CrossMyHeart Page 8

  “It’s about time,” he whispered, feathering kisses against her mouth. His lips were still chapped but she welcomed the rough little slide against her skin and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer.

  Yeah, it is. “I’ve missed sex with you,” she whispered in his ear as if it was a secret that only they shared. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

  He kissed her thoroughly, deeply, his tongue making forays as if he’d never experienced the softness of her mouth before. Nibbled one last time at her lower lip before finding a spot behind her ear that made her shudder then dragged the edge of his teeth over her nipples until they were so unbearably tight she was positive that it was the most pleasure she could feel before it became pain.

  He found pleasure points she didn’t know existed or maybe they hadn’t before Jack worried them into existence, coaxing them from a place she’d kept hidden. She was writhing by the time he tucked a pillow under her and canted her hips so that they rested on his thighs. He raised her legs and rested her feet on his shoulders while she quivered in anticipation.

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” she said, opening her slick inner lips with her fingers, inviting him closer.

  “Then don’t touch yourself until I ask you to,” he rasped.

  She nodded because she was incapable of speech and slid her hands along his thighs. Her pussy was on fire and she was so close to an orgasm she reached out and clenched the sheet to keep from touching herself. Mesmerized by the play of his hands rolling a condom over his erection, she was vaguely aware of the gold wrapper, metallic against the whiteness of the sheets, and a bottle of lube.

  There was an edgy playfulness in his touch when he slid one long finger along her slit, opening her pussy a finger’s width to strum against the ruffle of her inner lips.

  He asked if she liked that and she managed a whimper when he replaced his finger with the tip of his condom-covered erection, resting it just under her clit and flicking the sensitive nub, teasing her, drawing out her pleasure until he slid inside, filling her until she wanted to scream at him to move.

  “Fuck me,” she demanded and he did—at his pace, gripping her ass when she tried to force him to speed up his rhythm. All it would take to send her over the edge was a flick of a finger against her clit—one touch would have her screaming.

  His smoldering gaze narrowed. “Put your hands on your breasts if you want to touch yourself.”

  She pinched her nipples and a warning tremor coursed through her until he stilled and let her pussy’s inner walls settle around his cock and withdrew until just the tip kissed her entrance. Shaking, she watched as he squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers.

  And then he shifted slightly and placed a hand under her hips and she widened her legs to allow him better access. She bit her lower lip while he circled her quivering anus with sticky, deliberate fingers.

  “I’d give anything to keep watching your face but I think this would be easier on you if you rolled over,” he said with a sigh that told her just how much it cost him to relinquish the position.

  She was almost embarrassed by her eagerness as she rolled over and pushed the pillow under her stomach and raised her ass. She buried her head in the sheets when he separated her cheeks and slicked one finger in ever-widening circles until she pushed against the digit and he slid it in to the first knuckle, added a second when she pushed backward.

  “Jack, you’re killing me here,” she rasped, teetering on the edge of something just out of her reach, a pleasure never before experienced and it was going to be theirs together.

  “Trust me, you aren’t the only one suffering,” he said and his voice cracked when he dragged the tip of his cock against her hole. She could feel heat through the latex covering his cock and then he was probing gently, working her open, and she closed her eyes as the first bite of pain turned to exquisite pleasure. He eased his cock in slowly and his first stroke ripped a moan from her.

  He stilled instantly and she twisted enough to see him hovering with rigid trepidation, sweat pouring down his face and the veins in his neck bulging.

  “More,” she whispered raggedly before her voice could fail her. She watched him as he eased into another stroke that fully breached the tight ring of muscle he slid past. “Yes,” she sighed. He petted her ass and told her how beautiful she was as he worked his cock into her slowly until she pushed back and countered every movement.

  Until they were both rushing toward something they’d never experienced before. She was almost there when he reached between her legs and worried her clit between his forefinger and thumb at the same time she felt her muscles clench around his cock and she rocketed into a spiraling orgasm so sharp she came, screaming and shaking. His answering roar was still ringing in her ears as the last tremors drifted away. He folded over her and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck and told her he loved her between pants.

