Page 124 of Lone Star

She let go, then, and stalked forward, bending to peek under the doors, ensuring they were alone. When she turned back, her face was flushed, her lips already parted in anticipation, her breath quick.

Fox leaned back against the counter and watched her come to him, enjoying the view, half-hard already with vicarious excitement. She wasn’t wrong: he’d been simmering with want from the moment he took out the guard; from the moment up on the rise surveying the estate; from the second he saw her in all black, propped against his doorframe, assuming that she would come along, and knowing that she would be anything but a liability in a tight spot. She was beautiful, always, even when she played at cool and detached, but this was how he loved her: wild with the thrill of the chase, hot-blooded, and needy, and anything but shy. A woman who knew exactly what she was capable of, and not afraid to say exactly what she wanted.

The restlessness that coursed through him now was of the best kind.

He reached up and caught her, a hand at her shoulder and a hand at her waist, hauled her in the last distance as she went up on her toes and kissed him.

Her mouth was soft, and lush, and hot, and she slipped her tongue between his lips right away – not a shy flirtation, but a bold, insistent demand.Fuck me. Just like that, all thoughts of the club, and the cartel, and this strange case flew out of his head. There was only now, this moment, and Eden pressing up against him.

Her hands found the front of his shirt, and she gripped tight, tugging, stretching the collar, desperate. When he pushed back into the kiss, taking control, her neck went soft, her mouth open, receiving now. “Yeah,” she gasped, in the quick breaths between. “Yeah, Charlie,please.”

That – that tone, that voice, the way her nails scraped at him through fabric – was why random, anonymous sex with club groupies was so boring. Because like this, with Eden, he knew exactly what she wanted and needed, without being asked outright. He always had loved having a plan.

He found the zipper of her jacket with two fingers and she moaned into the next kiss. Drew it down, down, down, unfastened it, and her mouth was hot and wet, totally open to him.

He broke away to trail damp kisses along her jaw, down her throat, and slipped his hands beneath her shirt, a fitted black turtleneck, and push it up. Pulled the cups of her bra down and took her breasts into his hands, her nipples already pebbled.

“Ah,” she breathed, tipping her head to the side, giving him better access to her throbbing pulse point. She was so responsive like this. So eager.

She rocked her hips forward, grinding against the bulge in his jeans. He was fully hard now, high off all her little sounds and responses.

“Charlie,” she whimpered, as he sucked on her earlobe.

He gripped her waist, and spun them. The fact that she went – with a little sucked-breath, her hands spasming against his chest – was more than permission enough. She wanted him to take charge. He sat her up on the edge of the counter, pushed her thighs apart, and stepped between them. Fastened his lips to her throat, and tweaked her nipples between thumb and forefinger.

She hissed. Oh, she liked that. Tried to lift her hips, to keep them grinding together.

Fox moved his hands to her thighs, and squeezed, holding her still.

She pulled back, lids lowered, mouth open, pink, wet. “If you’re asking for permission…” she drawled, nearly slurring, her voice low and rough.

“When do I do that, darling?”

She arched, thrusting her chest toward him, invitation, plea.

He bent his head and took a nipple into his mouth as he unfastened her jeans. Ran down the zipper. Her skin tasted faintly of clean sweat, and it went straight to his head. He was so hard it hurt, now, desperate too; he needed to be inside of her, to play out this adrenaline rush that had started hours and hours ago.

She shifted her hips to help him work her jeans down, and he didn’t bother with her knickers – black and sleek, just like everything else she had on. He brushed them to the side and slid his fingers against her wetness as he shifted to her other nipple, drawing another sweet moan from her throat.

Here was a secret he’d never told anyone, but which he should probably tell her one day. Sex was generally good. Perfectly acceptable with strangers, a means of scratching an itch.

But he was a trained killer. He could master new skills, sure, but he was best in the areas in which he’d lots and lots of practice. He could get off with new lovers, but with a familiar lover – with a lover whose tastes he’d learned to suit – sex became necessary and electric. With Eden, it was like a favorite knife in his hand; like knowing the exact sighting on a much-loved gun. They knew each other, and their bodies knew one another, and it could just be good without the learning curve.

He parted her folds with deft fingertips, probed her entrance with a teasing press and found her clit with his thumb. The sound she made in response went straight to his cock.

“God, just get on with it,” she breathed.

He pressed a smile into her neck and pressed two fingers inside her silken, wet heat. “Patience, love.”

She leaned forward and took his earlobe between her teeth. “Charlie.”

“Right, then.”

The counter was a good height for this. He reached for his belt, and her hands joined his, uncharacteristically clumsy, shaking. He loved when she got worked up like this.

And when her hand closed on his cock, and he let out a sharp, unsteady breath, he had to admit he wasn’t in any better shape.

He hauled her to the very edge of the counter, and she guided him, and then, oh, yes, that was perfect, that first breach, the way her body welcomed his, familiar, but still so tight, still with that bit of resistance that squeezed all the air from his lungs.

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