Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lovell sat on the couch, nursing a hot toddy, watching Daphne pace in front of the fire.
Ryan and his team had been and gone, taking Weeks with them.
He’d come to as they approached the cabin, just in time for Ryan’s people to arrest him and read him his rights.
Daphne, who’d been standing on the porch watching, had taken one look at Lovell, thrown up her hands, then spun and disappeared back inside.
It wasn’t all bad, though. She’d ordered him into the bathroom for a hot shower and to clean the minor cut on his face from where Weeks had clipped him. And when he emerged, she had the fire going and a hot toddy waiting.
It had been five years since his last fight, right after the Falcons opened Rita C’s, the bar they owned on the north side of town.
Recovering from hand-to-hand combat had never been easy, but at thirty-five, it felt a hell of a lot different than at thirty.
He felt every second of it and was grateful for the comfort Daphne provided, as grudging as it was.
Daphne muttered something to herself as she paced toward the kitchen. Still dressed in her silk pajamas and woolly cardigan, she managed to look sleek and graceful. Contained. An explosion was coming, no doubt, but he didn’t mind the view while he waited.
“At least now we know why Weeks killed Beeks,” she said, passing in front of him.
He wasn’t sure they did know that piece of information, but he opted to remain silent rather than question her.
“By killing Beeks, he became not just a kidnapper and attempted murderer, but an actual murderer,” she continued.
“His actions convinced us he had yet one more reason to flee the area, when in fact, he planned all along to circle back.”
Lovell thought it more likely that the two men had fought.
That Beeks, who needed money to support his mom, wanted to stick around and finish the job, no matter how hot the area had become.
Weeks, on the other hand, probably wanted to call it quits and get out of Dodge.
A fight followed, Beeks died, then Weeks fled.
Only eventually, he realized if he completed the job, he’d get all the money promised, not just his half.
Lovell knew men like him, had grown up surrounded by them.
Money and ego, not any sense of cunning, drove their actions.
“But how did he find us?” she asked, pausing in front of the fire. She’d pulled her hair into a braid, and the long rope hung between her shoulder blades. He shouldn’t be thinking about wrapping it around his fist, tipping her head back, and…
“Your car. Again,” he said. Between the vestiges of the fight, the late hour, and the visceral pull to claim Daphne, he had best keep his mind on other things.
She cocked her head. “I’m still mad at you.”
“I came back. I promised I would, and I did.”
Her jaw ticked. If she could conjure flames, they’d be shooting from her head right about now.
“You expect me to believe he was aimlessly driving around town until he spotted my car?” she said, resuming her pacing.
“There’s one road into and out of town. All he’d have to do is park somewhere, probably near the center, and wait.”
“And then he followed us without you or Gabe noticing?”
She had a point there. He and Philly had their eyes and ears open and hadn’t noticed anything. Being honest with himself, though, maybe they hadn’t taken the threat as seriously as they should have. Maybe they’d relied too much on the video of Weeks leaving town.
“This isn’t about Daisy,” she said, coming to a stop in front of him and jamming her hands on her hips.
The movement made it very clear she wasn’t wearing a bra.
He skimmed his eyes down her body. No telltale signs of underwear, either.
Not a surprise given that she’d been in bed, ready to sleep, ninety minutes ago.
Still, pretty much every rational thought fled his mind as his blood rushed to his cock.
“It’s always felt wrong to me. A stalker doesn’t outsource their stalking.
And if she’s not stalking you, why would she want you dead?
It makes no sense.” She looked down at him, waiting for an answer.
The only answer he had was to bury himself inside her and make her scream his name.
He didn’t think that’s what she had in mind.
“Well?” she said. The silk of her top brushed over the peaks of her nipples. His mouth watered; his vision narrowed. He was about to do something potentially epically stupid, but if he was going to do it, he may as well go big.
Kicking out a leg, he hooked his foot around her knee and pulled.
Caught by surprise, she tumbled into his lap, straddling him.
A moment’s relief washed through him as she landed on his erection, but he didn’t take the time to savor it.
Wrapping his hand in her braid, he pulled her head back enough so that she opened her mouth in surprise. A mouth he covered with his own.
He didn’t tease, he didn’t seduce, he plundered. The stress of Weeks coming for her again and the testosterone of the fight collided with the desire, the need, for her that had been growing since she’d first ordered him into her car.
His tongue delved into her mouth, tasting everything about her. A hint of lemon from the sip she’d taken of his drink, remnants of toothpaste, the fear she’d felt for him. Yes, she’d been angry, might still be, but he’d seen the threads of anxiety in her eyes as well. Fear, worry, for him.
She made a small mewl, and some of the lusty fog cleared from his brain. Pulling his lips from hers, he stared. If she slapped him, he’d deserve it, but he sure as hell hoped that wasn’t the direction she wanted to go.
She blinked. He remained still, a predator waiting for his prey to make a decision. She lifted a shoulder, bumping it into the arm wrapped around her. He released her braid, letting his arms fall to his sides.
