Page 191 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

“I don’t have enough hands to touch all of you,” I panted into her ear.

She got the hint.

Achingly slowly, she ran her palm down over her own breasts, lingering over her nipple. Squeezing her breast over and over, making us both groan. Continuing on and drifting her fingers over her covered pussy under her skirt, the gyrations of her hand telling me she was doing the work I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to maintain my hold on her throat. And she loved that, needed it. Every time I flexed my fingers, she rubbed harder and dropped her head to my shoulder, watching me fuck her from behind through the hazy blue slits of her eyes.

“Get me wet, duchess,” I growled.

As if it was a stage command she couldn’t ignore, she rippled around me, heat exploding through me from the clasp of her pussy. She turned her head and fumbled to take my mouth, kissing me desperately while she tripped into her second orgasm, hauling me ever closer to my own destruction.

The second she stopped twitching around me, I pushed her down on the table. Way down. My hand tightened almost to the point of danger. Her breaths hissed out and her pupils enlarged, but she bucked back against me, urging me for more.

I gave it to her, pressing her down as I drilled into her again and again. She whimpered when I lessened my hold, then pulled back and pushed home one last time, holding her still to take every drop.

“Mine,” she said harshly, pumping backward to lengthen my torment.

Then she licked her lips.

Under my palm, her ass was bright red from where I’d smacked it. Seeing that with my cock still lodged inside her nearly had me jerking to life one more time.

I pulled myself free with a groan that echoed in both of us.

Lindsey stood and winced as she tugged her costume back into place as much as possible. “Save that for later—”

A commotion in the hall caused me to move back and quickly do up my pants. The door flew open and a crazed-looking blond teenager flung himself into the room, his eyes wheeling and landing on Lindsey. “Lindsey, it’s you, it’s really you.”

My first instinct was to pull her behind me. She struggled free just as security burst into the room and strong-armed the kid into submission. He was weeping now, still repeating her name.

“Lindsey, you’re mine. You know we were meant to be together. Tell them. Tell them you’re mine—”

The security guys towed him out of the room, still shouting for Lindsey. One of them came back a second later while Lindsey gripped her throat, her fingers curving over the indents mine had left.

“I’m so sorry, Miss York. There was an issue with one of the radios and he made it through. It won’t happen again.”

She nodded and smiled faintly then let her hand drop. The handprint revealed there seemed like a tattoo etched permanently into her skin. “Thank you, Stewart. Do you know—” She let out a breath. “What will happen to him?”

“He’ll be booked. We have every reason to think he’s trespassed before and could very well be responsible for the green room situation. He won’t be bothering you again.” He smiled reassuringly and stepped back into the hallway.

Lindsey looked at me for a long, humming moment before she took my hand. “Can you stay with me tonight?”

I drew her into the circle of my arms. She wasn’t shaking, but I was on the verge. “Duchess, you couldn’t pry me away.”

Thirty-Seven

A hotel in Richmond wasn’t where I wanted to spend the

night before we moved on to our next venue. I wanted my bed at home. Or even Alex’s bed, with Sarge staring at me with a disdainful expression in his green eye and Brutus draped on top of us like an oversized security blanket with a lolling tongue.

I’d grown accustomed to his place so quickly. It already felt safe to me.

Just as Alex did, which was a minor feat considering his judgment lapse in ambushing me in the darkness in my dressing room.

But he was making up for it.

For the last couple of hours since the overzealous fan had been captured, Alex hadn’t left my side. When we ordered room service, he took care of talking to the hotel staff. When I said I wanted a shower, he’d followed me in to wash my hair and tell me stories about growing up in Ireland. Light, easy, fun stories of him and his da before things had gone wrong.

His mum had never really been in the picture. I couldn’t imagine what that was like. My parents and I weren’t very close, but I knew they were there if I needed them. His mother had just walked away from him without a backward glance.

No wonder he didn’t believe he knew how to love. Although from where I was standing—laying now, in our gigantic bed—he was doing just fine for a rookie.

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