The Good Girl In My Bed (Dangerous Desire Book 2)
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Authors: Lexxie Couper
Tags: #General Fiction
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J
aw clenched, teeth gritted, I walked toward the warehouse.
That same movement in the upper window caught my eye a few seconds before I stepped through the open roller door into the main area of the building.
Rufie stood in the middle of the floor, smirking at me, flanked by his goons. As always with the fuck-knuckle prick, he carried a steel pipe—his preferred M.O. for fucking someone up.
Two steps in, I was grabbed from behind.
It took me exactly eight seconds to render the idiots unconscious. I counted. Elbow to the solar plexus of the fucker on my right, fist to his nose as he crumpled over in pain. Heel to the foot of the douche on my left, followed by a palm-heel to his Adam’s apple.
Both crumpled to the ground, eyes rolled back into their heads.
The sound of clapping—and guns cocking—drew my focus back to Rufie.
He continued to clap for a few moments, stare locked on me. Around him, the Trinity members he’d brought with him kept their guns trained on my chest.
Idiots.
Rufie stopped clapping, removed the steel pipe from where he’d tucked it under his armpit, and grinned. “Still not keen on physical contact, ’eh, Trip?”
I shrugged. “I’m not into rough foreplay.”
He brayed with laughter, an ass laughing like one. I was going to enjoy scraping his face over the ground. One concrete facial coming right up.
Flicking his goons a quick look, he grinned wider. Had he always looked like a gibbon when smiling? Huh. “Look at Tripwire here. Tough as shit and clueless as cum.”
I raised my eyebrows at the metaphor.
He laughed again, adjusting his grip on the pipe with deliberate showmanship. I was going to plant that pipe so far up his ass he could use it as a straw.
“So you came alone?” He scanned the area behind me, expression mocking. “Thought you’d bring at least someone to hold your hand, Trip.”
“Don’t need my hand held to fuck you up,” I said.
The guns pointing at me somehow seemed to point harder. The morons holding them looked frenzied.
I knew almost all of them. All of the ones I knew hadn’t liked me much.
“Loco always said you had balls bigger than Gibraltar.” Rufie swung the pipe in an arc beside his thigh. “Gonna be fun smashin’ ’em in. Although, not too much. You’re gonna need ’em.”
“Am I now?” I made a show of returning my gun to my jeans’ waistband, a wordless I-don’t-need-this-to-deal-with-you display. “Why’s that?”
Rufie snorted. “Someone wants them all for himself.”
“Now that sounds—” I pulled a contemplative face, “—stupid.”
Rufie narrowed his eyes. “I’m gonna enjoy fuckin’ you up, Trip. But first…” He nodded.
I heard them coming at me before I saw and felt them. Five. Three of them were Trinity members who hated me. I took two out before they could touch me. The third slammed into me, ramming me to the ground. The fourth smashed his foot into my ribs as the other fucker scrambled off me. I curled around the kick, yanking the dick down, even as my ribs sang with white-hot agony.
The fifth guy swung a kick at my head. I jerked out of his foot’s path just in time, but it was close.
Three on one.
Dangerous Desire, Book 2
Lexxie Couper
Published 2016 by Book Boutiques.
ISBN: 978-1-944003-59-3
Copyright © 2016, Lexxie Couper.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
Manufactured in the USA.
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She’s too good for me.
Ronnie is my dream. My fantasy. The good girl next door. I did everything I could to make certain she never knew just how dark the life I led was. I did even more to make certain nothing ever happened to her.
And then the violent darkness of my existence crashed into hers and both our lives changed. I couldn’t imagine we’d be together, but we are. And life is wonderful.
Until my past finds us, and Ronnie is in danger. Again.
I would kill to keep her safe. I would die to make sure she’s out of harm’s way.
And it seems I just might have to.
The good girl in my bed is worth it though.
Hell is going to look inviting by the time I’m done.
For Michelle, who took a chance on me.
Cover Art: Valerie Tibbs, Tibbs Design
T
he second worst thing I’ve ever done?
Fall in love with Veronica Underwood.
The
worst
thing I’ve ever done?
Tell her.
Telling her I loved her meant she finally revealed she felt the same about me. Had for a long time. The second I knew she loved me back, everything changed.
For one fucking incredible week, I forgot the shit life I’d protected her from. For one amazing week, I forgot how shit that life was—a criminal life, a violent life, a life of gang brutality, underground MMA fighting, illegal gambling, and corrupt-as-fuck cops.
Seven days of existing in a euphoric state, subconsciously fantasizing that
this
was now my reality.
Seven days safe inside the walls of the home I’d built for her, the sanctuary where I knew no harm from my shit life could come to her.
Seven days of losing ourselves in the pleasure of each other’s bodies.
Seven days.
One incredible week.
And then I woke up from the pleasure-fogged delirium of being in love with Ronnie, the euphoric state of knowing she loved me back, when she suggested we go for a walk along the nearby beach.
Fuck.
How did I deal with the reality of Ronnie loving me, knowing the life I’d left behind could one day hurt her?
It was easier when I’d thought she hated me.
See what I mean?
Worst decision I’d ever made was telling her how I felt.
The fucked-up thing was I wouldn’t take it back. Not at all. I just had to figure out how the hell to move forward from this point.
Ronnie was sitting in the middle of our bed, dressed only in one of my T-shirts, her hair a tousled mess from days and nights of fucking, her cheeks flushed, her breasts rising and falling with ragged, post-orgasm breaths. She looked at me and smiled. “Beach? Walk? Fresh air?” Her eyes danced with a mischief I would never tire of. “Sound doable?”