  She didn’t have enough breath to return the endearment but she did manage to turn her head and press a kiss to his hand. She wasn’t going to be able to move for a week. Maybe she’d just lie there until they’d both recovered enough to start all over again. Her body rebelled when he softened and withdrew, then moved away. But she knew he was coming back to bed and they would sleep curled into one another until it was time to talk.

  About weddings and where they were going to live and whether or not Moocher would become a permanent fixture in their lives. And when they could do this again.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked, sliding in next to her and curling his warm hand around her breast.

  “I was trying to figure out the protocol for asking a man to marry me. Do I need a ring? Do I have to get out of bed and down on one knee, which incidentally would probably lead to something that would interrupt the proposal so I’m thinking no,” she rambled, astounded that she could form a coherent sentence.

  “Protocol gives me a rash,” he said so seriously that she glanced back at him and smiled.

  She wanted to ask “Since when?” but she was drowsy and warm and sated so she simply asked, “Will you marry me, Jack Sutton?” Because calling your lover a liar seemed tacky after just asking him to marry you. And besides, it was very possible that protocol was starting to give him a rash. It could happen.

  He grinned and scooted closer. “Just pick a date and name the place.”

  Epilogue

  Finding out that Emmett’s snitch, Huey Stuart, had been coerced by Cedric Blood into setting him up had led them to Blood’s real motivation for coming after Jack. Blood had been feared while on the streets but hadn’t enjoyed the same reputation in prison, especially when the man whose territory he’d usurped already had a fearsome reputation inside and had retaliated harshly and often.

  The beatings might have made Blood meaner but the humiliation had pushed him over the edge and he’d blamed Jack for convincing Delia Carson to testify against him and sending him to prison. He had planned to kill anyone who cared about Jack. To ensure Huey’s help, Blood had been holding his girlfriend, Arlene, hostage and would have killed her if he hadn’t followed instructions.

  Which they would have known a whole lot earlier if Huey could have screwed up his courage and admitted what he’d been forced to do when Arlene had been released after Blood’s death. It was no surprise that Blood had been the one who’d trashed Val’s house. He’d forced Huey to wait with a getaway car two blocks away.

  Evie Masterson divorced her husband while he was being held for her attempted murder. His connection to someone in the department had been a bluff because no one came forward to intercede on his behalf. It appeared that the budget cuts had indeed been the only reason McCoy had been told to back off.

  If Elliott Masterson had destroyed the shower curtain with his wife’s blood on it, he might have gotten away with his wild claims of assault and battery, but like all weak men, he’d been unwilling to give up any measure of contro
l.

  During the month after Jack and Val had announced their engagement, both their families had gotten so caught up in the wedding plans they’d driven them both crazy. They’d ended up eloping. McCoy had offered them the use of his cabin in the Ozarks for a week and promised not to tell anyone where they were. He’d said it was the least he could do. Val had agreed.

  They returned just in time to participate in the benefit fashion show for Wylde House that featured a stunning cast of police officers, firemen and EMTs, one of whom was used to wearing a kilt and had no problem baring his knees in a pleated black leather man-skirt.

  There was some speculation that he had eyes for a certain Goth pixie who had been scurrying around seeing to last-minute details while he was being fitted. It seemed that Evie Masterson’s former experience with committee work had come in handy and she’d taken to being in charge with a vengeance.

  There was also some speculation that the sidelong glances Evie sent Archer McCoy during the benefit were nothing more than hero worship and not at all out of the norm. Emmett was taking side bets to the contrary.

  And Jack and Val decided that as beautiful as the view was, his apartment was just too small. He moved back into her house where they welcomed friends and family and Moocher, who continued to divide her time between their house and Mrs. H’s.

  When spring arrived they hired a very surprised and extremely hard-working Ronnie Cook to help paint and do yard work and made sure he realized that sometimes you do get points for trying.

  About the Author

  Paris Brandon lives in the Midwest with her husband of thirty-plus years and a Labrador who thinks she’s a lapdog. When not bent over a keyboard dreaming up new stories, she loves reading, consuming as much chocolate (preferably with a little chili pepper) as possible, surfing the history and science channels and dreaming about the day she finally has enough nerve to go white water rafting.

  Paris welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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  Also by Paris Brandon

  Assassin’s Kiss

  Head Over Heals

  No Holds Barred

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