Heat Seeker (16 page)

But he’d never seen her adventurous in bed. That one night, a few fragile hours hadn’t been near enough to know what she could deliver, even as she received.

And God help him now, but his Bailey was sure as hell delivering. It was all he could do to keep his head together, to keep his senses intact enough to pleasure her as she pleasured him.

He ran his tongue through the wet folds of her pussy, tasting the sweet syrup of desire, feeling the heat and need in every clench of tender tissue as he pushed his tongue inside her.

The taste of her intoxicated him, the touch of her, her touching him, him touching her—it was like a high no drug could deliver, no amount of alcohol could provide.

He flicked his tongue over her clit and fought to control his spinning senses as her mouth worked over the head of his cock. She was sucking at him with sensual delight, each
caress of her mouth a testament to the pleasure he was giving her as well.

Her fingers were caressing the base, then his balls. She weighed the heavy sac, then moaned around the thick crest as he licked inside her once again.

Sweet Lord, she was making him insane. His hips arched involuntarily, giving her more, filling her mouth until she was forced to draw back just a bit.

John could feel the sweat gathering along his body. The heat building inside him as he fought to hold back his release. He wanted to explode deep inside her. He wanted to feel her sweet pussy clenching around him, drawing him in, holding him inside her delicate little body.

He hadn’t realized how he’d missed her. Her touch, her kiss, all the sweet little tidbits that made up the woman. The way her hands stroked over his flesh, as though the touch of him was all that mattered to her.

As though touching her was all that mattered to him. His hands stroked over her thighs, her rear. He let his nails rasp against her flesh and felt the betraying little shiver of need it invoked as she moaned around the cock filling her mouth.

Each deep draw of her sweet lips, the suckling against the erect head was like shards of ecstasy raking through his cock. Blistering heat wrapped around him until John felt his body was close to exploding, disintegrating into fragments from the pleasure of her touch.

Cupping his hands over the curves of her rear, he brought her closer, licked around her swollen clit, sucked it into his mouth.

Distracting her from the deep, destructive suckling of his cock was becoming a priority. He was going to come in her mouth, and that he didn’t want. Not yet. Not this time.

Drawing the swollen bud against his tongue, he licked against it, rubbed it, felt it pulse and throb against him as she began to stiffen, her body tensing with the sensations clamoring through her.

Moving one hand lower, his fingers found the delicate little
opening to her pussy. Sliding in slow and easy, John worked two fingers into the clenched tissue, feeling it flutter against him as her orgasm began to build inside her.

But that wicked mouth didn’t stop, didn’t pause. Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock, her moans vibrated against it.

He pressed his fingers deeper inside her, moving them slow and easy in thrusts calculated to destroy her control as he sucked at the hardened bud of her clit and felt her flying higher.

And still she relished the flesh she had in her mouth. She sucked at him until he felt as though his soul were being drawn from his body. She licked, her fingers stroked.

Their breathing was rasps of desperation in the stillness of the room, their moans filled with tortured pleasure.

John felt his heels digging into the mattress as he fought back his release. The muscles of her thighs were tight, her body vibrating with tension.

“Enough.” He moved quickly, lifting her from him and pushing her to her back. He jerked up the condom he had tossed to the upper corner of the bed and rolled it over his cock before he came over her.

“Like hell.” She moved before he could push between her thighs.

John almost laughed in sheer delight as she pushed him against the bed on his back and moved over him.

His hands caught her hips. “You damned little wildcat.”

“Remember it.” She panted as she straddled him, moving until she was pressing the hot, wet folds of her pussy against the swollen head of his dick, nudging it against the tight opening.

Gripping her hips, he grinned up at her as he held her back, making it harder for her to impale herself upon the heavy length of his shaft.

“Oh, I’ll remember it, love,” he assured her, barely able to breathe for the silky heat cupping the tip of his cock. “I’ll remember it very well.”

He loosened the hold he had on her hips and nearly threw
his head back in ecstasy as she took him. Rapid bolts of fiery sensation tore through his cock, his balls. His thighs tightened, his hips arched, thrusting his shaft harder, deeper inside her as he fought back the release that nearly slipped his control.

God help him. Nothing in his life had ever been this good. Nothing had ever been this hot. Nothing had ever affected him as Bailey did.

“John.” She whispered his name, and he could do nothing to hold back the groan at the need to hear more, his real name on her lips, the knowledge that she remembered the man he had been. That she knew the man inside her.

Reaching up, he drew her to him, her lips to his, a kiss that fueled the hunger raging inside them as their tongues fought and dueled, licked and stroked.

Hips clashed, writhed, perspiration built. There was nothing between them, nothing held back, and it was unlike anything John had ever known in his life.

It was like nothing Bailey had ever known, either. She had slipped past simple pleasure; now each touch of his flesh against hers was torturous ecstasy. It was blending of fire and ice, desperation and rapture. She felt as though she were being stroked with pure lightning, hot flames that whispered over her flesh with rapture.

Tearing her lips from his she rose above him, her hands braced against his stomach, her hips churning, writhing against him. Her clit rubbed into his flesh as he filled her to overflowing, stretched her beyond pleasure.

Her head fell back as that pleasure began to tighten in her womb. Pinpricks of sensation began to dig into her flesh as her nails raked against his stomach.

She could feel the whirling sensation as it attacked her senses. The feel of his cock inside her, throbbing, shuttling in and out in deep, rhythmic strokes. The steel-hard, iron-hot flesh stroked tender nerve endings revealed for the first time in five years. It rasped over them, throwing them into a conflagration of sensation that she couldn’t control.

