Defending Serenty (3 page)

With one arm around my waist, he holds me
still as his other hand wiggles inside my panties and finds my
clit. Arching my back, I press my mound against his fingers. I’m so
close to coming. A little harder, a little faster. I’m not sure if
I pant the words out or he has an instinctive knowledge of my body.
I’m right on the edge, with little tremors beginning in my legs,
when he stops.

I almost howl with disappointment. My eyes
snap open and I meet his gaze, recoiling at the fury I see there.
If he’s that angry with me, why is he here? His hand still cups my
pussy and his finger flicks over my clit. I can’t repress the
shudder of response or the groan that escapes my lips.

“Have you let Tim Monroe touch you here?” he
rasps, one long finger pushing into my sex.

I gasp, riding the sensation, ignoring the
question. A second finger joins the first and they slide leisurely
in and out of me. After a moment he stops, walking me backwards
until I’m against the wall, and he bites my neck.

“Ow,” I yelp, although I feel more liquid
pool against his fingers at the singular assault.

He chuckles. “You liked that. I can feel it
here.” He wiggles his fingers deep inside me.

“I asked you a question, Serenity,” he says,
and though his tone is soft, I hear an underlying edge of
menace.

“What was the question?”

“Tim Monroe,” he reminds me.

“I don’t see that it’s any of your business,”
I respond, knowing my answer is ridiculous under the circumstances.
Trace is not a man to trifle with. He’s capable of anything. I’ve
seen him kill a man.

His eyes narrow on my face and I feel a spurt
of fear. He lowers his head until we are nose to nose and the hand
that only moments ago had cupped my waist now rests on my
collarbone...and twitches. Sliding it up, he lightly strokes the
sides of my neck. The movement is both tender and threatening at
the same time. I gulp.

“No,” I whisper. “He hasn’t touched me.”

“Good,” he says in a hard tone. “This is
mine
.”

Removing his fingers from my pussy he pinches
my clit hard enough to send sparks through me. I ride a wave of
pleasure/pain and when he releases his hold on my clitoris to rub
against it, the orgasm breaks over me. I cry out and tremble in his
arms.

Trace

When Serenity’s shudders slow, I pick her up
and carry her to the bed. Dropping her in the center, I stand back
and rip my shirt over my head before yanking off my jeans and
shoes. I toss a handful of condoms to the bedside table--I’d raided
Walker’s supply--and come down on top of her, crushing her into the
mattress. She tastes sweeter than I remember, and my control is
paper thin. I have to get inside her
now
. Lifting enough to
rip open the packet and roll on the condom, I look up to meet her
gaze.

It is full of wary lust and although I’d
wanted her afraid, had even been turned on by her fear, now her
caution cuts me and spurs my anger. If she doesn’t know me well
enough to realize I’d never physically harm her, the hell with it.
I don’t have time to soothe her now, and I don’t care what she
thinks anyway. Do I? My fingers seek out her pussy and I guide my
cock to it, thrusting deep. Her eyes widen and her body clenches
around me. Oh, fuck. I care all right. I close my eyes and fight
down whatever emotion is swelling my throat closed.

Seated deep inside her, not daring yet to
move, I realize her hair is still up and I tug out the elastic
holding it. I run my fingers through her long hair, brown with
those tantalizing hints of gold, fanning it out across the pillow.
I dream about that hair, about feeling it slide over my bare skin.
A simple enough fantasy to fulfill.

I roll us over and bring her upright over me.
And yes, the ends of her hair brush my chest, just like I’d
imagined. I gather it in my hands and tug until she is forced to
lean over. She doesn’t exactly resist, but she hesitates enough to
fire my temper again. I withdrew from her pussy and thrust back in,
rocking her forward against my chest. She drops her hands on my
shoulders to brace herself, and looks at me in question when I
don’t continue.

Now that I’m balls deep inside her, I have
better control over the hunger eating at me. Enough to make her
come again and again, desperate for me. I need her desperate for
me. And I need the time to reacquaint myself with her body. It is
going to be a long time before I’m done with her. Tonight, and down
the road.

