Dirty Twisted Love (6 page)

C
lay pulled back
, reaching for the top of her shirt, fisting his hands in the gauzy fabric and ripping it in two. She was wearing some sort of tank top underneath, but before he could rip it free, she slapped him—hard, her hand connecting with his jaw with enough force to make it ache.

“You don’t get to do this,” she hissed. “You don’t get to decide how I pay for what I’ve done!”

She reached clawed hands for his eyes, but he captured her wrists, pinning them above her head. He slammed his mouth over hers, fucking her with his tongue as he kneed her legs apart and settled between them, riding her hard through their clothes. He shifted control of both of her wrists to his left hand and used his right to pull her tank top down, freeing her breasts.

He continued to ravage her mouth, refusing to give her any spare breath to use against him, as he pinched and rolled her tight little nipples. He waited until he felt her begin to grind against him, seeking relief from the maddening tension building between them, before he reached for the close of her shorts with both hands. He ripped the fabric in two, popping the button and tearing the zipper, not caring that he was destroying the only thing she had to wear.

He didn’t care about anything but getting his cock inside her and fucking her until she knew that he owned her—body and soul.

He shoved his hand down the front of her shorts and panties and drove two fingers in and up, pulse spiking as he felt how wet she was. “Fuck, Harley.”

She cried out, arching into his hand, her body gushing fresh heat onto his fingers even as she raked her nails down his chest. “Get off of me!”

“You don’t want me to get off.” He captured one of her dangerous hands and pinned it to the ground, holding her gaze as he fucked her with his fingers. “
You
want to get off. You’re about to come on my hand. You’re hot and wet and dripping for me because you know this is how you deserve to get fucked. You deserve to get taken here in the dirt.”

With an incoherent sound of rage, she slapped him again. But it was her left hand this time and she was too distracted to put much force behind the blow. Her breath was coming so fast her breasts were rocking on her chest, her tight nipples pinching even tighter in the breeze blowing in from the ocean.

She was going to come any second and it was going to make her furious. The knowledge was enough to make Clay’s cock throb.

“Come,” he said, smiling at her as he brought his thumb to her clit, rubbing her as he continued to fuck her with his hand. “Come you worthless bitch.”

Crying out in what sounded like agony, she came, her pussy squeezing his fingers tight. She came gasping for air, sobbing and cursing as her cream gushed out to coat his hand until he could smell her salty sweetness on the air and the last of his capacity for rational thought left him in a rush of raw hunger. He needed to be inside her, needed to replace his fingers with his cock and ride her until she screamed.

“Stop,” she shouted as he pulled her shorts and panties down her legs. “We don’t have protection!”

She rolled over, trying to crawl away, but he was on her in a second, pinning her, belly down on the grass, as he shoved his shorts down far enough to free his cock.

“Pull out before you come,” she snapped. “Do you hear me?”

He growled low in his throat in response. He was beyond words or compassion. He needed his dick in her, needed it like he’d never needed anything in his life. He was wild with it, bestial, ravenous.

He was drowning in his own lust and there was only one thing that could bring him back to the surface.

His bared teeth pressed against Harley’s neck, he roughly kneed her thighs apart. She squirmed beneath him, rocking against his cock, feeding the madness. He threaded his hands under her arms, gripping her shoulders from the front, holding her in place as he drove frantically between her legs. He missed her entrance the first several thrusts, but finally his cock found her wet heat and he rammed home.

She moaned as he plunged to the end of her, but he moaned louder, a sound of deliverance that echoed through the air as he began to fuck her like an animal. His arms were iron banded around her body and his spine curled tightly as he thrust deeper, harder, crying out through gritted teeth as he pistoned in and out. He was no longer a man; he was a beast filled with the primal need to fuck the woman beneath him.

“I hate you,” Harley cried out, the words ending in a sob. “I hate you!”

“I hate you, too,” he said in a ragged voice he barely recognized. “Now come for me again. Come for me.”

Clay took a mouthful of her shoulder muscle between his teeth and bit down, grunting around her flesh as her pussy convulsed around his cock. Her entire body vibrated as she tumbled over with a wild cry, the feel of her trembling in his arms only making him wilder. Abandoning his grip on her shoulders, he clutched at her hips, squeezing tight as he rammed home again and again, driving his cock into her as she clawed the ground and her pussy continued to pulse around him, pushing him to the breaking point.

God, he was so fucking close, the precipice was looming. He knew there was something he needed to remember, but he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t regain control.

He was lost in her—her heat, her smell, the way her cunt clutched at his thickness, coating him in her heat—and this was the only way to get free. He came with a roar, pulsing inside her body, his balls aching and his cock jerking and a pained, tortured feeling spreading through his chest as he felt the thick jets of come gushing inside her.

Shit. Holy shit.

Even as his body flushed with the bliss of release, misery and regret crept around from behind to sucker-punch him in the gut.

He’d come inside her. He’d fucked her bare and God only knew if she was on birth control. Considering he was pretty sure she’d told him to pull out, the answer was probably no.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

You weren’t thinking. She destroys your capacity for rational thought.

Admit it and take appropriate measures before you get her knocked up again and have to spend nine months with this psychopath, waiting for your second child to be born.

The thought made his throat lock up as he pulled out of her, sitting back on his heels with a ragged sigh. She could be pregnant already. It could already be too late.

Unless…

“Get up,” he said, swallowing hard as he stood, hitching his shorts up around his hips and jerking the waist tie tighter. “We’re going to the infirmary.”

She staggered to her feet, clutching the remains of her shirt around her as she turned to face him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Get your shorts.” He met her angry, tear-filled eyes, willing his heart to stay locked safely inside the walls of stone he’d erected years ago, after waking up in the hospital and learning his fiancée had been killed in the car wreck that had nearly claimed his own life. “I’ll find a sewing kit and you can try to fix them.”

