Page 16 of Black Sheep

But they forget I’m forged from the same Irish steel Finnan Rutherford loves to boast about.

I step out of the shower and dry myself. In the wide vanity mirror, my gaze drops to the red patch of skin just above my right hipbone where his name once resided. Against my will, my fingers trace the four-inch arch, a tiny part of me wishing I could laser away my feelings for him as easily as I erased his name from my body.

But no. What was taken away from me needs to be repaid a thousandfold.

So first I will take care of Finnan. Then I will take care of Axel.

The man whose death is the only thing I live for.

Chapter Four

MAJOR SALVO

Axel

Running an empire that operates on a nocturnal cycle means most of my mornings are spent sleeping or coming down from whatever ill-advised activity I indulged in the night before.

Yet I’m wide awake at ten a.m. The six hours spent in the punishment chair two days ago did nothing to take the edge off the raw insanity pounding through my bloodstream. Like every morning for the past two weeks, I prowl my penthouse apartment, sleep the furthest thing from my mind.

Not that I need a lot of sleep to function. My stint in the special branch of the army cured me of the need for several comforts I previously took for granted, while it equipped me with a whole new set of stomach-turning skills. Skills I was primed to excel at, according to my commanding officer, having seemingly acquired the basic building blocks of rendering mayhem at birth.

I switch off those memories and turn away from the Upper East Side view of a heat-hazed New York. Heading down the hall, I enter the room I converted to a private gym when I moved in. I ignore the gleaming dumbbells and head for the punching bag in the middle of the room. For the next hour, I pound the shit out of it, until sweat streams down my body. But my mind still churns.

My growl of frustration bounces around the room as I stand there, breaths heaving out of me. Tugging off the boxing gloves, I toss them across the room and press the heels of my hands against my eyes.

Immediately her image springs into my mind.

Cleo. With him.

Cleo. With me.

Please, Axel.

The clarity of her voice in my head makes my jaw clench. A different image slides into frame. Cleo, on her knees, saying those two words. Cleo, her stunning face captured in a mixture of innocence and arousal. The innocence is mockingly deceptive; I know that now, but my starved cock is on a mission and doesn’t appreciate the rationalization.

Dropping my hands, I leave the room, shedding my sweatpants as I go. Even before I hit the shower, I’m fully erect. Cold water slams my face and neck as scalding water hits my back. I brace my hands on the wall and give in to a dark chuckle. Hell, even my preprogrammed shower function is as torn as my mind and body. Grimly, I reach for the shower gel, hating myself for thinking about her. But I can’t stop.

Please, Axel.

My hands slow over my body, and my eyes drift shut at the image of small, greedy hands trailing up my bare thighs. My breath catches in eager anticipation. Her dusky-rose, sinful mouth begins to curve, the knowledge that she has me trapped, at her mercy, gleaming in her eyes. Insatiable for her, I drink in her expression even as I fall deeper under her spell.

She wraps one hand around me, the other tentatively reaching for my balls. The ingenuous move makes me even harder. Knowing that I was her first, as she was mine, is like no other feeling on earth. Her sharp inhalation at my hardness almost makes me smile, but my balls in her exploring touch wipe away any amusement. She literally has me in the palms of her hands, hers to do with as she pleases. I rock forward, sliding into her loose grip. Her fingers tighten reflexively, dragging a groan from my throat. Blue eyes darken as further knowledge dawns. Applying more pressure, she pumps me once. Twice. My full-body shudder makes her eyes widen.

“Omigod. That’s so hot. Show me more, Axel,” she breathes, her gaze darting between my cock and my face.

The eagerness in her voice almost makes me blow my load there and then. Clenching my jaw, I fight to stay in control. “Just keep doing that for now, baby.”

“You like it?” A question filled with a little wonder and burgeoning power.

A harsh snort rips free. “You have to ask? Can’t you tell?”

A sultry little laugh clenches my body with helpless need. “I want to make sure I’m doing it right. You stopped me the last time…”

Only because I wanted inside her tight, little pussy more than I wanted a hand job. “I’m not stopping you now,” I say, my throat tight with biting hunger.

Her gaze returns to her task, her mouth dropping open as the veins around my cock thicken in her hand. Every desperate forward thrust brings me within inches of her delectable mouth. A frown of concentration darts across her forehead as her tongue slicks her lower lip. She leans forward, and the involuntary, ravenous little breath she takes pushes me closer to the edge. Fuck, I want those lips around me. I want to pull her up, turn her around, and slap her pert, little ass for torturing me like this. I want to rip off that thong she’s wearing beneath my T-shirt and lose myself in the sweet heaven of her pussy.

Hell, I want so many things with her that it’s all a crazy jumble in my head. But I stay put. Because this, too, is paradise on earth. Her thumb slides over my sensitive head. The single convulsion that jerks through me bumps my cock against her parted lips. We both freeze.

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