Bane: Elite Operatives (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 4) (19 page)

“Hey, you won’t let me screw you in
your
office so . . .” He bit my earlobe with a sharp twinge.

My fingers dipped to the front of his pants, tracing the straining bulge I so desperately wanted inside me. “I let you fuck me in my office at home.”

“Hush it. I got something better for you to do with your mouth.” His deep searing kiss pushed any further reservations from my mind.

“Going to let me suck your cock?” I asked when his eyes flashed at me.

All his movements stopped for one powerful second before he groaned and began to pull my gown up my legs, his rough palms slipping over stockings to find bare skin at the top.

“If you rip this dress
—
”

“Not gonna rip your dress,
cher
, just your panties.” Storm’s mouth traveled down the deep V of my cleavage.

“Who says I’m wearing any?”

He stopped again, rugged breaths chugging in and out of his muscled chest. “Oh, you naughty, naughty minx.”

“Wedding present for you?” I moued innocently.

“This dress . . .
mmm, cher
. Do you know how difficult it was saying my weddin’ vows with a hard-on?” He lifted me atop the desk. “Wouldn’t have been able to say a damn word if I’d known about that little surprise.”

He raised the skirts up to my waist, carefully arranging the lengths of satin material behind me. His eyes widened before narrowing, and he wedged my legs open. The tops of my stockings stopped at my thighs, held up by a rich cream lace garter belt framing my slit. The high heels on my feet were sexy, incredibly expensive.

Storm’s fingers swept over my bare pussy. “Fuck. Me.”

He licked his lips, staring down at me, his fingertips tracing the small triangle of copper hair on my mound.

“Damn. I love your little cunt,
cher
.”

The deep tone of his voice—hoarse and husky—made me arch my back, spread myself even more for him.

He ripped open his pants, the belt hanging free. Shoving them to his thighs, his cock rose up, thick and erect . . . wet at the flared tip, and ready.

I leaned back on my hands, lifting my heels to the edge of the desk.

“
Mon Dieu.
”

His deep plunge inside snaked the most intense arousal up and down my body. I’d gotten used to his size, but when he came at me like this—rough, raw, relentless—a screaming orgasm overtook me immediately.

He lifted one of my legs higher, drawing my tongue into his mouth as he pulled out and slammed back in.

My body clutched at him, and I heard him curse.

The pounding thrust of his hips kept dancing me backward, but he opened me wider, held me tighter, and pulled my aching wet pussy onto his heavy lunging cock.

“Christ. You’re wetter than ever,” he snarled, his face a deep mask of desire.

Looking down between us, I watched his thickness emerge, shiny and slick, before he rammed back inside me.

The flashing heat of the next orgasm rushed through me like a fire. Storm pumped again, again, again . . . pushing me higher, grinding deeper. His voice broke when he called out my name, the last fast thrusts ending when the liquid heat of his come sprayed inside my sharply convulsing pussy.

Storm groaned against my neck, still hard inside me. Lifting his head, he planted little kisses all over my face, and I followed his lips with my mouth until I could bring him into a lush kiss.

He pulled back, glaring at his undiminished cock.

I laughed lightly, almost dizzy from the fierce fucking.

“Not funny,” he grumbled.

“I know, baby. Just a few hours then we have all night together. And two uninterrupted weeks.”

“And you won’t touch a phone while we’re on our honeymoon.” He found a box of tissues and cleaned himself off.

“Cross my heart.” I lowered my feet to the floor.

He glanced at me, his scarred eyebrow aiming high. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the reception?”

“Not so fast.” He tucked his cock into his pants with another muffled swear then kneeled between my quivering legs. “Gotta clean you up.”

Before I could say anything, his mouth was on me.

He’d barely finished giving me another almighty orgasm and fixing the rest of our clothes when someone tried the doorknob.

Wearing a sheepish grin, he unlocked the door, grabbed my hand, and swept us into the hall.

The priest stood there with a knowing smile.

The reception was in full swing by the time we rounded the side of the church. I’m sure everyone missed us, but no one said a word, except for my team, of course.

Lots of
cough-cough
-suggestive-remarks fell from Walker, Justice, and Bane’s mouths, until I turned my Medusa glare on them. And reminded them I signed their paychecks.

Storm led the way around the buffet, collecting food and drinks, hugs and kisses.

The loud music couldn’t drown out the rich, guttural Cajun accents, and the lingo I’d grown used to with Storm:
boug
, and
cous
, and
pahdnah
.

We took part in the money dance, a tradition where folks paid for their dances by pinning bills to us.

“Quite a haul.” Storm laughed, collecting the money. “Should pay for part of the bar tab.”

“Storm!”

“I’m kiddin’. Donating it to charity.”

“Not Pornhub, I hope, like you said last time.”

He chuckled. “That, too, was a joke,
m’cher
.”

The festive atmosphere of the party was infectious. The celebration reminded me of Storm’s and my first date and our favorite destination whenever we visited New Orleans—Jack’s Place.

I danced with my father, and James, Mamere, and Angel. Walker even took me for a spin.

But most of the time I stayed in Storm’s arms, as captivated by him as ever. He kept toying with my hair—coiled and curled and arranged on top of my head—or touching the wedding ring nestled next to the engagement band. He kept offering me more drinks or food or cake. And a knowing,
wondering
, expression grew on his face when I kept turning down the free-flowing champagne.

