Against The Wall (11 page)

Ryan couldn’t stop the silly grin that found its way through the fog of mind-numbing sensation. “Awesome?” he asked teasingly, nudging her face up with his own so he could look at her. Her skin was rosy and flushed, slightly damp. She was so beautiful, the sexiest damn thing he’d ever seen, and she was his. Oh, God. It hit him like a Mack truck in the center of his chest, knocking the wind right out of him. She was his. Her cunt, her mouth, her sweetness—everything was all his! “Damn, woman,” he groaned shakily, trying to regain his balance. “You nearly killed me.”

She smiled, looking extremely pleased with herself—and with him. “So then you weren’t disappointed?”

Ryan’s own smile disappeared, replaced by a deep, intense look of tenderness. “You could never disappoint me.” With the softest of touches, he kissed her temple, the alluring curve of her cheek. “God, you’re so soft, so sweet. I’m so damn fucking fascinated by you,” he growled, knowing he meant every word and touch, no matter how badly they terrified him. “I always have been. So don’t even think of trying to throw me out again, because I’m not going anywhere, lady.”

Ryan carefully disengaged their bodies while Shea squirmed in his arms, his blood pumping hard from the wild kisses she playfully planted over his face and throat. Torn between smiling at her eagerness and groaning from the fresh surge of lust pounding through his body, he removed the few articles of clothing they were still wearing as he stumbled his way into the bathroom, his hands gripping the sweet cheeks of her ass to keep her against him. With one hand he reached into the shower to get the water running hot, and when the air filled with steam, he carried Shea beneath the warm spray.

What the hell had he done? His stunningly uncharacteristic words stormed through his brain, but he couldn’t find a way to take them back.

Hell, he didn’t want to take them back—didn’t want to take any of it back.

And why in God’s name wasn’t he more upset about it? It’d been years since he’d allowed himself to feel anything beyond the physical pleasure a good fuck could afford—and the last time had been a total disaster. Had, in fact, damn near altered the entire course of his life.

Why wasn’t he pissed at his loss of control, rather than strangely warm inside at the thought that he’d finally had her—and planned on having her again and again? Granted, she’d been more than a good fuck. Despite her inexperience, Shea had been the best fuck he’d ever had. Christ, if she got any better, he’d be a dead man.

She sighed, and he couldn’t help but smile at the soft, inaudible sound. Hell, he was so obsessed, she could breathe and he’d hear it.

He felt like one of the addicts he so often busted during the course of his investigations. Highly successful professionals who should’ve known better, but once they got that taste of their personal paradise, all they could think about was getting it again. They sought heaven by whatever means necessary—no matter how much of a hell it landed them in.

Only his heaven wasn’t going to be found in any illegal substance. No, it was soft and sweet, snuggled up against his chest, all but wrapped around his body in a way that said she didn’t ever want to let go. And if that didn’t send him running, then nothing would. Strange as it was, the only thing he could think about was pulling her closer, pushing back into the addictive depths of her cunt, and never leaving.

And wasn’t this why he’d struggled so hard to stay away from her? Hadn’t he known, deep down, that fucking this woman was going to be about a hell of a lot more than sex, and take him someplace completely unexpected?

He’d known last night, when he’d gone to lie down on her sofa and found himself dialing Hannah’s cell phone, needing answers to the riddle that she’d become. The intoxicating puzzle that he wanted to unravel, piece by piece, until he could figure out just what made her tick. On one level, it was the investigator in him—but most importantly it was the man. The man wanted to get under her guard, just like she’d crawled under his, and push her farther than anyone ever had before. He wanted to get to the core of Shea Dresden…uncover all her little secrets…and claim her in the most primal, primitive way a man could stake his claim.

And the call with Hannah hadn’t been easy. Not that he’d expected her to break confidence with Shea and spill it all, no matter how close he and Hannah were, but he hadn’t counted on the pangs of conscience she’d invoked. He’d damned near blushed when she’d started reading him the riot act.

“So what are you looking for here, Ry? Because I don’t think you’re going to like what I’ve got to say.”

