Mr. Real (Code of Shadows #1) (8 page)

Ah, the treasure trove of lewdness to be wrung out of the untouched spot between the toes. She’d be desperate for him to kiss and warm and cover her, but he’d take his time. It would be like a gift to her, this heightening of sensation. Casually he inched a finger up her thigh.

A sigh. Then a clunk as her head lolled back onto the cupboard behind her—a sign that she’d given over to him completely—a rather overly dramatic sign. She would be still now. More or less.

The crotch-ripping was a Hyko trick. He’d heard about it through the grapevine. Bloody brilliant.

The breeze, however, was all his.

CHAPTER SIX

Alix inhaled sharply as Sir Kendall moved his finger up the tender underside of her thigh. The breeze kicked up, and her skin pulsed and spangled. Oh, she was all wires, exposed, electric, fully and excruciatingly alive.

Part of her felt a little guilty, like she really was going too far with all this. Yet it was so dirty and exciting. And fun. And Sir Kendall was right there and seemed to be enjoying himself.

She loved the way he looked at her, the way he’d unwrapped her, the reverence with which he touched her. How much of Paul the martial arts teacher was in Sir Kendall?

She wiped that thought from her mind. Sir Kendall was the man in front of her. And he knew how to have a good time. He really was her people.

Sharpness on her toe—a bite. Her eyes flew open. “Fuck!”

He regarded her coolly, blue eyes rimmed with coal-black lashes. “What was that?” He trailed his fingers along her calf.

She breathed heavily now. “Fuck,” she said.

He tilted his head, dark brows raised. “I don’t know if I quite got that.” He touched her pussy, drawing his finger lightly over the pulsing center of it. She nearly melted. “Please.” She grabbed his shirt.

He drew a finger up, down around, making her shimmer with pleasure. He was driving her mad. “Please
what
?”

Hah!
“Please fuck me.”

He gave her a look of mock surprise, lips zipped, cheekbones prominent—sheesh, he was hot! “My goodness, Ms. Gordon.”

She pulled him to her and kissed him, fumbling with the buttons on his deep blue shirt, barely able to work her fingers. “Please, please, please fuck me, okay?”

He stepped back, drinking in her body with his gaze. “Since you ask so nicely, the answer is yes, Alix.” Casually, he lowered a hand to his wrist and undid his left shirt cuff, then the right cuff. “I most definitely intend to.”

She smiled, pulse racing. Most guys acted as if fucking just happened, the outcome of a chain of events they had gotten swept into, typically by her. But Sir Kendall had intent and power. Sir Kendall created the goddamn chain of events.

“Good,” she said, a little bit saucy.

Cuffs flopping loose, he grabbed his shirt at the center, where it buttoned together, and then—watching her in that smoldery way that thrilled her down to her toes—he ripped the shirt open. Buttons pinged to the corners of the kitchen.

She laughed, half in shock.

He gave her a warning look and she shambled on a serious face. He didn’t seem to like it when she thought things were funny, but, well, this evening was fun. And hot. And crazy, yes.

He shrugged the now-buttonless garment from his shoulders and arms and cast it aside, leaving only a T-shirt, which he pulled over his head in an action that transformed his chest into a fluid symphony of muscles.

Then he undid his pants, letting his magnificent cock spring free.

Her heart slammed against her chest as he stepped in close to her, claiming her thighs with his big rough hands, pushing her legs apart. Oh, she liked the way he did that, the way he took control. She sighed as he drew close, strong and warm. His cock tipped sternly at her belly as he kissed her.

She fisted his hair, kissing him back, banishing all second guessing from her mind. Because, why the hell
not
fuck the Denali man?
Why not?

Should she ask the Denali man to use protection? Everything else about him seemed real. Maybe she should.

His kisses became invasive. She sucked in his tongue, wanting more of him.
More
.

She heard something crinkling—he had a condom. He opened it, put it on handily. Could a man who didn’t truly exist father a child, or have a disease? But here he was, a man who expertly took care of things.

With one hand, he gripped her thigh. She felt his cock at her opening, probing, excruciatingly near to entering her.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes.”

