Thresh: Alpha One Security: Book 2 (14 page)

She jerked her hand out of my grip. “Don’t tell me what I’m not ready for, Thresh.” Her gaze was fierce, determined.

“I’m not trying to, I just—you—” I lost track of what I was saying, because she had her palm cupped over my bulge.

“You’re right,” she said. “Someone did something really horrible to me, and it fucked me up.”
 

“And I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

She laughed. “If that was true, then I wouldn’t have just had the most incredible orgasm of my entire life. You do want to push me.”
 

“But not—”

She cut me off. “And I want you to, if I’m gonna be honest about this. You make me…feel things. You make me feel things I thought I’d never be able to feel again.” Her gaze went to mine, her bright brown eyes unwavering, rife with a flurry of emotions too numerous for me to sort out. “That’s scary, especially because I know you won’t be sticking around. But I like the way you make me feel. And I want more of it. Whatever I can get out of you, I want it.”
 

“Lola—” I started, but she had other ideas.

She put her finger over my lips. “Shut up. I have no idea what I’m doing right now, but I’m going to do it, and you’re going to let me.” She kept her finger over my lips to keep me quiet. “Just…sit there. Don’t move. Don’t talk. Just…let me do whatever it is I’m going to do, and—hopefully—you’ll enjoy it.”
 

“Lola, wait.” She lifted an eyebrow in question. “Don’t do anything for…for me. I don’t need anything. I didn’t make you come expecting anything.”

She smiled at me, and I saw that determination in her expression, as well as fear and nerves…and desire. “Thresh?”

“Yeah, Doc?”

“Shut up.” She brushed both sets of straps off her shoulders, tugged the cups down to set her tits free, and then did a sultry little shimmy that set them bouncing and swaying. “The fact that you covered me while I was having a panic attack, and the fact that you were able to help me breathe again, just by kissing me—that does something to me. Makes me crazy. And you make me want things. Want more. I want more. Of you. Of this. Of…whatever this is we’ve got going on. And I like the way you look at me, the way you make me feel when you look at me. I like the way you make me feel when you touch me. That orgasm, god, Thresh. That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt. Honestly, it was.”

“And now you want to touch me?”

She still had her hand on my bulge. Not doing anything, just holding, cupping, feeling. And I know she felt me twitch, and then harden even more when she bared her huge gorgeous tits for me. God, I was so hard it was all-consuming. Every drop of blood in my body was rushing to my cock, and I couldn’t think, couldn’t feel anything but the need for relief, and she was just cupping over my zipper, tits hanging out lush and luscious and tasty-looking, huge perfect globes of dusky flesh with wide areolae a few shades darker than her tits, and the tight hard darker-yet nipples…fuck, I was ready to pop, but I couldn’t, because I was all twisted in my pants, folded and bent and unable to harden to my full length, no matter how hard I got, and fuck did that hurt. And those tits…Jesus, they just made it worse, by which I mean so much better—and fuck I wanted her to touch me. I needed it. I needed it
so
bad.

But if she’d been messed up by a guy so bad she wouldn’t even touch herself—for
three years
? She was finally getting through all that shit, and I was honored that she was letting me help her past it, and I wasn’t about to mess it up for her by pushing her too fast.

So I’d do what she instructed: just sit here and endure the ache, and let her do what she wanted.

“Yes, Thresh. I want to touch you. But I’m not letting myself think about it, because if I do, I’ll panic, or freeze, or I don’t know what. And I do want this, but I just—” She shook her head. “See? I’m overthinking. Just stop talking, okay? Please? Just sit there and be huge and beautiful and let me…let me do what I want without interference.”
 

I leaned my seat back enough that I could recline, hooked my hand behind my head. “I’m all yours, Lola. Not a word, and I won’t move a muscle.”
 

Her eyes went hot, and dark, and fiery. “Perfect.”

8: MORE THAN A BLOWJOB

Part of me couldn’t believe I was doing this.
 

Part of me was screaming to get a move on because, holy hell, I might never get my hands on a man like this ever again.
 

