Falling For Danger Page 8

  “Just lie next to me.”

  God, I wanted to. More than anything. I’d missed having her beside me.

  I focused my gaze on a point over her shoulder, doing everything I could to keep from meeting her gaze, fighting the urge to let her pull me in deeper.

  “It isn’t a good idea.”

  She didn’t say anything, as though she knew as well as I did that my protests were in vain. She’d always had me wrapped around her finger, and even as I questioned the sanity, I couldn’t deny her what she wanted.

  Fuck.

  I leaned down and pulled my shoes off, my fingers shaking, dick jerking at the thought of even having a taste of what I’d lost. My hands went to the button of my jeans. I dragged them down my hips, taking off my shirt next, feeling her eyes on me the entire time, her gaze hungry.

  My balls ached.

  I pulled back the covers and slid into bed next to her, careful to keep from hitting her injured side.

  Before I would have curled her body into mine. Now I just lay there awkwardly, an arm’s length away, listening to the sound of her breathing, her familiar scent surrounding me once more.

  I lay on my back, my arms at my sides, mimicking her position, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what came next, trying to temper the urge to slide between her thighs. Things between us had been intense last night, but everything now felt different. Her injury and our conversation reminded me that for as much as I was used to her bravado, there was a fragility about her. I didn’t want to hurt her, and right now it felt like there were too many possibilities for me to do her harm.

  I closed my eyes, some of the tension easing from my body, the rhythmic sound of her breathing lulling me. I prayed that I could keep the nightmares away tonight, that I wouldn’t wake her with the screams that came from my memories of hell, that my body wouldn’t thrash in bed, injuring her further.

  This was a mistake. A dangerous one.

  “I’m going to go back to the chair. This isn’t a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  My voice tightened, pushing past the lump in my throat. “I don’t sleep well.”

  Understatement of the fucking year.

  “The nightmares?” she asked, her voice soft again, sliding over me and chipping away at my pathetic resolve.

  “Yeah.” I was quiet for a beat. “I get pretty violent in my sleep. Forget where I am sometimes. I don’t want to hit your stitches.”

  “Do you always dream?”

  She wasn’t touching me, and yet something in the way she spoke to me made me feel as though she were stroking me, soothing me.

  “No.”

  She reached out, her fingers curling around mine, holding me in place. “Stay. Please.”

  I didn’t pull my hand away.

  “What are we doing here?” I croaked.

  Kate’s fingers glided over my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. “Forgetting. For a while, at least. Pretending we’re just a boy and a girl. No hired hitmen, or faked deaths. Time traveling.”

  It was like someone had just dropped a fifty-fucking-pound weight on my chest.

  Her fingers slid out of my grasp, stroking my palm, the touch somehow both soothing and seductive.

  I bit down on my lip.

  There had been other women. Four years was a long time, and I’d thought I’d lost her forever, and I wasn’t a monk. I’d felt sick each time, the encounters cloaked in too much alcohol and a kind of self-loathing that came from knowing I’d made a mistake. No one else had ever given me the sense of peace she did. And at the same time, I’d never ached for anyone, not like this, the kind of physical pain for which there was no relief.

  I’d been her first, and while we’d eased into sex, the age and experience difference between us always at the forefront of my mind, things between us had been electric. As with everything in her life, Kate had thrown herself into sex with a kind of wanton abandon that had been a fucking dream. She’d managed to be both dirty and sweet, a fantasy and memory I’d carried with me even after I’d lost her.

  I wanted a taste of it again. Badly.

  She knew it, too.

  Her fingers drifted up my arm, sliding along the inside of my wrist, up my forearm, before dragging back down. Magic touches that were too much and not enough at the same time. My breath grew ragged, my dick throbbing.

  “You’re going to hurt your stitches,” I muttered, clinging to the last vestiges of sanity before I completely lost myself to her.

  She flashed me an amused grin with a naughty gleam. “I’m just touching your arm.”

  A hiss escaped as she raked her nails across my skin. “It’s never just ‘touching my arm’ with us.”

  “True,” she purred.

  “We can’t have sex,” I ground out, my voice raspy. “Not with your injury.”

  “We can do other things.”

  Oh god.

  My control snapped.

  Her hand left my arm and then I felt her fingers sliding over me, caressing my cock through my boxer briefs.

  Yes.

  My hips arched toward her hand, wanting her wrapped around me, wanting to feel her bare flesh fisting my cock. I shifted, getting closer to her, making it easier for her to touch me without moving, giving her everything she wanted, the possibility of pleasure—mine and hers—too much to resist.

  I groaned as I pressed myself into her hand, as her palm caressed the head of my cock through the thin fabric.

  More.

  “Take off your briefs,” she whispered, her breath hitching.

  Yes.

  I pulled the waistband down, careful to keep from bumping her in the bed. This was crazy, and probably a really bad fucking idea, and my cock definitely hadn’t gotten the message.

  I leaned back against the pillows, my eyes closing as her fingers curved around the base, stroking me.

  This.

  I groaned. “Don’t stop. Please. You feel so good. So fucking good.”