Slowly, then, he pushed in. She sighed at the delicious feel of the tip of his cock in her, and then a little more, in and out, thick and slow. She rocked against him, needing more, more. But then he pressed his hands down onto her thighs, stilling her.

And pulled out.

Her eyes flew open.

“I’ll do the fucking tonight,” he said calmly. “If you don’t mind.”

She snorted happily. “Whatever you want.” She closed her eyes and the back of her head hit the cabinet for what seemed like the tenth time. She’d never been so horny in her life. “Anything. Everything. You can do whatever you want.”

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, warm and breathy on her neck, and then he entered her again, this time filling her completely. It was like her whole body went still for a second, resting on a plateau of perfect fullness. And then he thrust, slowly. That felt even better. She wrapped her legs around him, moved with him. Time transformed into an endless cycle of compression and release, marked out in breaths, and toe-curling sensations that had her on the edge of an orgasm for what seemed like hours. He remained in perfect charge at all times.

And just when she was going mad and grindy, he slid down his fingers, pressing her in the most perfect spot, and he gave her a stern look. It was the stern look that really sent her off—off into a powerful climax that went on and on, like the bottom fell out of the world. Was she making sounds?

She became aware of him driving into her one last time. He stilled, emitting a low and breathy moan. Orgasming suavely. So very Sir Kendall.

“Oh my god,” she breathed.

Sir Kendall lifted her off the counter and pulled the remaining bits of underwear off her, everything so swift and efficient. She didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t keep saying
Oh my god,
but those were the only words that formed in her mind.

She hadn’t had so much fun in...forever. Had he enjoyed himself? She picked up his button-less shirt, held it up. “LOL,” she said.

“A decent dry cleaner can handle that.” He discarded the condom.

“Sounds like the voice of experience.”

He pulled his T-shirt back on and grabbed his pants. It was here that she noticed his ankle holster—with a
gun
in it. “Oh!”

He smiled. “Come now, Alix. A man can’t vanquish his opponents through charm and ravishment alone.”

It was weird how he always figured out what she was thinking. She stared at the gun, feeing unusually naked. She picked up her jeans and her top and clutched them to her chest. “Well, you sure vanquished my panties. I’ll be right back.” She turned and strutted off, pretending a confidence she didn’t feel.

Upstairs, she washed up and put on new underwear and pulled on her jeans and sweater, then splashed water on her face and stared incoherently into the mirror.

She’d just fucked Sir Kendall Nicholas the Third. And he was downstairs in her kitchen.

The Denali man. With a gun.

She was seized with the impulse to laugh, even though it wasn’t technically funny.

The gun bothered her. But of course he would have a gun. What kind of spy wouldn’t carry a gun? But the thing was—it was a
real
gun.

The Denali man.

She smoothed a bit of shiner onto her hair and applied a fresh coat of pink lipstick. What the hell; the Denali man was fun. Sexy. And certainly seemed to be enjoying himself. She thought about the appreciative way he’d run his hand over the Italian leather chair, his jokey thing with the oven mitts. His
sanity is for the timid
bit. She was
so
going to use that line—maybe on Karen. Yeah, obviously he was a bit of an operator, but in another way, Sir Kendall really was her people, and they were having a lovely evening. She texted Karen a quick update:
everything a-ok.

A clink of glasses down below. Sir Kendall fixing them a drink? He would think of that. He was so funny. Probably going for the Denali.

Shit!

She raced back down to find Sir Kendall holding the Denali bottle she’d set out earlier. She lunged for it, grabbing it by the neck and yanking it away from him. In one swift, powerful movement, she smashed it over the stone counter. Glass flew everywhere.

Quick as lightning, Sir Kendall had her wrist in his hand, and her other arm uncomfortably twisted.

“Ow! What are you doing?” she cried.

“I was wondering the same thing.” He glanced at what was left of the Denali bottle, the neck ending in jagged glass.

“Oh.” She let the bottle drop and break; he thought it was a
weapon.
“I just don’t want you to drink the Denali.”

He released her wrist and eyed her for a long moment, head tilted. “Why don’t you want me to drink the Denali, Alix?”