She opened her mouth to say something, and he braced himself for rejection even as his body howled at the prospect. Then she blinked again, and his breath left his body in a whoosh when she reached for the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head, taking her cardigan with it.
He could hardly breathe. She sat before him, bare from the waist up. Confident as hell and looking more desirable than a woman had a right to. He wanted to take his time; he wanted to touch, to lick, to taste every part of her body.
But need vibrated through him, and when he felt the answering rhythm in her body, there was no other choice about what he’d do.
Sliding his hands under her ass as he rose, he took a short detour to the bathroom to grab the condoms he’d tossed in his bag, with more hope than expectation, then strode into her room. By the time he lowered her to the bed, she’d managed to use her thighs to push his sweats down, over his hips.
Splayed topless across the comforter, she eyed him as he kicked his sweats the rest of the way off, then yanked his hoodie over his head.
Tossing the condoms on the bed, he knelt before her, hooking his fingers on her silk pants and taking them down with him, catching her socks as his hands skimmed down her calves.
When her clothes joined his on the floor, he lifted his gaze straight to the core of her.
Daphne Parks was wet. For him. He gave no warning before sliding his arms under her thighs, dragging her forward, and setting his mouth on her.
He didn’t take his time; he didn’t savor or ease her toward an orgasm.
No, he threw her, threw them both, into it at full steam.
She widened her thighs and arched into him, demanding more.
Sliding two fingers inside her, he sucked and licked and caught parts of her flesh with his teeth.
Desperate to hear her come, he worked her harder, his fingers and mouth demanding her submission.
Fleetingly, he considered it might be too much, but when a rush of heat ran down his palm and she clamped around his fingers, her back arching in a near-silent scream, he redoubled his efforts.
And was rewarded. Dear god, was he rewarded.
Her taste, her essence, flooded through him as her breath froze and her body gripped him, pulsing around his fingers.
When the spasms eased, then slowed, he kissed his way up her belly to her breasts.
Pausing there, he slid his free hand under her back.
With the other still buried inside her, he shifted her toward the top of the mattress, joining her on the bed as he made space.
Lifting his lips from her breast, he brought them down to her mouth, sliding his fingers from her wet heat and curling them around her hip. Her tongue met his stroke for stroke, her slim fingers digging into the skin of his neck and scalp, the pain sharpening the pleasure.
Without breaking their kiss, he rolled a condom on, grabbed hold of her hip, tipped her pelvis up, then thrust in.
With her ankles locked around his lower back, Daphne released a breath of pleasure laced with pain. But he gave her no quarter. Sensed she didn’t want any. Pulling out, he thrust in again.
Heaven. There was no other word to describe it. So caught up in the fierce sensations bombarding his body, he didn’t think too much about what that meant, though. All he knew, in that moment, was that nothing had ever felt better than her response to him.
Her legs tightened around him as her nails scored his back. Shifting a hand underneath her, he wrapped his fingers around her shoulder, gripping her, holding her still, as he moved inside her.
Dragging her lips from his, she arched her back, her breasts brushing against his chest, as she teetered on another orgasm. Widening her thighs and curling her hips an inch upward, he got the message. On his next thrust, he paused, burying himself deep inside her and rocking his pelvis against her.
Her breath caught, and he did it again and again and again until her fingers dug painfully into his flesh. The bed shook, the headboard hitting the wall with every push of his body against hers, as he pressed deeper and deeper.
Her mouth opened, and the sounds she made, as if she couldn’t keep them inside, nearly sent him over the edge before her. But then he felt it. The blossom of heat that preceded the spasm of her body. A beat later, her body clamped onto his, squeezing him tight, begging him to release inside her.
He couldn’t refuse her demand, and with five more thrusts, the last driving her against the headboard, he threw his head back.
Pleasure so intense it bordered on pain exploded through his body as his orgasm sent shock waves from his fingers to the soles of his feet.
His chest squeezed, his stomach locked, his toes curled, and all the while, everything inside him zeroed in on Daphne, zeroed in on her body pulling his inside her, on her skin flush against his, on the keening, needy whimper that escaped her throat.
They remained locked in that moment of bliss, their bodies demanding everything from the other, until neither had anything left to give.
Slowly, the intensity eased, and he dropped his head, forcing breaths into his lungs.
In and out, in and out. Propped up on one arm, he was dimly aware of the movement of Daphne’s chest, too, the rise and fall of her breasts almost in sync with his.
Her hands slid from his back to rest on his forearms, her fingers curled lightly around his skin. Her hips relaxed, sinking back into the bed, though her ankles stayed locked behind his back.
An unusual, though not unexpected, flutter of nerves teased his stomach. He’d thoroughly fucked his brother’s sister-in-law, a woman so far out of his league they weren’t even in the same game.
Lifting his head, he met her gaze. Primal satisfaction coursed through his body at the sated look on her face. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his body stirred again.
This might not be a good idea, but if he had any say in the matter, he intended to do it again. And again. And again.