  She kept her touch lighter than normal, the force of her movements constrained by her injury and her inability to move. The slide of her hand, the sweep of her fingers, created both a delicious tease and utter torment.

  More.

  She took me to the brink, the pressure in my spine building, my balls tightening, the urge to come overwhelming. It was so close, I was so close, and yet it wasn’t enough.

  She knew it, too.

  Kate groaned. “This is definitely crimping our sex life.”

  “It’s okay,” I hissed as her palm caressed the head of my cock, my body jerking at the sensitive touch as she swirled the drop of precum over my skin.

  So fucking close.

  “It’s not okay.” Her voice turned husky. “I want to watch you finish yourself off.”

  Fuck me.

  I teetered over the edge.

  “I want to see you first,” I ground out, my body so fucking greedy.

  How many times had I fantasized about her? How many times had I jacked myself off to the memory of her?

  The fantasy had been amazing, but reality simply shattered me.

  My hands shook as I reached up and slid the thin straps down her shoulders, struggling to keep my touch gentle despite the lust raging through my body. A line of goose bumps formed where my skin touched hers, her nipples hardening beneath the fabric of her top. I groaned, my fingers slipping under the thin cotton, cupping her breasts and pulling the top down. I swallowed at the sight of her bare flesh. Her body had changed in the years since I’d seen her—her breasts slightly fuller, her curves more pronounced.

  I couldn’t resist.

  I dipped my head, capturing her nipple between my lips with a wet pop, laving the tip with my tongue before sucking her deep, the taste of her—so fucking sweet—exploding in my mouth. Kate moaned, her back arching, offering herself up to me, her hands gripping my hair, yanking me toward her while I licked and sucked, until her nipple was rosy and tight, glistening from my mouth.

&nb
sp; For a moment I pulled back and just stared at her, unable to resist the image in front of me. She gazed back at me with sleepy eyes and parted lips, lust etched all over her face. I could devote my life to making this girl happy.

  My palm slid down her belly, careful to keep from brushing her bandage.

  I met her gaze, my heart hammering. I pressed a soft kiss to her lips, licking into her mouth, my cock jerking at the knowledge that she could taste her skin on my tongue. I was so far gone, so past the point of being able to walk away. Hell, even when I’d tried before, she always yanked me back. Right now, there was no place I’d rather be.

  “You can’t move,” I whispered against her mouth, swallowing her moans, trying to rein in the desire raging inside me, making sure I didn’t injure her further. “If you move, I’ll have to stop.”

  She nodded, the movement jerky, her control, like mine, clearly hanging by a thread.

  I released her lips, ducking my head and returning to her tits, taking the other nipple into my mouth, sucking her hard, my palm on her stomach holding her in place as she quivered beneath me, her belly dipping with each breath, every tremor that escaped her body.

  I slid my hand lower, fingering the elastic band of her shorts, desperate to give her the release she craved. Despite her promise to stay still, she writhed under my hand, and I wondered how long it had been since someone had touched her. And because I was a selfish, possessive fuck, I wanted to obliterate the memory of anyone else.

  My hand hovered between us, and I met her gaze, losing myself in those pretty brown eyes.

  “What do you want?” I asked, needing to hear the words, needing her permission, her absolution. Needing an excuse for going somewhere I had no business heading with her. I couldn’t promise her that things would work out, couldn’t offer her strings, even though I was tied so tightly to her that I feared I didn’t know where she ended and I began. This was sex, and it was so much more, and the future loomed between us, a giant unknown.

  “You know what I want. I want your fingers inside me. I want you to make me come.”

  My hand slipped under the fabric, my fingers trembling at the need in her voice.

  Kate gasped. “God, Matt.”

  “Are you going to be a good girl?” I whispered, my voice teasing. “Are you going to stay still?”

  Her eyes darkened, her lips parting, mouth swollen, skin flushed. Dirty and sweet. Mine.

  “Y—yes.”

  My heart hammered, my fingers gliding down her soft skin.

  She was drenched.

  I groaned as I dragged my fingers through her wetness, as my thumb found her clit and I rubbed her hard, a moan escaping her lips. I thrust two fingers inside of her, her pussy clenching down around my hand. So fucking tight. I remembered how good it had felt the first time we’d had sex, her body fitting over mine like a silken glove.

  This wasn’t nearly enough, and for now, it felt like a promise between us. So much for just being friends. So much for willpower. So much for anything but this need, this connection that nothing could alter or shatter.

  For now, this was everything.

  I increased the pace of my thrusts, my gaze on her the entire time as she rode my hand until she came. Maybe it was the passage of time, but as crazy as it sounded, I could have sworn that was somehow, impossibly, even better than I’d remembered.

  Kate stared back at me with a dazed expression, her body throbbing around me, my fingers still inside of her as I soaked up every last wave of her orgasm.

  “I want to watch you,” she repeated.

  Fuck me. After feeling her around me, I was ready, my orgasm just within reach.

  I slid my fingers out of her, fisting my cock, covering myself in her silky wetness. God, this was going to be embarrassingly fast. She watched me the entire time, her expression sated, her gaze on my hand stroking up and down, twisting, my fist sliding over the head, dragging her wetness over the tip, imagining that it had been my cock fucking her rather than my fingers. I pumped my hand up and down, that pressure building again, and then I was coming in my hand—hard—my body shaking as I found the release I needed.

