The Good Girl In My Bed (Dangerous Desire Book 2) (3 page)

But there was nothing false about this, about the intensity of our fucking. This was real. This was animalistic and wild and everything a guy could want.

Ronnie was everything a guy could want. And she was mine.

My girl.

The thought—absolute and powerful—undid me. My thrusts grew faster, almost erratic. I wanted to drive her to another orgasm long before my own, but the reality was when it came to Ronnie, I had little restraint over my body.

I loved her too much. Wanted her too much.

“Oh God, Lucas,” she moaned, moving beneath me with uninhibited desire. “That’s it. Harder. Harder.”

I did as she begged, slamming into her over and over. With every savage stroke, my body burned hotter with pleasure. Every nerve ending sparked. My head swam, my heart raced.

I fought for control. Thought of my sixth-grade teacher with the hairy knees singing the National Anthem. Thought of anything I could to stop the inevitable.

Staring down into Ronnie’s pleasure-contorted face, hearing her moan over and over… I knew I was fucked. There was no stopping it.

I fucking erupted at the exact moment Ronnie bucked her hips upward and clamped her legs tighter around my hips, her scream of release tearing from her throat, her pussy contracting around my cock.

We came together.

Perfect.

Fucking perfect.

I rode the waves of my orgasm, pumping my seed into Ronnie, her whimpers in my ear.

Finally drained and spent, I slumped onto her. Rude? Yes, but something Ronnie got off on.

Releasing her wrists, I buried my face into the side of her neck, supporting as much of my weight as I could on one elbow, hip, and thigh.

She lay beneath me, trailing her fingers over my back in abstract patterns that sent delicious ripples across my sweaty skin. “I love you, Lucas,” she murmured. “You need to stop being scared for me.”

I swallowed without raising my head. “I know.”

I couldn’t. The day I did was the day I stopped protecting her. And I would protect her with my life. It was only Ronnie’s existence in this world that kept me turning into the violent animal I could so easily be. I was a dark, dangerous creature without her. I could live with that, but I
couldn’t
live with myself if she was hurt because of me.

I would never stop being scared for her. Not of the dangers I’d stupidly brought into her life. Not of the danger I’d brought into her bed.

Our
bed.

Fuck, what did I do now?

I
should have been prepared for what I found when I woke up.

More to the fucking point, I shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the first place.

I pushed up onto my elbows, squinting around the dimly lit room. Weak afternoon light filtered through the window, the sky a grey stretch of thin clouds behind the wafting curtains.

Something wrapped around my calves, stopping me from moving my legs freely.

I jerked up from the mattress, twisting to see what bound me. My lower back protested at the abrupt hyperextension and the sharp shard of pain shearing down my legs and up my spine.

Jeans. Just my jeans. Still half on, the waistband stretched taut against my calves. Christ, I’d fallen asleep with them around my legs?

Shifting on the rumpled bed, I yanked them completely off and then scanned the room.

Ronnie was not there.

A hot lump settled in my throat.

“Ronnie?”

Silence answered my call. Nothing to get too freaked out about. Our home wasn’t small. Perhaps she was downstairs in the living area or kitchen. Or in the gym on the bottom floor.

Maybe she was in the private shooting range on the same level. During the last seven days, I’d shown her how to fire a variety of small handguns. Maybe she was honing her skill. And skilled she was. If I didn’t know the truth of the matter, I would have bet good money she was a practiced marksman already. She rarely missed her target with any gun I gave her, except for a Glock. For some reason, there was something about a Glock that fucked up her aim.

Heart thumping faster than I liked, I climbed off the bed and hurried from the room.

“Ronnie?” I yelled, striding along the hallway. Perhaps she was in the room I’d set up as an office, ordering pizza on my laptop.

What time was it anyway?

I glanced at my watch. Fuck. After four. I’d slept for over three hours. Christ. She could be anywhere by now.

Beach.

The taunting thought scraped at my tenuous calm. I ground my teeth, glaring at my empty office. I thought I’d fucked the rebellious notion of venturing beyond the walls of our home from her. If she was at the beach… If she was exposed…unprotected…

“Fuck,” I muttered, spinning on my heel to head downstairs to the living area. “Ronnie?”

