Page 68 of Buried Under Ice

“I’m in you.”That was all he wanted.To be in her.Not in the bed.He’d taken her to the bedroom so she could have the mattress.So he wasn’t fucking her up against a hard bookshelf or a wall.

She squirmed again.

Fuck me.He withdrew.Slammed deep.Over and over.And there wasn’t any more talking.He was too far gone.All he could do was drive into her.Feel her creamy core all around him.Feel his sanity fading as the release grew closer and closer.But he wasn’t going over that edge alone.Oh, hell, no.

Ladies came first.Hislady would always come first.

His right hand slid between them.Went to her clit.Not for some gentle stroking.Fast, rough.The way he knew she liked it.Over and over as he plunged into her and, this time, she screamed when she came.

Just what he’d wanted.

He let go.The climax consumed him as Oliver sank deeply into Lark once more.

***

Some sick sonofabitch is targeting my sister.

Lane walked into the small yard, highly conscious of the guards’ stares as they watched the small group of prisoners who’d been let out.Ten minutes.That was all the time they’d been given.Ten fucking minutes of sunshine and fresh air that day.

But Lane didn’t give a shit about the sunshine.What was left of it anyway.They brought us out damn late today.His mind was on Lark.And the fact that someone had targeted her.If I wasn’t in this hellhole, I’d find him.I’d stop him.

Because Lark was the only thing that mattered in his world.They’d been watching out for each other their whole lives.

Lark stopped our father, and she did it for me.A part of the story that he doubted she’d told freaking Special Agent Foxx.Though, hell, he still couldn’t quite believe that she’d confessed to killing their father.Lane had told her—time and time again—to keep that secret.He’d taken the fall.

Everyone had looked at him like he’d been a monster when he was a teenager.They’d looked at Lark with sympathy.She’d had a chance at a decent life.A normal life.Like the BS you saw on TV.

But she wouldn’t leave me.She’d always stood by him.

And now, when she needed him the most, he wasn’t there for her.

“Hey, asshole…”

He stiffened at the growling voice.Immediately, he glanced to the left.

A big, hulking jerk with too many bad prison tats glowered at him.“You broke my buddy Ronnie’s hand.”

Yeah, that sounded about right.The guy who’d given Lane the black eye?Lane had broken the bastard’s hand.Ronnie the rat.What else should he have done?“He’s got two hands.He’ll be fine.”

Bad Tats grunted at him.“You won’t be.”And he came in fast, gripping something in his fist.

A shiv.Wonderful.What had the guy done, spent too many freaking hours honing that nasty-ass spoon for this big moment?Lane caught the man’s wrist and prepared to break the prick’s hand, too.He and Ronnie could be a matching set but then…

Then an idea struck.

Instead of disarming his attacker, Lane just jerked the shiv to the left.A good two inches to the left.Pain sliced through him—so did the shiv—and a low hiss escaped Lane.

Shouts filled the air.

The guards had noticed the attack.Finally.So much for actually watching our asses.What had they been doing?Surfing on their phones?They always seemed extra slow to notice bad shit when it happened to Lane.

“That’s what you deserve,” his attacker snarled as he was hauled away.He spat on Lane.

Oh, gross, asshole, I will remember that.

Lane fell to the ground.His hand went over the wound.One bleeding very, very nicely.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!”A guard glared down at Lane.“He’s bleeding like a stuck pig!”

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