He looked at me with the same excitement bubbling inside me.

Storm set me free just once after that in order to make Angel dance with a mop.

Angel shook his blond head of curls—in looks he was the very antithesis of his older brother, but both men possessed the same big heart.

“Bullshit. I only have to do that if I’m
older
and a bachelor,” Angel protested.

Storm pushed him into the center of the dancing platform. “Do I look like I care? C’mon, it’s tradition. You’re my family.”

“Sure, sure. Play the family card.”

In the end, Storm got his way. I’d found out he almost always did. Especially with me. Playing hard-to-get had been futile with him. Like I’d always said, he was a force of nature all on his own . . .
Storm
.

He held me in his arms again, moving with his smooth, natural rhythm, after laughing his ass off at Angel’s expense.

“I love you,” I lifted up on my tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

I couldn’t wait to tell him the good news. Later. Tonight. When we were alone
.

“
Mmm
.” He hummed, a proud smile on his lips. His eyes swept over my face, and the dark blue turned soft, warm, the look that was for me and me alone. “And you have my entire heart, Mrs. Carmichael-LaFontaine.”

“That’s a mouthful.” I curved my face beneath his chin, breathing in the scent of him—man and cologne and always a little leather and smoke.

“Know what else is a mouthful?” His hips circled more suggestively against me.

“I reckon I can guess.” I shook my head, smiling, rubbing my body closer to his.

More boisterous music started up, the musicians leaving the stage to step onto the dance floor.

“Time for the Second Line!” Storm shouted.

He swirled me into the melee—a loose line forming with people dancing and singing. Like a conga but even more rowdy, folks waving napkins, handkerchiefs, anything that came to hand as we wound our way off the floor and trailed around the tents and among the churchyard, singing and whistling and clapping to the music that announced our nuptials.

Laughing, Storm twirled me away to privacy under the trees just as stars started sparkling in the sky above. And our dance ended in the kind of kiss I knew we’d share for a lifetime.

“Got somethin’ to tell me,
cher?
”

I whispered the most important words of all into his ear.

KIKI

June 2017

Bane’s and my month-long op in Azerbaijan ended with a victory, although a tight one achieved only after several hair-raising close calls.

Low margins. High risk.

We may have been able to make most of our own rules under new management AKA Blaize Carmichael in the co-op of Force-Reckon, but the life and death missions never got easier.

Neither Bane nor I had been wounded, so that was a bonus. That didn’t mean to say we weren’t dead on our feet, though.

We’d barely had time to touchdown at JBAB in DC, shove some scran down our throats, enjoy a nice slow fuck, and rack out for a few hours before we had to head to Dulles to meet Allegra off the plane.

Bane spotted the tween with the dark brown braid first. “Holy fuck. Did she grow another six inches in the past two months?”

“Girls hit puberty first.” I waved at his twelve-year-old daughter, and she sprinted toward us on those long legs she must’ve inherited from him.

“Great.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I do not want to know.”

I smiled. Big gruff Griffin Bane didn’t fool me one bit. Never had. Never would. He loved his daughter with the ferocity of a lion, with the force of a wide-open heart, with all the protectiveness of a man who could and would cause
damage
to any man who treated his baby girl wrong.

He broke into a grin when she hurled herself into his arms.

It never failed to twist my heart, seeing the two of them together. I knew he was swallowing roughly, holding in all the feels, and he always let her go before he was ready because he didn’t want to
crowd her
.

“You join track yet?” He pinched her braid, and she beamed up at him, showcasing the braces she’d gotten four months ago.

“Totally. I rank at hurdles.”

“Knew you would.” Patting her on the shoulder, he kissed her on the cheek—still so unsure whether she welcomed his hard-won affection or not. “Go running in the morning with me?”

“Race you to the finish, Dad.”

Bane’s eyes—one hazel, and one blue—dampened just enough I could tell.

Dad
.

And my heart clenched again.

Even more so when Allegra bowled straight into my arms, and he was right—she’d be as tall as me soon.

“Hey, sweetie. We missed you.”

“Holy crap! I love the new hair color, Kiki.”

“
Uh
. Language.” Bane attempted to play bad cop.

Like he didn’t drop the
f-bomb
every other word when she wasn’t around.

She touched my hair—newly tinted with light blue streaks. The color made my eyes stand out even more, Bane said.

“You look totes millennial!” she exclaimed.

I exchanged a look with Bane over her head while we still could . . .
millennial
?

“
We’re getting old
.” I mouthed at him.

“Kiki Damage, such a boss name.” Allegra hugged on me again before popping back. “Can we go shopping while I’m here?”

“Shoes?”

“Yass!”

We walked out of the terminal with Allegra between us. A family—something that was totally normal for most people—but was so unexpected and amazing to Bane and me.

“What about tats? Can I get one yet?” She asked, her large eyes that were the same two-tones as Bane’s directed at him. “Kiki’s are so badas—”

“Language! And ink for you? Never.”
Bad cop.

I bit my lip to prevent a laugh from gurgling out.

I couldn’t wait to see his reaction if she ever asked about getting pierced considering the steel on his body.

Bane scowled at me before winking—the man probably knew exactly what I was thinking.

Allegra barely missed a step or ever stopped for a breath. She broke ahead into the next topic without missing a beat. “Okay, Candy Crush. What level?”