Chapter 13 #2
She twisted to face him before he could latch on to another angry thought, one that resulted in someone dying and calling Finn to help get rid of the body.
“Don’t let these scars come between us. I need this. I need you.” She inched closer, a hand going to his chest as he tried to regain focus. Remember where he was. Switch kill mode off. But his body was tight and on the brink of—
Rory kissed him, breaking his murderous train of thought. He didn’t kiss her back, his lips not yet ready to comply, his body still seething with anger.
But she got to him. She got through to him. His mouth finally relaxed, and when her tongue skirted the lines of his lips and met his, the only thoughts left in his head were his feelings for her.
He grabbed on to her hips and urged her legs around his waist before they fell onto the bed.
Being careful not to hurt her, he shifted to support his body over hers, then leaned down and trailed kisses from her belly button up to her breasts.
Rory ran her fingers through his hair, then clawed at his back as he teased her nipple with his mouth, alternating between gentle nips and long swipes with his tongue.
He covered her breasts with wet kisses, then moved up the column of her throat, savoring the salty-sweet taste of her skin before retaking her mouth.
Her moans and whimpers drove him crazy, and when she shimmied her hips to grind against him, he almost lost control.
His cock was so damn hard, practically on the verge of springing free from his boxers and taking over the situation.
Rory’s nails gently scraped along the ridges of his biceps when he lowered his mouth to her shoulder with a tender kiss before working his way down her body.
He paused at the scar on her abdomen, wishing he could kiss away that it happened, then she set her hands to his shoulders as a plea to forget. He’d never forget, but for now, he’d do as she asked. Be in the moment.
As he drew closer to the red lace, she brought her hands to his hair and fisted the short strands, moaning obscenely as he teased his tongue along the edges of her panty line. She bucked her hips, arching into him, urging him to do her bidding.
“I want your mouth on my pussy,” she pleaded, and he loved that confidence so fucking much.
“Say that again. What do you want me to do?” He looked up to catch her eyes, which had darkened with lust.
“Your. Mouth. On. Me,” she said around breathy moans, each word punctuated with longing every time he slipped a finger beneath the edge of her panties along the seam of her sex.
“Oh, you mean this?” He placed his mouth on her lace-covered pussy, dragging his tongue up and applying the slightest bit of pressure.
Her body twitched in response as if struck by a jolt of lightning. “I swear to God, Chris, if you don’t finish getting me naked, we’re going to have problems.”
He shifted back on his knees and peeled her panties to her thighs. God, she was beautiful. So perfect. Chris inhaled a deep breath, taking in her sweet scent before leaning in and finally tasting her with a flick of his tongue.
“Yes!” she cried out. So focused on the mission at hand—making this stunning woman come undone with his mouth—the sound of Bear barking in the hall was barely a blip on his radar. Chris was determined to make her scream. Let go. Give her everything he had.
His mouth fluttered softly over her clit. His tongue strummed her sensitive flesh.
“You are so freaking . . . just . . . holy . . .” A string of curses tore from her mouth as he peeked up, tongue still on her, to find her gripping the bedspread with both hands, her back arched off the bed as she screamed out his name.
She trembled against his mouth, coming hard. Her thighs clenched and squeezed around the sides of his head.
When she started to relax, he kissed her inner thighs, then trailed his lips up her abdomen and back to her breasts.
“You’re talented, Mr. Hunter,” she said in a lazy, sexy, hungover-from-an-orgasm kind of voice. “So, so talented.”
He swirled his tongue around her nipple, feeling it harden even more between his teeth. He was going to bust a load any second. He needed to be inside of her. To feel her tighten around his cock.
“Stand.” She leaned up on her elbows and found his eyes. “Remove your boxers.”
He eased off her, rose, and followed her command.
She sat on the edge of the bed, tossed her panties, but kept her heels on, then stood and set her palms to his chest, backing him to the wall.
Lowering to her knees, she circled a hand around the base of his shaft, and he muttered out a curse.
And when she brought her mouth to his crown, he nearly choked.
His hands went to her hair, and pins fell out as he destroyed whatever she’d done to it. He could barely see straight as he lowered his gaze to watch Rory going down on him, her lips wrapped around his cock, his cock sliding in and out of her mouth in slow movements.
Yup, not how he thought tonight was going to play out. And damn, he still hadn’t showered after his run, but . . . she didn’t seem to care. She was moaning around his hard length as if enjoying this as much as he was.