“I hate you,” she whispered, making no move to reach for her shorts.

“You said that,” he snapped. “It didn’t keep you from coming.”

Her jaw clenched. “I told you to pull out! I didn’t want this.”

“Are you saying I raped you?” His eyebrows drifted up his forehead.

He sounded like he couldn’t care less, but inside his blood had gone cold. She had obviously been consenting at one point—hating him as much as he hated her, but consenting—but had something changed along the way? He honestly couldn’t remember. It was like he’d gone out of his mind, losing every bit of the control that had made him one of the best agents in the field.

“Obviously not,” she finally said, swallowing hard, as if it sickened her to say the words. “But if I’m pregnant, I will kill you. I swear I will. I won’t let you anywhere near any of my children.”

“There were female operatives on this base at one point,” he said, forcing a bored note into his tone, even though he was so fucking relieved his knees felt weak. He hadn’t crossed that line and now he had a second chance to do this right. “There might be morning-after pills in the infirmary. I suggest we go look for one because the last thing I want is to curse another one of my children with you for a mother.”

Harley’s eyes narrowed as she shook her head slowly from side to side. “You’re the curse. I will die before I tell you where Jasper is. He’s better off with no parents than ending up with a monster like you.”

Clay reached down, snatching her shorts from the ground before grabbing her by the elbow. But he held her lightly. He wasn’t going to lose control again. He would make sure of it, by putting Harley where he should have put her in the first place—in a cell, with steel walls to keep her in and a steel door to keep them from getting too close to each other and igniting the dirty bomb that lived between them.

“You think I’m bluffing,” she said, allowing herself to be led along beside him, through the clearing and toward the main operations building beyond. “But I’m not.”

“I don’t think you’re bluffing,” he said. “I made the mistake of underestimating you. But from now on I’m going to treat you very seriously.”

She glanced sharply up at him, but he didn’t turn his head. He kept his gaze on the simple white and brown building ahead of him and his eyes empty, giving Harley no warning that she would be spending the rest of their time together in one of the CIA’s sensory stimulation cells.

There would be no deals; there would be no easy out.

He had proven that he lacked the emotional distance to interrogate her and she had shown him that she would rather take her chances with a cobra than give him her trust. And why should she trust him? He’d proven he had no control, just like she’d proven she had no heart.

The best thing for both of them would be to let the cell do the work and keep interaction between them to a minimum.

But as he resigned himself to never touching her again, something deep inside his bones howled in protest. That animal inside didn’t want to do the right thing. It wanted to pick her up, set her on the counter of the infirmary, and get back between her legs. It wanted to fuck until all the hate was gone and it could finally burst through the bars of its cage and be free.

That mindless creature insisted that sexing Harley out of his system was the only way to put the past behind him.

But that wasn’t going to happen. As soon as he had taken care of her wounds, found the medicine she needed, and given her something to eat and drink, they wouldn’t touch again until the day he let her out of her cell. And by that time, Jasper would already be safe at Clay’s house in Maryland. He would have his son and a second chance at life waiting for him across the sea and no reason to want to waste another second with the monster who got away.

He opened the door, letting Harley precede him into the darkened facility, keeping his gaze on her shoulders instead of the bare cheeks of her ass peeking out from beneath her shirt, ignoring the stirring in his shorts as his cock insisted he wasn’t finished with Harley.

Not by a long shot.

M
arlowe arrived
at Harley’s seaside cottage three days before her sculptures were due, intending to deliver an invitation to expand their relationship in person. He had lost two of his best pilots—one to a crash over the Alps and another to a bullet between the eyes—and he needed someone he could trust to fly the next shipment into Russia.

But instead of his pretty artist with the clever hands and feline smile, he’d found empty rooms with the lights still on, a mess on the kitchen stove, and a shattered beer bottle on the patio overlooking the sea.

“There’s no sign of a break-in or a struggle, sir.” Liam came to stand beside him. “But I did find this.”

Marlowe reached out, taking a child’s drawing from his pilot’s meaty hand. It was a map of the house and the surrounding areas, with a trail drawn in crayon and an X to mark the spot where the treasure was buried. It was signed by the artist—Jasper Garrett.

Marlowe smiled. “Garrett? That’s her old alias.”

“It is,” Liam confirmed. “I told you she was hiding something.”

“You did,” Marlowe agreed mildly, never one to get angry with his staff for his own mistakes. “I should have listened. Any idea what might have become of her and the little one?”

“Not yet,” Liam said. “Give me some time. I should be able to turn up something. If one of our enemies took her, they’ll be in touch.”

“And if not, we’ll figure out where our girl has gone.” Marlowe handed the drawing back to Liam. “But before we go hunting, I want to see what the little man left behind.”

He and Liam located shovels in the shed and followed the crudely drawn map to a hollow in the sand at the base of a grassy dune. Ten minutes later they had unearthed sand toys, a red shovel, and a damp, sand-encrusted towel. Marlowe left the towel but instructed Liam to bring the toys and the shovel.

One never knew when treasure might come in handy.

A red shovel could flatten the skull of a rival who had dared to abduct one of his associates.

And a plastic bucket could be used to collect precious blood as it dripped from a little boy’s throat, teaching his mother a lesson about what happened to people who tried to leave Marlowe’s family.

There was no way out of the Raposa cartel, there was only dead.

Leaving the glass on the patio and the flies circling the fishy-smelling mess on the stove, Marlowe walked through the bungalow’s door to the waiting car, knowing he would find Harley sooner or later.

There was no question of if, only when.