My voice bounced around the silence.

The living room was empty. So was the kitchen. An empty glass sat upside down in the sink, the only sign Ronnie had been there at some point. She’d had a drink of water before going wherever she went.

I clenched my jaw. Goddamn it, when I found her, I was going to turn her ass red with my hand. And then fuck her senseless.

She wasn’t in the home theater room. Or the laundry.

The lack of sound in the gym told me before I even reached the lower level she wasn’t there.

“Fuck,” I ground out again.

Okay. Time to get some clothes on and go looking for her outside.

I took the stairs three at a time, launching myself up into the living area again, gaze flicking towards the glass doors leading out onto the deck, and froze.

Movement.

In the bushes.

Chest tight, limbs loose—ready to coil—I crossed the living room, my stare fixed on the dense garden beside the grassed backyard.

The sun reflected off the glass of the door, hitting my eyes for a split second. But in that split second, I swore I saw the bush move again. Too high for an animal…

Ronnie? Gardening?

I slid the glass door open. The sounds of birds and nature wafted on the still air. In the distance, waves crashed against the sand. Were those waves streaming around Ronnie’s ankles? Was she down there? Alone?

Chest growing tighter, I narrowed my eyes and studied the garden.

The perimeter fence of the property was imposing. Getting in was not easy. It would take more than just a ladder to scale the walls. Plus, the security system was set to detect any movement. If anyone was stupid enough to attempt to enter the property, an alarm would let me know.

Only two people apart from myself knew the override code—Ronnie and Doctor Lila Winchester. Ronnie was AWOL, and the veterinarian—among other things—was currently in New York at a conference.

Breath held in my throat, I watched the bush.

Nothing moved.

I let out a ragged sigh. I was getting jumpy.

Turning from the open door, I began walking for the stairs leading up to our bedroom. Clothes. I needed—

The distinct sound of someone diving into the pool filled the silence, followed by more splashing water.

I turned and sprinted to the open door, charging out onto the back deck, ready to launch myself over the railing and down onto the yard ten feet below. And stopped at the sight of Ronnie propelling herself through the water with a relaxed breaststroke motion.

“Oh fuck,” I burst out. Relief crashed through me, hot and prickling and mocking.

Christ, what the hell was wrong with me?

A hoarse chuckle scratched at my throat and I scrubbed at the back of my neck, watching Ronnie swim.

Fuck, she’s naked.

I skimmed my palm down over my stomach to cup my nuts, admiring the way Ronnie slid through the water, her perfection unmarred by bathers.

For a second, I considered shouting out to her, informing her I was going to join her, but I decided to stand back and enjoy the show for a while instead.

And fuck me, what a show it was.

Ronnie cut through the water, lap after lazy lap, her incredible ass bunching with each kick, glimpses of her breasts teasing me as her arms moved with each stroke.

My dick turned to a rigid pole as I admired the view. I massaged my balls, drawing deep, steadying breaths to slow my heart.

When Ronnie began to lap the pool in backstroke, her breasts and nipples breaking the water’s surface, the exquisite curve of her pussy doing the same, I knew it was time to join her in the pool.

I headed for the stairs to the yard from the back deck, and then changed my mind. Not about joining her in the water, but my approach. After the caveman-like fucking I’d given her earlier that day, perhaps it was time for some romance.

I’d never had a desire to be romantic until Ronnie entered my life, and to be honest, I wasn’t very good at it. A life fighting in gangs, a life brutalizing anyone not capable of standing his own against me in the underground MMA cage did not lend itself to nourishing a romantic.

Ronnie was changing that though.

The few times I’d been romantic during the last seven days—making her breakfast in bed, giving her an unexpected foot massage as we watched a movie on Netflix, shampooing her hair in the shower—she’d looked at me with such open love it had damn near stopped my heart.

Right now, in the pool? The perfect time to sweep her off her feet again. To show her I wasn’t
just
the bastard I knew I was.