“Shit, why do women always have to make everything so damn difficult?” he’d muttered, stretching out across Shea’s thankfully long sofa, smelling her subtle scent on the scarlet cushion behind his head and the soft chenille throw he’d tossed over his even longer body. “All I want is to know—to try to understand—ah shit, I don’t know what I called you for. Just forget it.”

“She’s really gotten to you, hasn’t she?”

“And wouldn’t you love it if she had?”

“Don’t sneer at me, Ry. If I didn’t think you two were perfect for each other, I could’ve warned her off you long ago. Trust me, you big jerk, it’s been hell trying to paint you as anything other than an oversexed playboy.”

He snorted. “What the hell? You been keeping tabs on my love life, Hannah?”

“Okay, genius, let’s see if you can figure this one out on your own? Now that you’ve seen her bedroom, and you know where her bed is, why don’t you put two-and-two together in that crime-solving brain of yours and explain to me why she might have that impression of you?”

He’d grunted, cursing women for the twisted riddles they spoke in, when it suddenly dawned on him. Ah shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Her fucking bed was against the same wall as his. The same wall his bed slammed into every damn time he brought home a woman to screw. The same thin wall that probably bled every damn sound right through its cheap-ass drywall. Son-of-a-bitch.

He’d made a low, groaning curse, and Hannah had clucked softly on the other end. “Yeah, you got it, big guy. You’ve been giving her quite the show lately.”

“Shit, I never even thought of that.” He’d cringed, thinking of his desperate attempts lately to screw her out of his system. Hell, he’d probably slept with five different women just in the last month, trying to work his way out of this obsession for Shea.

Hannah’s sigh had been deep and heavy, fully exaggerated. “I swear, Ry, sometimes you can be so damn dense when it comes to women.”

He’d shut his eyes and tried to remember what Shea might have heard, but his mind was a blank. The women had been poor attempts to convince himself that what Shea made him feel wasn’t any different from any other woman, but it hadn’t worked. No amount of raunchy, mindless screwing had done the job.

Hell, he’d been fantasizing about Shea the entire damn time he’d been pounding into them anyway. But fuck, he hated the thought of her hearing him with another woman. It felt like a betrayal, though he knew he didn’t owe her a damn thing at this point. It’s not like he’d made her any promises. He’d spent the last three months doing his best to ignore her, so how could what he’d done have been so bad?

But it felt bad, damn it, and he knew in his gut that it had felt bad to Shea. He couldn’t even imagine what his reaction would’ve been if he’d heard her nailing some guy, her bed banging against the wall, her raw, muffled cries of climax slamming into his brain. Shit, he’d have probably knocked her damn door down and beaten the jerk senseless.

And wasn’t that possessive fire burning in his gut one of the reasons he’d tried so damn hard to stay away from her?

“Look, I didn’t want to say anything because this really isn’t my business, but if I keep leaving you to your own devices, you’re going to dig yourself so far into a hole you won’t ever be able to get back out.”

“Christ, you gonna give me pointers on sex now, Hannah? I thought we’d already covered the fact that I had that covered back when you caught me playing doctor with Susie Jenkins?”

“Oh, you know how to make them happy in bed. I’m not doubting you there, stud boy. I’ve seen the way they drag their tongues around after you. But when it comes to anything beyond sex, you’re pathetic. Geez, you don’t even notice a woman unless you’re planning on nailing her, and once you’ve had her, you never give her the time of day again.”

“Damn it, I never make promises that I—”

“Shut up, Ry. I’m not saying it’s not their own faults, because I know you always make it perfectly clear you’re not interested in getting emotionally involved with any of them. You’re just out to have some fun, blow off some steam, but that doesn’t mean they don’t go in thinking they’ll be the ones to change your mind. You know, rock your world and all that.”

“Is there a point to all this?”

“Yeah,” she’d drawled, “because the sad fact remains that you simply don’t know crappola about dealing with women outside of anything sexual.”

And I’ve got a damn good reason, he’d thought, but only said, “I deal with you just fine.”

She’d sighed over the line. “I don’t count, Ry. We’re practically family. The thought of us boinking probably sounds as gross to you as it does to me.”

“Jesus, woman” he’d groaned, “don’t even talk about that shit. It’d be like doing my sister.”

