The Protected

Like she knew exactly what he was going to do. Snarling, he shifted his hand on her neck, hooked it around, and hauled her against him. “You should have used that gun,” he muttered against her lips. Desire, so blistering hot, tore through him and he shoved her shirt up until it caught under her arms. He leaned back to stare at her, breathing like he’d just run ten miles.

Simple black cotton cupped her breasts, and it was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen. He’d made love to women who wore silk and satin and diamonds to bed. And the most amazing sight was Vaughnne, still wearing all her clothes, and still wearing that challenging smile on her face. He reached up and trailed his fingers along the edge of the bra, down to the front clasp. With a quick flick, it opened and he pushed first one cup aside, then the other. Her nipples were deep, deep brown, swollen, and already tight.

Bending his head, he caught one in his mouth and listened as a soft gasp shuddered out of her. She reached up to cup his head in her hands and he stopped her, catching her wrists and trapping them together in his hand.

That boiling hunger rose inside him as she tugged against his hold and he lifted his head, glaring at her. “You said I should do what I have to,” he rasped, leaning in to sink his teeth into her lower lip. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. And it’s my way, Vaughnne. All my way.”

Her breathing hitched in her throat, her lashes sweeping down over her eyes. “And I’m what you should do? Seriously?”

“In this moment? Yes.” Because he couldn’t think, not until he’d done this. Skimming his hand down her torso, he freed the button of her jeans.

“Well, if you’re that damned determined, you should check my back pocket.” Vaughnne’s lashes lifted, and once more, that glint was in her eyes. I dare you . . . she seemed to say.

Gus had never been able to say no to a challenge. And he was having a very hard time now. Slipping his hand around, he checked her pocket, and when he tugged out a small foil packet, he lifted a brow. “You must have been really certain you could talk me into not hurting you.” He dragged the edge of the condom packet across the exposed skin of her belly.

“Nah. Just really, really hopeful that you’d see reason. You seem like a reasonable guy, after all.”

“Reasonable.” Yes, because all reasonable men fucked women in a hospital room when they ought to either be out eliminating monstrous men or chasing down their nephews. Both.

But for the first time in years, he realized that he could breathe. His gut told him that Alex was safe. No, he didn’t know the man Alex was with, but he did know Vaughnne. He did trust her. And she wouldn’t take the boy’s safety lightly. He could breathe . . . he could think about the next step. After this.

After this, he’d think. And he’d prepare. Get ready. That would take days, perhaps longer. Nothing he could do from here. In this very moment, the only thing that mattered was her. This moment.

Holding Vaughnne’s eyes with his, he let go of her hands and turned her around. “You better have more than one. We’ll need them later.”

“Later . . . who said I’m going with you?”

He shoved her jeans halfway down her thighs and smoothed a hand over her rump. “You’re going. Whether you choose to, or I take you, you’re going. Because if I don’t succeed, you’re going to let your . . . boss know that he will have a ghost haunting him.”

He touched her between her thighs and nearly went to his knees when he felt how wet she was. How hot. Scalding him. “If you make a sound, everybody outside this room will know what I’m doing to you,” he said softly as he tore his jeans open. “And just so you know, I don’t really care. You don’t want anybody to know, you better be quiet.”

A shudder wracked her body and the sight of it made him smile. He dealt with the rubber, slipping the wrapper into his pocket before rolling the thin latex shield down over his length. Tucking the head of his cock against her entrance, he gripped her hips.

Glancing up, he watched as she braced her hands against the wall.

Then, with excruciating slowness, he pushed inside her. She groaned, straining against the confining material of the jeans still tangled around her legs. “Be still,” he muttered.

She sucked in a breath and pushed back against him instead.

Swearing under his breath, he gripped her tighter and fought the need to slam into her. So tight. She wrapped around him so tight, so hot. Like a dream. Sweet, tight, hot . . . strong. She moved back against him even as he pulled back and then surged forward, working another inch inside her. A soft, ragged whimper escaped her, her hands fisted against the wall, her spine undulating as she rocked backward.

He smoothed a hand up her back, shoving her shirt higher, wishing he had the time, wishing it was the right place to strip her down to her skin so he could see that strong, lovely body of hers naked. Instead, he surged deeper, deeper inside, swallowing back the groan that rose in his throat as the muscles of her pussy clutched at him, tighter, tighter . . . so slick and sweet.

“Carojo. Be still, corazon,” he muttered as she arched back, vising down around him like a fist. “Damn it, be still.”

“Hell, no.” She braced her hands against the wall and shoved back against him as he tried to catch his breath, tried to steady himself.

A minute. He needed a minute—

Vaughnne moved a second time, a third time, riding him like she didn’t give a damn that he was a moment away from shattering. Like it didn’t matter that he wanted nothing more than to drive himself so deep inside her and lose himself. Swearing, he tangled his hand in her hair and crowded her closer to the wall. “My way,” he rasped against her neck, sinking his teeth into her skin. She shuddered against him, and once more, those sweet, hot little muscles in her pussy milked him, gripped him, squeezing him, driving him to the very brink.

“Then you better do something,” she said on a ragged gasp. “I’m dying . . .”

* * *

HIS hands, his body, everything about him seemed to surround and dominate and control her. His way? She might have laughed if she’d had the breath. If she had her way, she would have torn away from him, tumbled him to his back, and ridden him until neither one of them could see straight.

Instead, she was trapped between him and the wall . . . her heart slamming so hard against her ribs, and her legs barely able to hold her up. His fingers dug into her hips, and she sucked in a ragged breath, only to have him drive it out of her as he drove inside her again, this time all the way in, so hard and so deep. He held there, for just one second, linked to her—she whimpered and pushed back against him. Just like that . . . just like—

Then he pulled back out and she wanted to cry, she felt so empty.

Using his hand on her hair, he tugged her head around her and she groaned as his mouth caught hers, a deep, drugging kiss. His tongue traced the line of her lips, so gentle in contrast to his demand on her body. It was painfully erotic, painfully intimate, and then it was done and she hissed out a breath as he tugged her from the wall and they pivoted, all without breaking the connection.

“Bend over, Vaughnne,” he ordered.

Her head spun as she saw the seat of the wooden chair in front of her. The one he’d wedged in front of the door. Her entire body went hot as she swayed forward and gripped it to steady herself.

Catching her breath, she braced her body.

But all he did was trail his fingers along her spine. Up to her neck, then down. “The next time I take you, I’m going to strip you naked.” He bent down low, pressing his lips to the sensitive, exposed skin of her back. “I’m going to learn your every secret, learn what makes you gasp, what makes you whimper, what makes you moan.”

That would be you . . .

If she’d had the breath, she might have said it out loud.

If she’d had the control, she would have whispered it into his mind.

As it was, she could only let it echo through her own mind as he gripped her hips.

He pulled out, slow . . . pushed back in that same fashion. Slow. But there was nothing gentle, nothing seductive or careful about it. It was thorough. A taking. A marking. A claiming.

Deep inside her, she felt him swell, felt the head of his cock stroking her. She angled her hips and twisted —there, she thought helplessly. Right there—