All of me was nervous and excited and scared all at once.
 

I felt him under my hand. HUGE doesn’t begin to cover the scope of what I felt straining beneath that dark-wash denim. He had the seat back so he was partially reclining, his right hand under his head, trying to look casual. But I saw through it. He wanted to pounce. He was in pain, actual physical pain. And he
wanted
me; he wanted
me
.
 

He thought I was beautiful.

Sexy.
 

He’d made me come so hard I did indeed see stars. So hard I cried. For the first time in three years, I had an orgasm. That was no small feat.
 

And…for the first time in three years, I felt desire. I felt the yawning aching emptiness of need. I felt the yearning hunger, the excited thrill.

I wanted him.

I didn’t care about anything but this moment. I refused to let my fears hijack this for me. We were utterly alone, on the side of a desolate highway, far, far from anyone or anything. It was safe.
He
was safe.
 

This wasn’t then.
 

Thresh wasn’t…
him
.

To shake that train of thought away, I refocused on Thresh. With his arm behind his head, the improbable size of his bicep was highlighted, the girth, the round hard-veined scope of it, the curve of his shoulder and the angle of his trapezius…god. He was so well developed. Perfectly sculpted.
 

Having grown up being tutored in the art of weightlifting by my father, watching him sculpt his own body, I’d come to deeply appreciate the beauty of a well-developed male physique. And Thresh? He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Not too much, not pro body builder over-done, just…hugely muscled, sculpted, broad, hard. But I’d also watched him move, seen him strike faster than a serpent, seen him move on silent feet, as graceful and predatory as a jaguar stalking a deer.
 

I needed to see more of him; I caught his eyes, pushed up at the hem of his black polo shirt. He quirked an eyebrow at me, shrugged the sling off, and then ripped the shirt off in one lithe movement, grabbing the back of the collar and jerking it off, tugging it carefully past his cast—and…holy Jesus, the way his muscles shifted under his tan skin when he did that? I shuddered, my core—my
pussy
—clenching and quavering. God, his body. So fucking glorious.
 

And all those scars? I wanted to lick each one, kiss each one, and discover the story behind each one. He’d been shot so many times, stabbed, cut, and burned, along with other scars whose causes were less obvious.
 

I carved my hands over his body, running them up the hard planes and ridges of his grooved abdomen, cupping his sides, and then skating up his pecs, circling the flat disks of his nipples, moving across his shoulders. Just touching him. Watching his face as I did so, watching his expression shift, eyes narrow, jaw tighten.
 

Oh, and that bulge. No way I’d forgotten about that.
 

I was just…working up the courage to do something about it.
 

Once upon a time, I’d been…voracious. Courageous. Fearless.
 

And then—
 

NOPENOPENOPE.
 

Shut that shit down, ASAP.

I pushed away those whirling thoughts, and cursed again my inability to shut down my thoughts like guys seemed to be able to. I wanted to just shut them down and enjoy Thresh’s body, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t forget, couldn’t totally block it all out.

All I could do was push through it.
 

Who had I once been? I let myself feel it, remember it.
 

I’d been young, sheltered, and horny. When I finally got out on my own, I’d gone a little wild, but I’d always preserved my sexuality, kept it under wraps, kept it private. Drink, party, do stupid shit with my friends, sure. Get a little wasted at a kegger and maybe dance on a table, or flash some frat boys? Sure. What’s the harm in that? Typical college girl shenanigans. But I’d felt it, though, the desire, the hunger, the raging hormones. The NEED. So much of it, so fierce, so hot, so primal and wild. But I’d kept it back, kept it private, kept it shut down. Tamped and bridled.

Until I met—

NOPE. Still couldn’t go there.
 

Back to Thresh. Touch him. Feel him. He was real. He was strong, and he was safe. He’d kept me safe. I knew he’d never do anything to hurt me. The opposite was true: he’d do anything to keep me safe. I felt that truth in my bones.
 

Try it again.

I’d been young, wild, and horny.
 