Hannah had laughed, knowing she’d scored a hit with that one. “See, you get my point. You’ve never even thought about me as a woman, so you haven’t shut yourself off from me…like you’ve done with every other female you’ve known since college.”

She didn’t say since Kelly, so he supposed he should at least be thankful for that, but he was still pissed that she’d scored a direct hit with that one too.

“Just what in the hell is the point of all this? I thought you were trying to play matchmaker, not give me a lecture on my obvious lack of charm.”

“What I’m trying to tell you is that you cannot be a macho idiot with this woman and let her get away. Trust me, if you do, it’ll be the biggest mistake of your entire life.”

The biggest mistake of his life…

Shea swayed forward, the fiercely erotic touch of her wet nipples against his chest pulling him painfully back to the present. His arms instinctively tightened, needing to feel her closeness as the water continued to stream down on them, Hannah’s unsettling words replaying repeatedly, echoing eerily in his head. No…he hadn’t let her get away. At least, not this time.

But just look at what he’d done, damn it.

He should have been taking care of her, keeping his bastard hands to himself, but no. No, he’d just slammed her against her bedroom wall, fucked the hell out of her, and filled her full of cum. No romance. No sweet words. He’d just lifted her up and rammed his cock into her as hard as he could—mindless to everything but gaining the satisfaction he’d known he would find inside of her. The teeth-grinding, heart-pumping, complete overload of sensation that only she could give him.

He felt sick. Not at what had happened, but because he was so damn happy about it. He knew, after the hell she’d just been through with Spalding, that he’d had no right touching her—and sure as hell not today. But instead of leaving her alone, like he should have, he’d ended up taking her right there with the finesse of a juggernaut. Damn, he wanted to kick his own ass.

And he wanted to keep holding her close, keep screwing her senseless, keep staking his claim again and again.

For the rest of the damn day.

Every day.

Forever.

Oh, man, he had this so bad. Who the fuck had he been trying to fool? He wasn’t going to run, and he wasn’t going to let her go. He was going to act just like the ruthless bastard he knew he was and dig his claws into her for good.

Everything about Shea twisted him with need, and he was not a man to twist and moan for any woman, no matter how good she looked. Until now. And it wasn’t just her looks, damn it, but the whole package that he wanted—the whole woman. He wanted to pound himself inside of her again and again—not just her body, but her—until he’d affected her in the same ways she was changing him.

Like any sane man, he wanted those changes about as much as he wanted his damn dick cut off. He’d always liked his life just fine the way it was. Hell, he’d learned early on that he didn’t need some woman screwing with it, no matter how badly he wanted to screw around with her. He liked being in control. Liked doing what he wanted, when he wanted. Liked the variety of women who’d always been readily available to him. Liked the fact that he could fuck them and forget them without ever suffering a single second of emotional involvement.

And now he was neck deep in it.

Shea’s hands clutched at his broad shoulders while she struggled against the primal urge to sink her teeth into his warm flesh. She wanted to just swallow him down—just fill herself up on him. She clung to him, mentally lecturing herself for holding him in such a death grip, afraid she was going to end up scaring him away.

But Ryan wasn’t running. He just held her close, as if he never meant to let her go—his hard cock trapped between their stomachs—the silver hoop in her navel digging deliciously into his swollen flesh.

Her sweet lips and soft hands shredded his control, until he finally couldn’t take it anymore. “Shea, please stop, baby. I’m trying not to get too rough with you, but you’re—”

“That…sounds…fine—” she stuttered on an uneven breath, then tried again. “God, that’s sounds more than fine. It sounds fabulous. So will you stop worrying that I’m going to shatter any second now? You’re starting to give me a complex.”

He smiled at her disgruntled tone and stroked his cheek against the silky top of her head, holding her so the warm water fell directly over her sore body. Damn, would he ever understand this woman? He was trying to offer the gentle lovemaking she deserved, and she was all but demanding he fuck her senseless again.

“A complex?” he laughed, running his hands over the slick flesh of her body, loving the feel of her beneath his palms. She fit against him as if she’d been made just for this—just for him. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”