  My body sagged against the bed, the orgasm wringing the last vestiges of restraint from me, my knees weak. I lay there for a moment, Kate stroking my chest, a feeling of complete and utter contentment that I hadn’t experienced in years filling me.

  If I’d died, then this was heaven, this girl my own filthy angel.

  Neither one of us spoke, as though words would profane the moment, as though we really had time traveled to a time and place when we could just be reduced to this. Minutes passed and then I rose from the bed, grabbing a towel from Kate’s bedroom, cleaning up before sliding under the covers next to her, feeling for the first time since I’d come back to D.C. like I’d really and truly come home.

  Her hand reached out and found mine, our fingers linking together. I feel asleep with my hand in hers, and no dreams came.

  She’d chased my nightmares away.

  Chapter Seven

  Rumor has it that Kate Reynolds is returning to the family fold …

  —Capital Confessions blog

  Kate

  I woke to an empty bed, the pain in my side reminding me of yesterday, the slight ache between my legs a souvenir from last night.

  There weren’t words for how amazing things had been between us. Weren’t words for how he made me feel. There would never be anyone else for me; I would never love anyone as much as I loved him.

  I knew this had danger written all over it. Knew there was something wild in him that hadn’t been there before, that he wasn’t ready to give me more than his body, that somewhere along the way he’d hid his heart so he could get by. Maybe I’d done the same; as much as I knew what we were to each other, as much as I could face my feelings, I’d have been lying if I didn’t admit that I wasn’t wholly ready to throw myself back into what we’d been, that there was some survival instinct that held me back, that told me that in this case, going slow wasn’t the end of the world.

  The loss of him had already destroyed me once; I wasn’t exactly eager to court that kind of heartbreak again. I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel, either.

  As much as I hated to admit it, I was my father’s daughter. Maybe I wasn’t as ruthless as he was, but that didn’t mean that I hadn’t learned some valuable lessons at his knee. If you wanted something, you had to make it happen for yourself.

  I wanted Matt. It might take us a while to get to a point where we trusted each other enough to let go, but if this was the opening to get us back to where we’d been before, then I’d take it.

  All’s fair in love and war.

  I got out of bed, wincing slightly, taking a couple more pain pills before heading to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get cleaned up. I heard the sounds of someone in my kitchen, and was definitely not ready to face Matt with unbrushed teeth and messy hair. Not after last night.

  I cleaned up, my fingers lingering over the red marks on my breasts where his beard had abraded my skin, as I remembered the feel of his lips closing around my nipple, his teeth tugging on the tight bud, his tongue flicking back and forth.

  I couldn’t wait until I was better and I could have him exactly how I wanted.

  I left the bedroom, unable to keep the smile off of my face at the thought of seeing him again. He’d been home a little over twenty-four hours and I was right back where I’d always been. Head-over-heels in love.

  I walked into the kitchen. “Come back to bed—”

  I stopped short.

  Blair stood in the kitchen, arranging a tray with juice and croissants. “Hey, you’re up.”

  What the hell? Where was Matt?

  “Um. Hi.” I gave her a hug, my gaze darting around the apartment. When had he left?

  Blair gestured to the tray sitting on the countertop. “I was just bringing you some breakfast.”

  “Thanks.” We’d gone to bed at around four a.m. It was now nine.
How long had he been gone—and more importantly, was he coming back?

  “So how long have you been here?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

  “Thirty minutes, maybe? I checked on you and you were fast asleep. I used my key. I hope that’s okay.” Blair cocked her head to the side, her gaze turning speculative. “You didn’t know it was me, did you?”

  “Of course I knew it was you,” I sputtered. “Who else would it be?”

  Fuck.

  Jackie. It could have been Jackie. She had a key, too. Needed to learn to think more quickly on my feet. Clearly this was one of the reasons I’d been better suited to life as an analyst and not in the clandestine service.

  “So if you thought it was me, why did you walk into the kitchen and say, ‘Come back to bed’?”

  Mother eff.

  Apparently, I failed in the face of older sister intuition.

  “It’s the pain meds, probably,” I lied. “I’m all kinds of confused.”

  The expression on her face told me she didn’t buy it for a second. “Right.”

  “Can we go sit?” I gestured to the living room, figuring Matt’s earlier edict about staying away from the windows was pretty much moot since whoever was after me had easily proven that they could get to me anytime, anywhere without the finesse of a long-range sniper. Besides, if he really were so concerned about me, where the hell was he? Had he heard Blair coming and left? But how would he have managed it without her seeing him when he went through the front door? It wasn’t like he was Spider-Man.

  Blair followed me into the living room, tray in hand.

  “Didn’t you used to have a coffee table?”

  I grimaced. “Um. Yeah, I did. I decided it didn’t really fit with my decor.”

  Thank god Matt had the foresight to get rid of it yesterday before I’d gone to the bank.

  “So did you see anyone hanging around outside when you got here? I thought I heard people in the hall or something.” I asked, trying my best for nonchalance.