He lost himself in her. And she had him so deep, Bear’s whining and barking, the doorbell ringing, were merely blips on his consciousness.
“Who the heck is here?” she asked, but then quickly took all of him in her hot mouth again. And the only thing he was capable of at that moment was relishing the ecstasy that was Rory as he bit down on his back teeth, on the brink of coming undone.
“They’ll go away,” he said, gently gathering her hair again, guiding her head as she sucked.
His quads tightened, his vision blurred, and he came harder than he’d ever come in his life. “Fucking hell,” he breathed out, finally coming back to reality. And now he understood why the French referred to an orgasm as la petite mort, the little death.
“This is real, right? I didn’t dream this?” Rory asked after she rose and set her hands on his chest, her eyes glittering with passion.
“We could do it again if you need more convincing,” he teased, touching his forehead to hers.
Bear’s frustrated barks broke through their sex-fog, and it was clear that whoever was ringing the doorbell had no intention of letting up or leaving.
“Maybe we should get that?” She pulled back to catch his eyes. “Clothes first?”
He grinned and set a soft kiss to her lips, then openly gawked as she bent to pick up her panties and dress from the floor. He angled his head, taking in her gorgeous, naked body. “Fuck the door. I need to be inside you,” he rasped as she faced him.
“Come with me to the event?” Her eyes tightened on him. “I promise I’ll fantasize all night about what you’ll do to me afterward, or maybe during if we can find a coat closet.” She winked.
He pulled her against him, about to speak when a knock on the bedroom door startled the both of them. That couldn’t be Bear.
“You alive in there? I used my emergency key when you wouldn’t open up.”
Shit. It was Harper. And if she was there, did that mean he’d have to spin up? No, no, no. Tonight was . . .
“Be right out,” Chris announced. “Sorry.”
“We’ll be in the kitchen,” Harper said.
“I’ll be thinking up a ridiculous amount of naughty things between now and later that we can do together.” Rory pressed up on her toes and kissed him.
“Will you tell me about the scars first?”
Her chest visibly dropped with the weight of his question, but she lifted her chin to find his eyes, and she nodded.
“Okay.” Chris ducked into his room and quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants, then headed for the kitchen to find Harper and Roman there waiting. “Are you here because we got the go-ahead to track down Santiago?” he cut straight to the point. Please, say no.
It’d been five days since Roman and Finn had shown up at his house on Sunday to alert him that Santiago had escaped CIA custody.
“Probably Sunday. We may get the go-ahead to hunt down Santiago since it looks like he’s no longer Stateside,” Harper explained. “But that’s not why we’re here.”
“Oh?” He blinked in surprise.
Harper stared at him, looking as confused as he now felt. “You invited us to dinner.”
“I did?” He looked to the ceiling, searching for a memory as to when the hell he’d done that.
Harper extended her phone to show a text he’d supposedly sent requesting both she and Roman to be at Chris’s house for dinner at six sharp.
Chris smirked in surprise and looked up at the both of them. “I didn’t send that.”
Harper peered at Roman, who had an equally puzzled look on his face.
Roman shifted uncomfortably from where he stood, his back to the counter, unease cutting across his face. He was in black jeans, black boots, and a black shirt. His normal clothes, not dressed up.
Harper, on the other hand, had swapped out her typical fun tees and jeans for a pink, long-sleeved V-neck dress that hugged her body and stopped above her knees. The woman even had on heels. What was going on?
“Rory texted me to dress up,” Harper said as if reading his thoughts.
“She said we were meeting here before going somewhere else. It was all very cloak and dagger, even for me.” Harper’s long, dark hair was wavy and partially clipped at the back of her head.
This wasn’t a look Chris was used to seeing unless she needed to go undercover.
“Did I really put on a dress for nothing?”
The way Roman was attempting to discreetly check out Harper . . . maybe not for nothing.
“I bet I know what happened,” Chris said as a thought struck him.
Harper folded her arms. “I’m all ears.”
“Gwen’s babysitting Elaina and Jackson right now so Liam and Emily can go on a date.” Chris stroked his beard. “I think they’re playing a game on us.” And trying to set us up on a double date.
Rory entered the kitchen, once again wearing her red dress, and Chris forgot all about Santiago and spinning up.
Rory. She was all he wanted to think about.