Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

His boot between her feet pushed her legs so far apart that with every thrust, her clit rubbed the towel. Over and over.

Oh God, oh God. As if caught in a blender, her entire lower half spiraled up and up into soaring pleasure. She mewed, clawing at the cushions, as the world dissolved around her.

“That’s the spirit.” With a rough, guttural growl, deVries plunged into her so deeply she felt his groin grind against her bottom before he released.

***

Sometime later, she realized she was in a blanket, lying on the couch. Dizzy as a drunken coyote. She rose up on an elbow.

On one knee, deVries was cleaning off his equipment and packing it away in his terrifying-looking metal case. He glanced at her, assessed, clasped her shoulders, and moved her to a sitting position.

As he held her there, her world spun for a second before righting. Once her eyes uncrossed, she gave him a nod.

He handed her the glass of water on the coffee table. When had he gotten that? “Drink up, pet.”

Her hand shook only slightly as she took a sip and felt her desert-dry mouth absorb the liquid. She chugged most of the rest.

His lips quirked before he turned back to his packing.

When he was finished, he rose and took her glass to the kitchen. “Need more?”

She shook her head, not finding any words coming to mind. Thank you didn’t seem adequate. Sure, he was here because he wanted to collect on his prize from shooting her during war games; nevertheless, he’d also…well, okay, gifted her with an amazing orgasm with his violet wand toys. And again with anal sex.

He’d hurt her and liked it. But she’d liked it too. How did a person talk to someone she really didn’t know after having been so…intimate in such a strange way?

“First time I’ve ever seen you tongue-tied.” He squatted in front of her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You look befuddled.”

Good word for how she felt.

The living room lamps lightened the green flecks in his gray pupils, turning his eyes the color of a forest mist. She traced her fingers over the sun lines at the corners of his eyes, the strong angle of his jaw, his corded neck. Satisfaction lurked in the heaviness of his lids.

The knowledge she’d pleased him was a low hum in her veins.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” To her surprise, he scooped her up and carried her into the bathroom. He stood her on her feet outside the shower, turned on the water, and waited for it to warm. After setting her inside, he stripped and joined her.

The water felt wonderful on her sweaty body—and stung on a few of the more tender areas, so she turned around.

Oh wow, just look at him. The brighter bathroom lights played over deVries’s body. Totally, devastatingly gorgeous. All muscle. Leaner than a weight lifter, and somehow more dangerous. A purple bruise marred his forearm, mottled black-and-green bruises covered his hip, and above was a row of stitches. “What—”

When she looked up, his gaze was cold. Deadly.

Her mouth closed on the rest of the question.

As if she hadn’t spoken, he squirted some soap into his hand and scrubbed her down.

Eventually the chill disappeared from his eyes, letting her breathe.

When he stroked up her right forearm, he stopped and turned her arm toward the light. The long white-pink scar ran from her elbow to the back of her hand. Another, smaller one was on her left arm. So ugly. All the same, the window glass had cut her arms instead of her face; she wouldn’t complain.

Gray-green eyes narrowed, and his brows rose slightly.

No. She tilted her head toward his bruises and cuts. If he didn’t have to answer, neither did she.

After an uncomfortable moment, he gave her a raised eyebrow of acknowledgment and continued washing. Accepting her reticence.

Her breath eased out. Lying to him, right here, right now, after what they’d shared would have been unbearable.

His silence was a balm after the intensity before. With surprisingly gentle hands, he washed her efficiently, not lingering over anything, and merely the touch of his callused fingers made heat sweep through her.

God, she’d gladly mess around again. What was wrong with her?

But, once finished, he set her outside the shower and handed her a towel. “Go to bed, babe.”

She stared at him, unable to think of what to say. Drops of water glinted in the light furring on his chest, trickled down the line of hair to his cock. Made her want to follow it with her tongue.

His eyes crinkled. “You’re definitely befuddled.” Leaning down, he gave her a light kiss, turned her, and swatted her ass to move her out of the room.

In the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. He’d stepped back under the water to finish washing. What a strange man. Shaking her head, she donned a T-shirt and pair of panties. Should she wait for him?

Her wobbly legs answered the question by taking her to the bed. Her mama would be horrified at the discourtesy of not seeing a visitor to the door, but deVries was fully capable of letting himself out when he left.

She slid into her bed. The thousand-thread-count, Egyptian cotton sheets whispered sweetly against her sensitized skin as she sank down into the mattress.

A few drowsy minutes later, she watched deVries walk out. Beautifully naked. Holy God in heaven, he was ripped, from the hard curves of his biceps to the deep valleys carved between his pectorals. The line of black stitches above his left hip didn’t seem to affect him, whereas if her flesh had been slashed, she’d consider it an excellent idea to take a pain med, lounge around, and watch TV all day.

Bet the man had never lounged a day in his life.

When he walked past and into the living room, she sighed. He hadn’t said a word. Sure, he’d gotten what he wanted; even so, she’d thought he’d at least say good-bye.

To her surprise, he came back in, dumped his bag and case by the nightstand, and tossed his clothes on top.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting up in the bed.

He ignored her and went back out, returning a few minutes later with the rope restraints from the couch. He tossed them on the pile of clothes. “Almost forgot these. Might have scared your guests.”

