Chapter 18 #2
I grab my cock and guide it to her pussy, gasping at the white-hot wetness I find there. My girl is fucking soaked with need, hot and ready for me, and there has never been anything better than that.
I don’t wait. I know I should; I should spend at least some time paying court to this gorgeous woman under my hands. But I’ve spent years waiting for her, and my body is screaming that I don’t have time to wait any longer.
My hands find their way to her ass and lift her, then bring her down hard on my cock, moving until she’s fully seated on me.
The grunt of satisfaction that leaves my chest is inhuman.
Then she starts riding me, flexing her hips and grinding on me like her life depends on it, and I lose my ability to make any sound at all.
The girl is tight and wet and so fucking hot, and when her hands move into my hair and start to yank, I know I’m lost to her.
She’s just as much a hellcat as I remember, all fire and heat and desperate, unhinged passion, and it’s the way it’s always been between us.
Her passion meets mine and mixes with it like flames of two different colors until I can’t tell where she starts and I end. Her cries are my cries, her body my body, and we’re both so out of our minds with need for each other that our brains finally, finally turn off.
“Fuck me, Brooks,” I mutter.
I don’t know what I mean. I don’t even know if I need to mean anything.
And like she always has, she understands perfectly.
“Fuck me, Lucien,” she whispers.
I turn and walk toward the bed, my cock still buried in her, and lay her down so gently that it nearly breaks my heart.
And then I hold her there and watch her face as I slow my movements, pulling out and thrusting back into her with a smooth, steady rhythm that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with the screams echoing in my head that I need to memorize every fucking inch of this girl.
I move over her, taking her again and again, and when she meets my eyes hers are fathomless again, full of wonder and something I don’t recognize.
And holy fucking shit am I in trouble.
I’ve been in the worst situations possible for a man, my life on the line and enemies surrounding me, and there have been times when I was sure I was going to die.
But I have never been in more trouble than I am right now, with Brooks Landry’s legs wrapped around my waist and my cock buried insider her, while my heart opens up and takes her in and my soul finally admits that I’m never going to be whole again.
Unless she’s with me.
My orgasm catches me by surprise, thundering down my spine without warning and sending me even deeper into her body, and I cry out, burying my face in her neck and pumping desperately as my seed fills her, her body spasming around me and milking me until I feel both drained and full at the same time.
She’s going over the edge with me, murmuring my name again and again as her nails rake the skin on my back, and I have the passing thought that she’s going to leave marks there.
I bend and bite her neck as hard as I can in response.
Because some deep, primal part of me wants to mark her body, too. Show the world that she belongs to me. Warn anyone else who might want to touch her that this girl is Boudreaux property, and I’ll be coming for anyone who ever says otherwise.
She screams at that, and it just makes me hard again.
“Screaming for me now, Brooks?” I murmur. “That’s new.”
She laughs and growls at the same time, scratching hard down my back, and I laugh back.
Because if there’s one thing I know about Brooks Landry, it’s that we’ll never stop fighting each other. But at the end of the day, that is never, ever going to mean that we’re not done.
The truth is, it’s just our love language.
And we’ve been learning it since the day we met.
***
By the time I return her the next morning, we’re both scratched and bruised. Her lips are swollen and I have bite marks down the inside of my thigh. She’s got bruises around her throat and teeth marks over her jugular, and though I should feel guilty about returning her in this shape, I don’t.
I wish I’d marked her even more.
And I hope her father sees those marks and realizes what they mean.
Because Brooks has told me what’s been going on–the warehouses full of girls, the basement, and the Russian in the poker game. She’s told me about the men she killed and what she’s seen in their databases.
And that she’s the one who stopped the shipment to the port. By saving the girls and sending them to a safe house with Kate and Camille.
I don’t want to let her go back. Every instinct I have is screaming that this is a bad idea, and that her father is going to figure out she’s behind the girls disappearing sooner rather than later.
But she’s told me one other thing, and that changed everything.
She saw her brother in the basement of the mansion.
And he had Corinne.
She doesn’t know anything more than that, but when I told her I didn’t want her going back into her father’s house, she looked me dead in the eye and shook her head.
“I have to, Lucien. How else are we going to get your sister back?”
We.
How are we going to get my sister back.
She’s right, and I know it. I’ve been worried that Dom had Corinne, and now that I know he does, there’s no question in my mind that we have to get her back as quickly as possible. If the timeline stands, we already have merely days before she’s sent to some other location.
I won’t lose her. I can’t.
And Brooks is right: We’ve been trying to get Aislyn back for a week, now, and we’ve had no luck because we can’t find her.
But Brooks knows where Corinne is, and she has access to the location. She has an insider’s credentials right now.
So if we’re going to get Corinne back, we have to do it while Brooks is still in her father’s good graces.
And as she kisses me deeply, then turns and slips out of the car, I’m thinking only one thing: God, I hope she can find Corinne before her own cover is blown and her father kills her.
Because I don’t think I’ll survive losing Corinne.
But I know for a fact that losing Brooks will destroy me.