I reach for her breasts, palming them, the
hard tips of her nipples spearing my hands. They’re smaller than I
remember, but she is thinner, sleeker with unfamiliar muscles. It’s
obvious she works her body hard. I smirk. I have every intention of
putting her through her paces. My fingers close over the nubs and I
squeeze them, wringing a gasp from her.

Sliding one arm around her back, I pull her
closer and suck one nipple into my mouth. She groans and grinds
against my hips. There is no way she is coming again so soon, but
sweet Jesus, damned if she doesn’t tighten around my cock and mewl
like a kitten when I bite her nipple. Her fingers dig into my
shoulders as she rides me, with fine tremors shaking her rigid
body. I’m not sure if I can take that again, the feeling of her
clamping down on my dick without coming. I want to have my own fun,
too.

Rolling her back over, I slide my arms under
her knees and lift her legs over my shoulders. The position leaves
her open and vulnerable, but the only thing I see in her eyes is
desire. Good. I don’t have time for fear. Not now.

I brace my arms next to her head, wrap my
hands in her hair and grip her skull, kissing her hard, the way I
wanted to earlier. With no restraint, no control, no holds barred.
Just the way I’m going to fuck her. Withdrawing slowly inch by
inch, until only the head of my cock remains inside her, I stop the
kiss and meet her hot gaze.

“Ready?” I ask gruffly. “I’m gonna fuck you,
Serenity. Hard.”

Long seconds tick by as she looks into my
eyes. What does she see there? Does she see how I’ve changed?
Hardened? Does she see the fine rage that burns in me just under
the surface, just out of reach? Whatever she sees, she must not
object too much to it because finally she nods. I’m not sure why
I’d waited, but once I have her approval I slam home. Her eyes
widen in surprise and her hands fly up to grip my shoulders. Her
grasp borders on pain, her nails digging into my flesh, and I catch
her again in a bruising kiss as I pound into her.

Her soft gasps and groans wrap around me,
driving me higher, and I regret I don’t have it in me to reach
between us and force another orgasm on her. I’m so close and it’s
been so long, there is no way in hell am I slowing down now. I’ll
take care of her later. When I have more control. Right. That’s
what I’ll do.

I throw back my head and shout, feeling the
tightly corded muscles from my neck to my thighs clench, as I come.
The orgasm seems to go on forever, my body unwilling to give up the
sanctuary of hers. When I’m finally released from its grip, I lower
her legs and collapse on top of her temporarily replete.

My Serenity, I whisper to myself. And maybe
she is the peace I’ve been searching for.

Chapter Two

Serenity

The
brring brring
of my cell phone
interrupts a hot dream about Trace and anal sex. I have too damned
many of those. I grope the floor next to the bed with half a mind
of throwing it against the wall. I have to lean way out over the
platform to reach it and as I stretch my leg out for balance, I
bump against something. Hard. Hairy. Definitely a male leg. Holy
crap. It wasn’t all a dream. Sitting up, I grab the phone and slide
the bar over to unlock it.

“Yeah,” I answer softly, hoping I don’t wake
the enigmatic man in my bed. It can only be work calling at--I
squint at the alarm clock--three in the morning. “Detective
Jameson.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I listen to Mrs.
Baker, my elderly neighbor a few doors down, report a
ruckus
down on her dock
. I grin. I’d come home to take this job after
being burnt out on the big city, but the misdeeds reported to me
often make me laugh my ass off. Last time Mrs. Baker reported a
late night dock intruder it turned out to have white rimmed eyes,
very sharp claws, and weighed in at around twenty pounds. The local
raccoon population seems intent on invading her property.

After agreeing to run over and check it out,
I end the call and look around for my jeans. Spying them across the
room, I hurry over, pull them on and grab my discarded sweater.
Just in case, I remove my sidearm from the wall safe I’d had
specially installed and pick up my boots. Heading for the bed to
put them on, I try not to cringe at the memory of my lack of
caution. Trace Graham. What was I thinking? Haven’t I learned that
lesson already? He doesn’t want me and I’ve made a very different
life for myself. It’s probably not the right life and I know that
but this is…wrong. This is just wrong.

