerked, pulsing and desperate to get in on the action.

He eased her legs back down and slipped off the bed, shucking his boots, jeans, and boxer briefs. He grabbed a condom from the bedside table, forcing himself to think about football, cars, beer—anything nonsexual—trying to cool down enough so he'd last more than thirty fucking seconds when he got inside her.

“Let me help you with that.” Taylor was back on her knees, a gorgeous flush sweeping up from her breasts to her cheeks, and with a smile, he handed her the condom and joined her on the bed. He watched as with long, slender fingers, she tore open the wrapper and rolled the condom down his cock. She kissed him, a slow, deep, lingering kiss, and stroked him. Tension gathered at the base of his spine and low in his stomach, and his cock jumped in her hands.

God, he normally had so much more control than this. It was as though Taylor had found his one loose thread and was pulling it every time she touched him, every time she fucking looked at him. He was coming undone. Because of her. And he needed to regain control. Go slow.

With what he hoped was a playful smile, he gently pushed her down onto her back, grabbed her legs and spread her wide before him. He lined the head of his eager cock up with her slick entrance, reminding himself to breathe. Again.

“Oh God, Colt. I want you inside me.”

The word
me
was still on her lips as he pushed into her, and she let out a long, low moan, hooking her legs around his hips. He let out a strained half growl. She was glorious around him, hot and wet and tight. He groaned and starting pumping his hips, not going slow like he'd planned, but fucking her hard and deep.

So much for regaining control.

He eased his weight down on top of her, wanting more of her mouth, more of her skin against his, more of her scent. Just more.

And it hit him. One night was never going to be enough.

He kissed her, and she pushed up onto her elbows, as though trying to get closer to him, moaning into his mouth. He stroked in and out of her in sure, steady thrusts, pleasure skating up his spine and spreading across his body.

“Fuck, yes,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him down for another hot, bone-melting kiss. “You feel incredible.” He buried his face in her neck, dragging his mouth across her skin. “Oh God, so good. Don't stop. Don't stop. So fucking good!” she cried out especially loudly, as he thrust deep and scraped his teeth over her earlobe. She tightened around his cock, and he knew she was building toward another orgasm. Supporting himself on one arm, he slipped his free hand between their bodies and circled his fingers over her clit. She ground up into his touch and he lowered his mouth to hers again.

She started to come, and he kissed her through her orgasm, swallowing the delicious sounds she made, his entire world narrowing to the feeling of Taylor's body. Around him. Under him. She trembled against him, and he broke the kiss, needing to see her as he continued to stroke in and out, thanking the universe that he hadn't come yet. A faint sheen of sweat shone on her skin in the dim light, and he pushed a lock of her silky hair away from her face, basking in her soft textures. She pressed her cheek into his palm, the light highlighting her delicate, feminine features, and something in his chest tightened.

He wanted to keep her. He knew he couldn't, but he wanted to.

She pushed up onto her elbows again and bit at his bicep. “I want to ride you.” He pulled out, grateful for the chance to regain a little more control, and rolled onto his back.

If he lived to be a hundred, he would never, ever, experience anything hotter than the sight of Taylor Ross, sex flush glowing on her skin, blond hair all disheveled, climbing onto him and lowering herself onto his cock. She bent forward and kissed him as she started to move her hips, and his hands went to her ass, helping her.

“I love how you feel inside me,” she said, her voice slightly ragged as she moved up and down. Something about that statement made him want to gather her in his arms and keep her there, protecting her and sheltering her, giving her everything he had.

Clearly he hadn't been getting laid enough lately, because one good fuck and he was turning into a freaking girl.

But this was a hell of a lot more than just a good fuck, wasn't it? Usually, when he brought a woman home, he didn't want her to stay the night. Didn't want to deal with stilted, awkward morning-after conversation. Didn't want to expose anyone to his nightmares or answer any questions about them. But Taylor? He was willing to risk it just to see her sleepy morning eyes, all unguarded and vulnerable.

She fell forward, her breasts pressed against his chest, her hips undulating as she continued to ride him, and he felt the beat of her heart against his. She kissed his neck, biting and then soothing the skin with a sweep of her tongue. He let out a deep groan and pumped his hips up to meet her as his orgasm barreled down on him. He thrust up one last time and his hands went to her hips, stilling her and holding her tight against him as he came, emptying himself into her. All of his strength, all of his energy, flowed into her, and he was happy to let her take it.

She lifted her head, and their eyes met in the semidark. Neither of them spoke for several seconds, their bodies still connected, their hearts beating against each other. Taylor raised a hand and wiped a bead of sweat away from his forehead, trailing her fingers through his hair and then down over his arm, tracing the edges of his tattoo.

“Wow,” she whispered, and something flickered across her face, just for a second, but it was gone so quick he wasn't even sure he'd seen it in the first place.

On the quiet, dark street, Ronnie sat in his car with the windows rolled down and his hand in his pants.

He'd followed the cab from Sunset Boulevard up into the Hollywood Hills and had been surprised when it had pulled to a stop in front of a small, tidy house in Laurel Canyon. He'd expected the brute to live downtown somewhere, in a grungy loft, not in a little house in the Hills. Some kind of classic car sat parked in the driveway, but Ronnie didn't give a shit about cars. Only motorcycles, and even that was an interest with a purpose.

The house was dark like the street, so although the curtains weren't drawn, Ronnie couldn't see inside the house.

But he could hear.

The second-floor windows were open, and Taylor's voice—that gorgeous, husky, unmistakable voice—flowed out into the night.

“Oh God, so good. Don't stop. Don't stop. So fucking good!”

He closed his eyes as he stroked himself, imagining he was the one pulling those noises from Taylor, he was the one making her moan, making her scream, making her writhe with pleasure.

And someday—soon—he would be.

He pumped his fist up and down, absorbing Taylor's moans like the earth absorbs the sun, letting them sink into him, letting them nourish him. Her cries built to a crescendo, and he stroked himself faster. He bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood, and as he imagined having Taylor's blood on his tongue, of owning her so completely, he spurted his release.

He slumped down in his seat, a pleasant, heavy-limbed relaxation flowing over him. He cleaned himself up with a tissue, put his penis back into his pants, zipped up, and closed his eyes. They flew open at the sound of a deep male groan.

The brute. Colt. That was the name Taylor had been calling out just a few moments ago. Visions of punishing Taylor for her behavior danced through his mind, and he smiled.