I met someone I wanted so much I’d let my guard down, let him in, let him bring all that up and out of me, and I’d discovered an insatiable animal waiting inside me, lurking deep down—and when it finally got free? I was voracious. Unstoppable. Nothing could satisfy me. There was never enough. He couldn’t keep up, truth be told.

Then I’d been betrayed and had lost it all. Buried it all back down so deep I’d been sure it would never surface again.

That was as close as I could get and stay in control of my emotions.
 

Thresh was watching me, and seemed to know I was working through things, and was patiently allowing me to do what I needed.
 

Damn the man, and how he always seemed to know exactly what I needed.
 

Because right now? Inexplicably, something about Thresh was bringing that insatiable, voracious, hormone-saturated wild animal out of me again. I was remembering her, finding her again.

And man, oh man…did she feel
good.
Powerful. Primal. Possessive. Full of need and hunger and desire and all those emotions I’d thought I’d lost…I was getting them back, and in spades…Thresh was giving them to me.
 

I ran my hands over his body, letting myself roam the broad expanse of his rugged male beauty. I traced each muscle, each scar. The bullet holes low on his right side, two of them side by side; those had to have barely missed vitals. A six-inch-long knife-slice wound going from left nipple diagonally down to his ribs on the right side, a thick ropy knot of scarred flesh. I was a sucker for a six-pack, and good goddamn, did Thresh have that. They weren’t the kind of razor-sharp abs you see on the lean, rangy sort of dudes; Thresh’s six-pack was the huge, heavy slabs of iron-hard muscle that was more like armor plating than human flesh.
 

God, I couldn’t help myself, then. I leaned over him, and pressed my lips to his chest. Right in the center, between his pecs. My palms scoured his abs, roamed down closer to the waist of his jeans. I felt his abs tighten, and I knew he wanted more, wanted me to unbutton him, unzip him, take him out. And god, I wanted that.
 

I let that feeling percolate:
 

Desire.

I tried to remember how much I’d loved my sexuality, once it had been unleashed; I wanted that part of myself back.

Once I’d had a taste of Thresh’s flesh, I needed more. I kissed across his chest, climbing closer to lave my mouth up his throat, under his chin, across his jaw, letting my hands roam further and further south along his abs, around his waist, back to his abs, up his chest, and back to his abs. God, they were so hard, so thick, so perfect.
 

Finally, I felt ready.
 

I let myself look at the bulge.
 

It was mountainous. Straining.
 

I cupped my hand over it again, feeling the straining power behind the denim. Rubbed a little, just to test it out, and felt Thresh shift under me.
 

I glanced up at him; his eyes were heavy-lidded, his jaw tensed, his breath coming in deep drafting gusts, his fist clenched behind his head.

A moment, then, with my eyes locked on his as I finally caught hold of the button snap of his jeans. Popped it open. He sucked in a breath, held it, and let it out slowly, watching me closely.
 

I had to break away from his gaze, then, because it was so intense, so intent. And also, because I desperately wanted to see what I was unleashing.
 

I pinched the tab of his zipper between finger and thumb and drew it down. Black stretchy cotton/rayon blend bulged out between the edges of the zipper, a thick fat rod bending against the fabric. Oh Jesus. His penis was curled sideways, pressing against the elastic waistband, and now that the jeans were opened, it was starting to straighten, the outline clearly visible. In a few seconds it would be peeking up over the top of his underwear, regardless of what I did next.

Which was to tease myself, and him.

I cupped the ridge, followed the curve, stroked up and down the curled length of him a few times, which made him harden, made the unfurling monster straighten all the faster.

I glanced up at him, biting my lower lip, then tugged at his jeans with both hands. He lifted his ass up, and I tugged the jeans down past his butt, to his knees. By the time I returned my attention upward, a bit of pink was showing over the top of his tight black boxer briefs.
 

No more wasting time. I wanted to feel flesh in my hand.
 

I wanted to feel
Thresh
in my hand.

I curled my fingers in the waistband of his underwear, an inch on either side of his now straight and still-burgeoning erection, glanced up at him, and then pulled down. He lifted up, let me pull the underwear away and down past his erection, past his knees.