She choked at the thought. Not that she’d ever invited anyone here—it wasn’t really her place, after all—but still. “Discovery could be bad. So thanks.”

After he looked around the room, he ran his finger over the silvery silk quilt and cocked an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like your style or color, babe.”

She shrugged. What could she say—it wasn’t.

The light from the living room cast shadows on his hard face as he stared down at her. She watched him. Why wasn’t he patting her on the ass and leaving? Everyone said the Enforcer was a fuck-’em and forget-’em sort of guy. To her surprise, he crawled under the covers with her.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. I’m wiped. Not safe to drive.”

“Oh.” Sleep with deVries? She swallowed hard. Before she could figure out how to say I’ll call you a taxi, he rolled her onto her right side and spooned behind her. Her bottom rubbed against his groin. His rock-hard arm over her waist pinned her down as he curved his left hand over her breast.

He wanted to cuddle? The Enforcer? “But—”

“Go to sleep, or you’ll spend the night gagged.”

Well. Yet, even as she searched for the answer to his obnoxious threat, her heart quickened. His gravelly voice alone could carbonate seawater—and when he exerted his will? She simply fizzed.

Unfortunately, all those hot, hot bubbles flowed straight to her pussy. She rubbed her thighs together, trying to still the throbbing. She wanted him again. Criminy, what was wrong with her?

His hand flattened between her breasts, and he snorted. “With a pulse like that, either you’re scared or you’re horny.” He slid his palm over her panties, ascertaining for himself exactly which it was. “Soaked.”

The touch of his firm fingers made her quiver. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. Don’t—”

“Shut it.” With pitiless hands, he tossed away the covers and flattened her onto her back. “Just as well. I didn’t get enough of a taste.”

“But—”

The warning in his narrowed eyes froze her vocal cords.

He stripped her panties off, baring her. Pushing her legs apart, he knelt between them. His gaze moved over her opened pussy…looking at her there.

As her cheeks flared with heat, she slid her hands over her mound to cover herself.

“You don’t wear underwear if you’re with me,” he growled. “And you don’t withhold something I want.” Ruthlessly he positioned her fingers to keep her labia open.

“What are you—”

“You put your hands down here, I use them.” He nudged her fingers outward, forcing her to hold her folds more widely apart. “Hold yourself open for me, and don’t move.”

“But—”

“And don’t speak.” He licked over her, his tongue stopping to wiggle right on top of her clit.

So wet. So hot. Her back arched as heat blossomed in her core.

He watched her with a slight smile. “Screaming is okay.”

Propped up on one elbow, sprawled between her legs, he lowered his head. His tongue worked her hard and fast, impossibly effective with her clit so totally exposed. With his free hand, he slid two fingers inside her, thrusting rhythmically—hard and fast.

Her pussy clamped down on him, and he laughed, closed his lips around her clit, and sucked.

Good thing he’d given her permission to scream.

DeVries woke, lying still as he assessed his surroundings. Kitchen appliances hummed. Someone in the condo above had heavy feet. The woman tucked against his side breathed softly.

Normal sounds. Normal scents. Nothing burning. No stink of ordnance or gunpowder. No stench of fear or blood or sweat. Only the faint fragrance of a cinnamon candle. Laundered linens.

But the citrusy shower soap on Lindsey’s body and the scent of sex affected him like a female in heat must a wolf. He hardened. Jesus, again?

In the middle of the night, he’d realized she’d rolled away from him. He rarely slept with a woman and never fucking cuddled, but…for some reason, he’d tugged her back. When his arm had grazed over her small breasts, her nipples contracted to press into his skin. Still she hadn’t woken.

His cock damn well had. Swearing under his breath, he’d donned a condom, then used his hands and mouth to bring her to the brink even before she wakened. When her eyes opened, he’d held her in place and thrust in. She’d gone rigid, and damned if she hadn’t come immediately, her cunt pulsing around his cock. Fucking satisfying.

And now he wanted her again. The girl definitely cranked his engine.

He looked down at her. Curled against his side, head on his shoulder, one leg over his thighs. Her cheeks and chin were reddened from his beard stubble, her pink lips swollen. She knew how to use her soft mouth. And she’d enjoyed sucking his dick, giving as generously as she received.

Like he’d figured, she was a sweetheart. A nice woman. Submissive. Gentle. Fun. The type of woman he envied his friends for having. Simon’s Rona was smart and organized and bighearted. She adored her kids and her husband; hell, she cared for an entire hospital.

Xavier’s Abby was a genius, terrifyingly literate, and a nurturer down to her bones.

No surprise this little Texan made up the third woman in their girl-gang.

Using one finger, he stroked over his bite mark on her shoulder. Felt like he’d branded her. DeVries was here—no trespassing.

Not that he had any intention of ever scening with her again. One night had been folly; two would be insanity.

But he hadn’t left yet, and he had an urge to have her one more time. A pity she’d be too sore to take him anally again. No. Although he didn’t mind hurting her for their mutual pleasure, turning her off anal sports would be a shame. He owed it to other ass-players not to screw it up for them.

Besides, he was in the mood for a basic missionary position.

He’d fuck her and leave right after. Best to keep it light. Simple. Especially with this little sweetie who’d lured him into spending the night. Give her a chance, and she’d get her hooks into him. A woman could be more dangerous than any snake-infested jungle.