Monster (18 page)

But then the contact
ended and he was moving to stand. His hand traced down my spine,
sending a shiver through my system.

“Don't move,”
he said, his voice firm.

“Where are...”
I started to ask, turning to look at him.

His hand grabbed the
back of my head, pushing it to face away from him. “I said
don't move,” he said again and I nodded.

Then he was moving. I
didn't turn to look. But soon he was in my line of vision, walking
across the living room toward his bedroom and giving me a delicious
view of his perfect, muscular ass as he did so.

He walked back out a
few seconds later, his head lifting to me, his eyes raking over the
view of me bent over the counter. I drank in the view too, from the
tops of his wide shoulders to that deep, deep V of his Adonis belt,
to his straining cock, to his muscular thighs. He was just...
perfect. Every inch. My eyes went to his hand, seeing a silver condom
foil, the reason he left me, and I felt a rush of relief.

Because I had somehow
forgotten all the horror stories from my high school sex ed classes
and would have probably let him go in raw and risk god-knew what.

Thank god one of us was
thinking straight.

He walked up behind me,
making quick work of the condom before I felt his hips pushing into
my ass so his cock slid between my thighs, making my ass arch up and
start to rub against him. His hands slid up my sides, snaking around
to my belly, moving upward until his calloused, hard palms covered my
breasts that seemed to grow heavy at the contact, my nipples
hardening painfully as he started to roll them between his fingers.
His chin shifted, the side of his face brushing my hair out of the
way before his lips went to the skin of my neck, sucking hard. At
that second, his cock slid up and hit the sweet spot, making an
unexpected orgasm slam through my system, my breath catching.

“You say my name
when you come,” he said against my neck, hands digging into my
skin.

“Breaker,”
I strangled out, feeling my legs shake as the pulsations started to
waver off.

“Good girl,”
he murmured.

One of his hands
splayed between my breasts, the other slid down my stomach, brushing
over my suddenly too-sensitive clit, and guiding himself. I felt his
cock press against the entrance for a long second, long enough for me
to genuinely worry about his size, before he thrust forward, in one
swift motion burying deep.

A half-gasp, half-groan
escaped my lips because there was pain. Not the sharp stabbing I was
expecting, but a hot, burning sensation as he stretched me to my
limit. He paused, buried deep, his warm breath near my ear. “Relax,”
he said, sounding tense. “Don't tense up on me,” he went
on, his hips rocking against me, not quite thrusting, but pulsing
inside me, getting my body used to the sensation.

I took a deep breath,
letting my head fall back on his shoulder, closing my eyes, letting
myself work past the discomfort, letting it slide away until a slow
building pleasure replaced it. My breathing became more shallow, but
faster. My hips started moving by their own mind.

“Remember what I
said about how I fuck?” he asked, sounding strained.

I wet my lips with my
tongue before I answered, my voice coming out breathy. “Hard,”
I recalled.

“Hard,” he
agreed. “Spread your arms out wider,” he instructed.
“Brace yourself.”

I slid my arms across
the surface of the counter, surprised when his hands closed down on
top of mine, pinning them in place.

And then there was no
thinking.

Because his cock was
slamming into me.

Hard, as promised.

I had expected more of
the hot, burning sensation.

But all I could feel
was the building orgasm, the clawing, aching need increasing to a
level that was borderline painful in its intensity.

My hands curled into
fists as the moans started tearing out of my throat, loud and
frantic. His hands left mine, moving up to my shoulders and grabbing
them backward, using them to give him more leverage as he continued
his relentless, steady thrusting.

“That's it,”
he said. “Feel your pussy squeezing me?” he asked. And he
was right. I could feel the tightening, the threatening of oblivion.
“Come for me, doll. Let me hear you scream my name.”

His cock buried deep.

And then I did.

Hard.

And loud.

Screaming out his name
at a level that made my own ears hurt as my sex clenched in a rapid
succession of pulses. Through it, his thrusts never wavered, never
slowed, just kept plowing into me hard and fast so that before the
orgasm fully ebbed, it was building again.

Just like he promised.

And just like he had
predicted, my moans became choked, airy whimpers as my legs started
shaking violently, making his hands move from my shoulders and grab
me around the waist, pulling me against him to keep me upright. His
teeth bit into my earlobe as his fingers moved up to grab my breasts,
digging in, as his thrusts became (if it was possible) harder and
faster. Demanding my release so he could reach his own.

His fingers pinched my
nipples as his cock slid out. By the time he was halfway buried
inside me again, my body exploded into an orgasm that had me seeing
white, my mouth opening to scream, but nothing came out.

“Fuck yeah,”
he growled as I whispered out his name, my entire body shaking
through my orgasm.

I felt him tense,
slamming deep as his breath growled out of his throat and he came on
the last waves of my orgasm.

Twelve

Breaker

I wanted to go to her.
When she was telling me about her mom. I could feel the sorrow of it
in her words. The air around her was heavy with it. But along with it
was that strange aura of detachment that she always wore. Like she
needed to remove herself from the equation. And I wondered for the
first time if maybe it wasn't just how she was. If maybe it was a
defense mechanism, a way to survive when she was on her own. Maybe it
wasn't the real Alex Miller.