I made my way back into the kitchen and snagged a bottle of white wine from the bar fridge. Humming, I chucked some ice into the bottom of an ice bucket, shoved the wine into the bucket, and then grabbed a packet of potato crisps from the pantry. Hey, I never said I was good at the whole romance thing, just that I tried.

I was grinning when I walked back out onto the deck. Horny, naked, and grinning.

I was also completely focused on the pleasure I was about to give Ronnie, which meant it took my brain longer than it should have to process the fact she was out of the pool, reaching for a towel on one of the sun loungers, her stare locked on the tall man standing directly before her.

Man.

Tall.

Tattoos.

Gun. Pointed at Ronnie.

The last thought was a shard of ice through my head.

I moved fast, breaking into a sprint, dropping everything but the bottle of wine. That I gripped by the neck, ready to crack the fucker’s head in.

The ice bucket clattered to the wooden deck, the noise like a gunshot in the calm afternoon quiet.

I saw the man standing in front of Ronnie flinch. Saw him swing towards me as I ran towards him.

Saw Ronnie snatch up her towel—and something else, something that looked like a police baton.

Tonfa. She’s got the Chinese melee weapon from the gym. She’s armed herself.

Pride rolled through me, just as she swung her arm upward in a blurring arc and smashed the end of the
tonfa
into the man’s jaw.

Bone cracked. There was no mistaking the sound. Blood spurted from the man’s mouth in a bright red spray a heartbeat before he lurched backward.

His calves struck the sun lounge. His head lolled back on his neck. His body turned boneless.

Ronnie brought the
tonfa
down in a sweeping strike, hitting him on the cheek as he began to collapse.

His head snapped to the side under the blow, and he crashed to the ground, motionless, his gun clattering across the pavers just as I reached Ronnie’s side.

I grabbed her, hauling her to my body, enveloping her in my arms.

“Did you see what I did?” she asked, wriggling against my hold. Her voice was high. Almost brittle. She pushed her palms against my chest, her eyes shining with adrenaline. I recognized the light in them. It had been there when Detective Dewey had tried to use her to bring me to heel last week. The whole
flight
side of fight-or-flight didn’t seem to exist for her. “Did you see?”

Checking the fucker was still motionless on the ground, I kicked his gun into the pool with a slashing swipe of my foot, and then allowed Ronnie a little freedom in my arms.

A little.

Fuck.

Fuck, she’d been in danger. Right here. In the safety of the home I’d built for her.

I looked at her, fighting to calm the insane rage building inside me. Whoever the guy was, he would be wishing he was dead when I finished with him.

And then he
would
be—

“Did you see, Lucas?” she repeated, her fingers gripping my biceps. “I took him out. I freaking knocked him out! I freaking knocked him—” She slid her wide-eyed stare to the unconscious fucker on the ground behind me. “Is that blood?”

The color drained from her face.

She blinked. Once. Twice. And then pressed a shaky hand to her mouth. “Oh God, that’s blood,” she said, the whispered exclamation muffled by her palm.

I stole a moment to cup her cheek in my hand, bringing her focus back to me. “You brought the
tonfa
out here to protect yourself?”

She barely nodded her head. “Just in case,” she whispered, the words a husky scratch.

“Just in case,” I echoed, love and pride and contempt for the life I’d dragged her into searing through me. Fuck, I should never have spoken a word to her. I should have shut her out of my life years ago. “That’s good, babe. I’m proud of you.”

Her eyebrows dipped. “Thanks.”

Heart racing, I gave her a gentle smile. “Very proud. I want nothing more than to show you
how
proud of you I am right now, but I’ve got to deal with the fucker you KO’d, and I can’t do that with you here.”

Her eyes grew wider. “What are you going to—”

I shook my head, brushing my thumb over her lips to halt her question. She really didn’t need to hear the answer. “What did he say to you? That’s all I need to know right now.”

She flicked the unconscious turd on the ground a quick look. Distaste and anger twisted her eyebrows. The latter made me want to smile. Anger meant she wasn’t scared. Distaste worried me though. Was it the blood? Or the violence that upset her? Because if it was violence… Fuck, so much of my past life was violent, and no matter how much I wished it otherwise, my gut told me my past life wasn’t done with me.