We hadn’t left the security of the house apart from a brief sojourn to the local police station a week ago to make a statement about Detectives Dewey and Kitchner—two of the corrupt-as-fuck cops I mentioned earlier. We answered questions about them. Questions like,
“Why did you feel the need to cable-tie Detective Dewey to the gym equipment in your basement, Mr. Pratt?”
And,
“How did Detective Dewey come to have a broken clavicle, scapula, left humerus, and right patella, Mr. Pratt?”
We’d been outside in that week, of course. The house had a pool, and we’d swum in it often—as well as done other things that took on a whole new sensation when weightlessness is involved.
My chest tightened at her playful question. Was Ronnie going a little stir-crazy? She’d never been one for staying cooped up inside. Even when she’d been sick with the mumps at the age of seventeen, she’d spent the days sitting on her parents’ back deck, reading and drawing in a battered sketchbook, soaking up the sun’s rays, a contentment on her face she was most likely unaware of.
She’d also—most likely—been unaware I’d watch her during those moments, aching for her, longing to go to her, to take her in my arms and show her—
“Do I get the feeling you don’t want to go to the beach for a walk?”
I dragged in a slow breath at her question. Something told me this wasn’t going to go well.
“What if I order in pizza?” I suggested, trying like hell to keep my voice calm. “And we can find the worst movie ever made on Netflix?”
Her eyes narrowed. She contemplated me for a long moment, head tilted to the side a little. “What do you think is going to happen to me if we venture beyond the walls of this compound?”
Compound? A hot lump filled my throat. Yeah, this wasn’t going well.
“I have no idea what will happen beyond the walls of this compound.” I met her steady gaze, forcing a languid looseness to my body as I moved to the bed. I pressed one knee to the mattress, pausing long enough to hook my fingers beneath the hem of my shirt. “But I know
exactly
what’s going to happen if we stay
inside
it.”
Ronnie did exactly what I wanted her to do—look down at the strip of my stomach I’d exposed to her. “Stop trying to distract me with sex, Lucas,” she complained. Her gaze, however, didn’t return to my face. Instead, she watched as I slowly inched my shirt up over my abs.
A hitching sigh fell from her. Her lips parted. Her breasts—those glorious tits I worshipped nightly—heaved.
At the sight, my already semi-hard cock turned into a full-blown raging boner. Hard. Rigid. Engorged with blood and hungry for her.
Ronnie always had this effect on me. The very first time I saw her I’d fallen in lust with her. Instant lust. Fuck-my-hand-raw-every-night lust. It was the day my mom moved into the house beside hers, when I was seventeen and Ronnie was sixteen and about to go to a Halloween party dressed as Harley Quinn from the
Batman
comics and looking like every sexual fantasy I’d ever had.
A few days after that, we’d actually spoken, and I knew there and then it was so much more than lust. Looking at Ronnie, her emotions playing over her face, real and true and honest… Fuck, she turned me on. In every way.
Watching her now, reacting to my underhanded distraction, the tip of her pink tongue swiping over her bottom lip as I pulled my shirt higher up my torso… Watching her squirm on the bed as I yanked it over my head, her hands moving between her thighs to press against the heat of her fucking incredible pussy… Watching her catch her bottom lip with her teeth as I tossed the shirt aside, her gaze roaming my now bare upper body…
“You don’t play fair, Lucas Pratt,” she murmured, her gaze flicking up to me as I began to crawl towards her.
“Never have,” I answered, snatching one of her ankles with a firm grip to spread her legs apart. “Never will.”
She let out a breathy squeal as I swooped between her now-parted thighs and swiped my tongue over the seam of her pussy.
“Lucas,” she protested, even as she buried her fingers in my hair and clung to me.
I sought out the button of her clit with the tip of my tongue, flicking at it with teasing pressure a few times before raising my head. “What?” I asked, turning the melodramatic innocence up to ten.
“We can’t stay locked away for—”
I didn’t let her finish the word
forever
. Instead, I sank my middle finger into her tight slit and stroked her inner walls.
A raw groan fell from her. Her eyelids fluttered closed. She dropped back her head, widening her parted thighs as she did so.
“Tell me you want me to stop, Ronnie,” I said, knowing damn well she wasn’t going to. When it came to sex, to pleasure, she was insatiable.
“B-beach…” she stammered, the word little more than a whimper.
I chuckled, dipping my head to torment her clit with my tongue once again.
She moaned, thrusting her hips upward. An unspoken demand for more that turned my already hard cock harder.
Fuck, I’d never get enough of her.
With a gentle nip at her clit, I lifted my head to look at her again. “What did you want to do, babe?” I asked, twisting my wrist just enough to slid my index finger inside her. I scissored my two fingers together, seeking out the spot I knew would bring her the greatest sensation.
“Tell me you want to go to the beach—” I watched her face contort with pleasure, “—and we will.”
“V…vitamin…D…” she moaned, arching her spine as I wriggled my fingers deeper inside her.
I made a noncommittal noise before stroking my tongue once more over her clit.
She moaned again, wrapping one long bare leg around my back to hold me where I was.
My cock throbbed, reveling in the uninhibited way she gave herself over to the moment. I ached to slam into her, to bury myself to the balls in her tight pussy. I wouldn’t. Not until I made her come at least twice first.