And I found myself
wanting to know the real one.

But I also knew from
the strange hollowness of her words and the way she was holding her
shoulders that she wouldn't let me in. If I went to her, she would
shrink away. So I stayed in the middle of the kitchen and listened.
Even though it was killing me a little to not lend her some strength.
Or demand some emotional honesty.

Then she was finally
done speaking. I couldn't fight it. I went to her. And I put my arms
around her. She melted into it for a minute, letting me hold her,
before I felt her stiffen suddenly, and pull away.

Then she had to go and
get mouthy.

And, well, Alex being
mouthy was almost as hot as Alex blushing, or Alex kissing me back
like she hadn't ever been kissed before.

I just couldn't help
myself.

Apparently, neither
could she.

Seeing her bent over my
counter, ass up, inviting me in. Yeah, probably the hottest fuckin'
thing I had ever seen in my life. Being inside her, listening to her
moans, hearing her call my name as her pussy grabbed my cock... yeah
it was worth whatever fucked up shit that was sure to be coming both
of our ways because of it.

Her arms went up and
around my neck afterward, my arms holding her to me as her breathing
settled, her legs got steady enough to hold her without support. I
grabbed her tee and handed it back to her and took my clothes and
made my way to the bathroom.

By the time I got back,
she already had the steak cut into slices on plates next to big piles
of potatoes.

At my raised brow, she
ducked her head, blushing a little. “If I wasn't hungry
before... I am now,” she admitted in a quiet voice, making a
chuckle rumble through my chest. It wasn't that I was a man of little
humor. Hell, when your best friend is someone the likes of Shooter,
you're going to have a stitch in your side constantly. But there was
something about her awkwardness that was both sexy as hell and
hilariously endearing. I never found myself laughing with (or at)
women. My reaction to Alex was different. New. Interesting.

“Where are you
going?” I asked, watching her walk past me with the plates,
bypassing the stools pressed up against the island, past the living
room, and making her way toward the hall.

“Figured we'd eat
in bed,” she said, not even bothering to turn around.

“Beds are for
fucking and sleeping,” I said, watching her freeze and turn
back to me.

Her brows were raised,
a confused smile tugging at her lips. “What?”

“Fucking and
sleeping. Generally in that order. You don't eat in bed.”

“Why the hell
not?” she asked, waving a plate-filled hand out to the side.

“You seriously
eat in your bed?”

At this, she snorted.
“Have you seen my apartment?” she asked, smiling. “Aside
from my desk chair, the only place I have to sit is my bed. It
doubles as a dining room, couch, office, pedicure chair...”

“Alright,”
I said, agreeing her place was a hellhole that maybe necessitated
something like that kind of arrangement. “But we ain't eating
in bed,” I said, gesturing a hand toward the kitchen counter.
At this, she exhaled loudly, shaking her head and made her way back
over, slamming the plates down loudly.

“Just saying...
the bed would be more comfortable,” she shrugged, pulling out a
stool and sitting down. I shook my head at her, going to the fridge
to grab a couple beers. “So you don't even like... late night
snack in bed?” she asked. When I turned back, she was studying
me with intense eyes.

“No doll,”
I said, handing her a beer and sitting down to eat.

“Weird,”
she said into the mouth of the beer bottle. We ate in silence for a
minute, the air around Alex seeming to get more and more antsy by the
moment as she started to fidget around. “Are we not going to
talk about how odd that meeting was?” she finally asked, the
words rushing out and into each other like she had been trying to
hold them back for a while.

Yeah. Well. We should
have talked about the meeting hours ago. But I sure as fuck wasn't
going to stop putting my hands on her body to talk about the sick
fuck who made her voice sound lifeless.

But I guessed it was
time. She was fed, fucked, and generally more level-headed than
usual.

“Sure,” I
said, pushing my plate aside.

“That was weird,
right?” she asked, turning fully to me, her knees pressing into
my thigh and she left them there.

“Yeah, doll, that
was weird.”

“He doesn't know
I've been keeping tabs on him.”

“No, he doesn't.”
If he did, she would have been long dead. Awful thought, but true
nonetheless.

“So what the hell
does he want you to hold onto me for?”

“That's a good
question.” And one I had been mulling over nonstop since Lex
walked out of that train car. Alex, aside from me knowing her mission
in life was to take down Lex Keith, was a nobody. She had no friends.
No family. She kept to herself. There was nothing about her that
would draw Lex's attention. Aside from her being gorgeous. But if
that was his motive, she wouldn't still be in my hands. Nothing about
the situation made sense.

But I knew Lex. I knew
how he operated. He had plans. And then he had plans to backup his
plans. If he wanted Alex, he had a reason.

“And why keep
Shooter?” she went on, her brows drawn together so two little
vertical lines formed between them and I got a clear image of her
doing that every time she sat down at her laptop. Like it was the
look she got anytime she was trying to mull something over.

Shoot was another
off-issue. I understood why he took him to begin with. Lex knew he
was fuckin' with me. He knew I didn't like that shit. He wanted to
make sure I would do as I was told. That made sense. It was smart.

But keeping Shoot even
after I obviously showed I was doing my job? Yeah, I didn't get that.