Page 22 of Fast Vengeance

She was nervous, and it was making him nervous too. He didn’t want to fuck this up. Couldn’t, without risking further damage to her. And he refused to do that.

His instincts had never led him wrong where sex was concerned, but this was different. More than anything he wanted to unwrap her like a present, lay her out and enjoy every part of her, find out what made her feel good and then give it to her until she shattered in his arms. But damn, he hated the added pressure of working against the clock.

Remembering how she’d reacted when he’d tried to pull the neck of her top down, he got up and crossed to the window to lower the blind. Moments later the room was dim, and he swore he heard her sigh of relief as he went back to her.

Rather than climb onto the couch and cover her with his weight as he was dying to, he went down on one knee beside her instead and ran a reassuring hand over her hair. “Okay?”

“Yes.” She gave him a smile and reached up to curl a hand around his neck, tug him toward her. He went willingly, bracing one hand beside her head as he poured himself into the kiss, telling her without words how sexy she was, that he cared and would treat her gently.

When she began moving restlessly on the leather, he risked taking things a little farther and gently cupped the side of her breast in his palm. She gasped against his lips, then arched her back, pushing into his hand.

In answer he reached down and slid that same hand beneath the hem of her top, spreading his fingers out as he glided up her stomach, her sides. With an impatient sound she suddenly twisted up to grab the material and peel it over her head. His eyes locked on the small mounds of her breasts encased in black lace, the nipples pressing against the sheer fabric.

He also saw the marks on her pale golden skin. Most of the scars were round. Small circles scattered over her stomach and the tops of her breasts. Some larger, about the size of a quarter.

A sickening wave of helpless anger crashed through him when he realized what they were. Cigarette burns. The larger ones were no doubt from the Cuban cigars Ruiz supplied his men with.

Masking his response before she could see it, he cradled her breasts in his hands and gently ran his thumbs over the hard tips. A soft, aroused sound came out of her. He gave her more, bending to press a kiss to the shallow valley between her breasts and working his way up to her throat, past the scars ringing that delicate flesh. Wishing he could heal her with his touch.

Tori sighed and tipped her head back, gripped the back of his head when he dragged his tongue against the spot where her neck and shoulder joined. Sucked gently, giving her the faint edge of his teeth and reveled in the shiver that sped through her, the goosebumps that scattered across her skin. He was hard as stone in his jeans, his cock aching for her touch, but he was damn well going to see to her pleasure before even thinking about moving to the next step.

He trailed kisses across her collarbones, down to the tops of her breasts, waited with his lips a breath away from the lace-covered nipple until she made an impatient sound and tugged his head to her breast. Pulling the lace aside, he lowered his head and gently ran his tongue over one hard nub.

“Oh, Brock, yes,” she whispered, tugging harder at his head.

Loving the sound of his name on her lips, he obliged, capturing her nipple between his lips and drawing it into his mouth. She moaned and arched into him, demanding more. He was only too happy to give it to her.

He did the same to the other one, followed every cue she gave him, used his instincts to build her arousal higher. Every tiny moan told him what felt best, every arch of her body told him what she wanted more of. And when he slid a hand down to cup between her legs, the sound of need she made sliced through him like a knife.

She helped him undo her jeans, lifted her hips so he could slide them off, leaving her in just a pair of black lace panties. Every muscle in his body tightened as he stared at them, his nostrils flaring as he drew in the sweet scent of her arousal. God he wanted to rip the flimsy material off her and bury his tongue in her folds.

His breathing came faster as he bent back to her breast, teased her nipple while he trailed a hand up and down her silky smooth thighs. Only when she was whimpering and squirming did he slide his fingers under the edge of the lace and lightly trace them over her sex.

Their groans mingled together as he touched soft, wet heat. She gripped his shoulder now, her head tipped to the side as she watched him, her eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted.

Brock stroked lightly through the silky softness of her folds, grazed the edge of her clit on the down stroke. She whimpered and closed her eyes, her hips lifting into his hand.

His heart pounded out of control as he slid back up to circle her most sensitive flesh. Tiny, light circles.

She was panting now, her fingers digging into his upper arm, almost as though she was afraid he would stop. But he was almost beyond that, needing to make her come. And God, he needed to get his mouth on her to finish this properly.

The blood roared in his ears, the need to possess her screaming in his veins. Grasping her hips, he pulled her to the end of the couch and knelt in front of her, pausing to drag her panties down her legs before setting her calves on his shoulders.

She pushed up onto her elbows. “Brock…”

“Shhh,” he whispered, dying to go down on her. Make her melt under his tongue. He nipped gently at her inner thigh, stroked his tongue across the spot to soothe the tiny sting as his hands closed around her hips. Holding her in place while he dragged his tongue up—

A solid hand landed in the middle of his chest and pushed. Brock stopped and raised his head to look at her, battling the roar of hunger lashing his body. And then the tension in her thighs registered. The way her other hand was no longer clamped on his shoulder, but braced against it instead.

Fuck. Fuck. Taking charge in bed was simply how he was wired, and he hadn’t received any complaints yet. But Tori wasn’t like anyone he’d been with before.

She’d survived weeks of sexual violence that kept him up at night thinking about it. She was edging back from giving in because he’d just asserted his dominance without even being aware of it.

He exhaled and sat up on his knees, silently berating himself. Dumbass. He’d scared her, pinning her and looming over her like that. God dammit.

Pushing aside the frustration, he set her legs down and straightened. The instant he backed off she curled in on herself, covering her breasts with her arms and tucking her legs up.

No…

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