She searched his eyes. He’d come, he’d spied, he’d romanced. But he’d been so good to her, and they’d had such fun. She didn’t want their night to end. She couldn’t let him drink the Denali and dissolve into nothing. It seemed…wrong. Should she warn him? But how to explain?

“I’m waiting,” he said.

“You want to know why I don’t want you drinking it?” She screwed up her mouth, wrinkled her nose, and plunked her fists on her hips. “‘Cause Denali
sucks!”

“But you set it out on the counter.”

“Well, I thought it would be nice to serve, but then I tasted it, and I realized it’s not fit for human consumption.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Denali never goes bad. It’s absolutely refreshing. Always
just
the thing.”

“No, it’s not
always just the thing,
Nick, and I don’t want you to drink it.”

He pressed his lips into a plump bow, not quite a smile, and regarded her silently.

Oh, this was wrong. Karen was going to kill her. She was supposed to let him complete his lifecycle, but she couldn’t.

He tilted his head, as he liked to do. “But I so fancied a spot of Denali.” He drew two fingers along a puddle of the amber liqueur on the counter. “What a dreadful waste.”

Would he lick his fingers? Even a drop could kill him!

She grabbed his hand and sucked his two Denali-covered fingers into her mouth, then pulled them out. Like his fingers were a popsicle or something. “The lady said
no Denali.
“

He straightened, looking stunned for once. Of course, she was being a total freak.

“Look, I’m the hostess here,” she explained. “It’s important to me that you have the best possible time, okay? You know what I mean?”

A new light appeared in his blue eyes. “I believe I do.” He regarded her warmly, as though he’d seen something new and good in her. She recognized the look then…it was amazement, gratitude. It nourished something deep inside her. “Thank you,” he said.

She didn’t dare speak. Men usually only looked at her like that when she was about to have sex with them.

He took his hand back and drew a finger along her cheek, watching her with intensity. “We should take care of this before your dog comes in.”

“Definitely.” She moved toward the broom closet, but he stopped her.

“Please.” He snaked his hands around her, hoisted her onto the counter. “It’s the least I can do.”

“But you don’t know where—”

“Tut—” He caged her with his hands. “I insist.”

He found the broom closet on his first try, took out the sponge mop and dustpan, and got up all the glass, then swabbed up every drop of the sticky liquid, rinsing the mop in the sink periodically. He was so dashing, so full of easy masculinity, working away like he was cleaning a crime scene, being so kind and helpful. And grateful.

Did he understand on some level what she’d done? Did it mean that he wanted to live? And if so, how could she let him just dissolve?

When everything was put away, he came to her with a casual smile.

“You know you’re welcome to stay here,” she declared. “Just don’t drink the Denali, okay?”

Again that warm sparkle. “Thank you.”

“I have more than enough space. You’ll even have your own room. Carte blanche on everything. Seriously, Sir Kendall. Nick. I’d enjoy it.”

“Oh, I would see to that.”

She smiled happily.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Paul took over the driving just before they hit Colorado, and Tonio relaxed in the passenger seat, feet clomped up onto the dash.

Paul appreciated the younger man’s silence on the matter of Sir Kendall. He wished he could explain it to him, but it was all so twisted and dark. Truth be told, Paul felt ashamed. He knew intellectually that what happened to him as a kid wasn’t his fault, but he still felt ashamed, like he’d caused it, like the violence was just a natural response people had to something deeply wrong with him.

Anyway, he was an adult now. People put all sorts of horrible things behind them—why couldn’t he? And then, to pull out the Sir Kendall character for a
commercial,
of all things?

He’d never told anybody, of course, though he’d come close to confiding in Master Veecha a few times. He so wished he had. He could’ve used the old man’s perspective.

After the elderly Master’s death, Paul left the martial arts school where he’d taught and lived for so many years and moved to Los Angeles. He’d worked his way up through smaller organizations until he finally made it into the Ultimate Fighting League—a.k.a. the UFL—landing a spot in the famed Eagle’s Cove, nest of champions.

It had been a decent life for a long time; he’d worked as a bartender at night, trained with the other Cove fighters during the day, and started landing undercard spots and getting known. Girls lusted after him, and he had a few dates but nothing serious. Master Veecha lived a wild life, but he’d always demanded a monk-like focus from his fighters.