The cause of my wince morphs from memory to
reality when I look up and meet his laser-sharp gaze, eyes as black
as midnight. Propped on one arm, the quilt pools around his waist
and he takes my breath away. He is masculine perfection. There is
no other word for it. His skin is smooth and olive-toned. He has
sculpted abs and pecs, and a chiseled face. His biceps are ringed
with tattoos and earlier I’d noticed another one on the back of his
neck, some kind of symbol I don’t recognize. They probably aren’t
gang-related; at least, I don’t think so. His hair is cropped close
and he looks dangerous, edgy. He eyes the gun I clip to my waist
with distaste. Yeah, given what his last encounter with a weapon
had cost him that isn’t a surprise, even if that one was a
knife.

“Where are you going?” he asks. Calm.
Detached.

“Mrs. Baker heard some noise on her dock. I’m
gonna walk over and check it out.”

Facing away from him, I sit down on the edge
of the bed and lace up my boots. He snorts and the mattress shifts.
I look over my shoulder to see him getting dressed. Disappointment
lances through me. Then self-recrimination. I’m a cop. I shouldn’t
be cavorting with ex-cons.
Yeah right,
an inner voice chides
me.
Is that what they’re calling it these days, Lynn?
Besides I don’t have the right to be so self-righteous either. I’ve
looked the other way a time or two when my idea of justice
conflicts with the law.

“That old bat still around?” he asks.

I hide a grin. ‘Old bat’ is the perfect name
for Mrs. Baker. I bite my lip, not at all surprised I want to laugh
out loud at the description. The woman causes me no end of grief.
Instead, I stand up and shrug, pushing my hands into my
pockets.

Shoving his feet into his shoes, he stands
shirtless, his jeans zipped but unsnapped, and I long to run my
hands across the smooth expanse of his chest. There’d been no
chance to explore the changes in him earlier and this interlude has
to be over.

We stare at each other. Three feet and a
world apart. Silence hangs heavy in the room. Uncomfortable, I
fidget a moment before catching myself. Wait a minute. This is my
house.
Trace
is the interloper here.

“I need to go.” I break eye contact and
stride for the door. “You can see yourself out, all right? Don’t
bother locking up.”

He grabs me at the back door, slamming me
back against his chest, his arms like a vice around my waist.
Leaning close, he nibbles my neck right on the pulse point, a spot
that always drives me crazy. My pussy heats up. Damn
.
I need
to get him out of my system ASAP.

“I have to go,” I rasp, hating the sound,
hating the weakness in my knees.

He frees me inch by inch, as if afraid I’ll
run off if he lets me go. And I just might. He keeps hold of my
hand.

“I’ll go with you,” he says, turning me to
meet his gaze. “You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?”

His hand drops to the front of my jeans and I
get wet. I fight to keep my breath even. I have the stupid, foolish
hope that he isn’t done. My mind flashes to my dream, with his dick
buried inside my ass while my butterfly vibrator clung to my
clitoris. My heart races. I haven’t found a man I trust with that
fantasy, yet for someone reason I consider letting Trace do that to
me. Must be the memory of that long ago night, when he’d been
deadly but protective, ensuring I was okay before he let them drag
him off. I sigh and open the door, hiding my reaction to his
nearness. Remembering the past. He’d saved me and what had I done?
Gone and cried to Daddy, who instead of fixing things for Trace had
ruined his life. I’d hate me too, if I was him.

But I don’t say any of that to him now.
Instead, I walk out into the cold December night and breathe
deeply, willing peace into my soul. Storm clouds had rolled in
while we slept and lightning flashes in the distance. Trace pauses
just outside the door.

“Well, let’s go then,” I say.

He falls into step beside me and we walk
quietly down the river path. As I expect, Mrs. Baker’s dock is lit
up like the Fourth of July. I snort. Wrong season. The porch
floodlight is on and I head for it, shaking my head to signal for
Trace to wait for me down the trail. The door to Mrs. Baker’s house
swings inward when I approach and after determining the woman
hasn’t heard anything but muffled noise, I make my way down to the
dock.

Standing on the shore, I look out into the
black murkiness covering the opposite side of the river and step
out onto the swaying wooden planks. I hate that Trace is present.
The dock is on floating pylons and seems to sway with every breath
I take. My stomach rolls and I force myself forward. I’ll beat the
motion sickness or it will beat me, but I still have a job to
do.