She had lost control long before this. She was riding a wave of such pure pleasure that control was impossible. It
tossed her, churned around her, tore through her until she was crying out his name, begging for release, more than aware that he was controlling it, holding it back. Taking her into a maelstrom she had never known in her life until the explosion tore through her.

She was trying to scream his name, fighting to, but she couldn’t find the breath to force it free. His hands held her hips fiercely as he thrust beneath her, plunging into her, throwing her higher with each stroke into an orgasm that threatened to destroy her.

Bailey arched her back, trembled and shuddered and fought to be free of the intensity of sensation racking her body. She was only barely aware of John beneath her now, thrusting hard and heavy inside her until, with a shattered groan, he gave in to his own release.

And she felt it. Despite the condom separating them, she could feel the hard, heated throb of his release. The fiery sensation of his seed spurting against thin latex, barely held back, but still heating inside her as another wave of sensation ripped through her.

She was flying. Color exploded behind her closed eyes, lightning struck through her veins, thundered through her body. She was lost inside a pleasure she couldn’t control, lost in the man that no woman had a hope of controlling.

The ride was like being thrown into the heart of an exploding nova. Light and color, sensation and sound. Melding.

She felt melded to him. Inside his skin and sinking deeper by the second as she wilted against his chest.

His arms surrounded her, his hands stroked down her back as he whispered something at her ear. She couldn’t process thought yet. Hell, she didn’t want to process thought. She didn’t want to hear, think, or rationalize at the moment. She simply wanted to feel. She just wanted to be a part of him as long as possible.

“Easy.” She finally heard the soft word and realizing she was still shuddering, trembling in his embrace. “It’s okay, baby, I have you.”

John had her. She could feel him holding her, soothing her, wrapping around her from the inside out.

Her nails were still biting into his shoulders. Forcing herself to release that hold on him, she instead flattened her palms against his flesh, desperate to retain the feeling of being so much a part of him.

“You’re like a flame against me,” he whispered, brushing her hair aside and placing a kiss at the side of her neck. “So sweet and hot.”

She had to fight back the tears even as she forced herself to restrain the words that rose to her lips. Was he Trent? She could feel it, that same touch, his kiss, a suspicion that was destroying her from the inside out.

If he was, then he had deserted her. He had taken the emotion that had existed between them and he’d walked away with a part of her that she had never been able to replace.

And she had existed in a void that had been empty, without direction.

Until John.

In that second Bailey realized the mistakes she had made in the past five years. How Trent’s “death” had affected her. How it had nearly destroyed her own life.

She pushed herself from him and rolled to her side, eyes still closed even as she felt his hand stroke along her stomach.

Her skin was still so sensitive to the touch that a little shudder worked through her.

She had nearly destroyed herself because she had lost Trent. How weak was that? She, who had always thought herself so strong, so intent and determined. She had lost herself when she had lost Trent. Or John. Or whatever the hell he was calling himself on this operation.

“Bailey, stop drawing away from me.” His voice hardened at her side. “I can feel you doing it.”

She opened her eyes, turned her head, and stared back at him.

How ruggedly handsome he was. Dark blond hair, darker than it had been before, fell over his brow. The laugh lines at
the sides of his eyes were always one of his sexiest features. His lips were swollen from their kisses, his dark gray eyes turbulent with emotion.

What emotion?
she wondered. What was brewing inside this man she had given her heart to, and nearly given her life for?

Did he regret? Or did he justify his decisions?

And did it matter? If he was Trent, then the only reason he was here, with her, was to use her. Because he needed her to gain entrance into a society so elite, so powerful, that only a very few even knew of its existence.

She breathed in that truth.

No more lying to herself, she thought as she fought back the tears that would have fallen from her eyes. And no more weakness. She was a better woman, a better agent than she had been in the past five years.

Losing Trent had messed with her heart and her head to the point that surviving had been almost impossible. Moving on from his “death” had nearly destroyed her. She wasn’t going to allow John Vincent to destroy her now.

“I’m right here,” she finally answered. “It’s been a long day, and a very trying week.”

She forced herself from his side, sat up on the side of the bed, and willed her legs to hold her as she rose to her feet.

“Where are you going, Bailey?” Unashamedly naked, he watched as she snagged a robe from the chair against the wall and pulled it over her body.

The ultra-soft cotton enfolded her, but it wasn’t as warm as it used to be. She still felt chilled, empty without his touch.

How long would it last this time? she wondered. That sense of loss when he left her for another mission. Perhaps even for another woman.

“I’m hungry.” She forced a smile to her face as she moved for the door. “And I need coffee.”

“It’s late, and you didn’t sleep much last night,” he protested as he rose to his feet and snagged his pants from the floor. “You should be tired.”

She was exhausted from the inside out.

“Food, then sleep.” She shrugged as she headed for the door. “Care for a sandwich?”

She kept her back to him. He was too perceptive and he could read her much too easily. She had never been able to hide things from John and now she had a lot to hide.

The agent she’d once been had been so damaged when she thought he’d died, she’d barely recovered. She had forgotten her training in the past years and she’d forgotten how to use her instincts.

That wouldn’t happen again. She had a life outside John, just as she should have had a life outside of Trent Daylen.

She wasn’t losing this part of herself again. He owned her heart; he wasn’t going to own her life.