Nauti Nights (31 page)

experience with him.

“Other ways.” His voice was filled with challenge. “Better get started on those ‘other ways,’ fancy-face.

I’m a dying man here.”

He was sexy as hell, too. Stretched out on the overlarge picnic blanket, his eerie green eyes gleamed back at her from behind lowered lashes.

Crista lowered her head again, her lips and tongue finding a flat, hard, male nipple and working it in her mouth. A muted groan came from his chest. His arms moved as though to reach for her.

“Stay for me.” She pressed his arms back to the checked cloth. “Just a little longer, Dawg. Let me have

this.”

She needed it. Needed him. Needed to taste and explore and fill her senses with him.

“Crista, sweetheart, you’re killing me here.” He was breathing rough and heavy, but his arms stayed in

place as her lips moved to the opposite nipple and tormented the pebble-hard flesh.

Giving it a final lick, she moved lower. Her hands stroked his heavy thighs, inside and out. Her lips

kissed, her tongue licked a sensual, meandering path down his chest and firm abdomen.

Hard muscles flexed beneath her lips. His thighs bunched; the thickly crested head of his cock gleamed

with moisture as her fingers finally gripped the stiff shaft.

Crista knelt between his thighs and stared up at his body, tracking the damp flesh and finally meeting his narrowed gaze.

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“I get to have dessert first,” she said with a slow smile.

Her head lowered, her tongue licked over the straining crest, curling over it as a low, hungry growl

rumbled in his throat.

“Sweet Crista,” he groaned. “That sweet little tongue is like fire.”

Dawg’s hands knotted in the cloth beneath him. He was dying. Stretched out on a rack of sensation that

had sweat building along his body and his balls tight with anticipation.

He watched as she smiled again. A drowsy, sexy little smile a second before her lips opened and she took the pounding head of his dick into her tight mouth, sucking it slow and easy. Her fingers caressed and

stroked, tortured and tempted, until his hips were thrusting into her grip, fucking her lips as the heat built around them.

“Come here.” He reached for her. He’d be damned if he would take the torment alone. “Turn around here,

darlin’.”

Her lips never left his cock. But her body turned and sweet, lace covered flesh came closer to his hungry lips. For the first time in his sexual life, Dawg found himself without patience, without careful

deliberation.

One hand gripped her leg, lifting it over his head before both hands gripped her hips. Fingers gripped the lace and drew it slowly from the newly waxed flesh between her thighs. Dawg stared up at the bare folds, luscious pink and gleaming with her juices. Sweet, soft little droplets hugged her flesh and had him

licking his lips in anticipation.

“Oh yeah.” He sighed, pulling her closer. “Come here, baby, let me show you how good it can be now.”

It was one of the sexiest things she had ever envisioned.

Crista caught her breath as Dawg licked over the saturated folds between her thighs. The protective curls that had once covered her there were gone, and the sensations were enough to make a woman insane.

There was nothing now to insulate her from the rasp of his tongue or the soft licks he bestowed upon her.

His caresses only made her hotter, only made the need rising inside her bloom to desperation. To greed.

He licked and sucked with gentle movements, never abrading the sensitive folds but soothing them,

whispering over them, consuming them as her mouth sucked greedily at the head of his cock. She was

determined to make him just as desperate for satisfaction as she was becoming.

She swore the breeze whipping around them was spiked with fire now. Dawg held her hips easily,

controlling her frantic need for movement against his mouth. His tongue burrowed through her slit, licked and moved to curl around her clit.

He stroked, sucked, and lashed at the fiery little nubbin with hungry licks and greedy suckling lips until the inferno inside her began to blaze out of control.

Strong fingers separated her rear cheeks and caressed the narrow cleft there.

Breathing was impulse; the cries that tore from her throat as she sucked Dawg’s cock were involuntary.

All she knew was the heat racing through her veins, the flames licking over her flesh, and the ache

building with each lick of his tongue between her thighs.

The taste of male passion and heated flesh filled her senses. The feel of his tongue rasping, thrusting, and licking overwhelmed her.

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Nothing mattered now but the pleasure. Her pleasure. His pleasure. The race to release and the need for

completion. It was a like a fever in her blood, that need that consumed and overwhelmed everything else.

Her fingers stroked and pumped the stiff flesh of his cock. She sucked at the throbbing head. Her tongue lashed and stroked and tasted the heated male passion, while his tongue drove her to distraction. Stroking and thrusting and fucking inside her as his fingers caressed and pressed against the tender opening

between her rear cheeks.

She was swamped with pleasure. Taken by it. Her hips writhed above him as he held her to him, thrusting

against his tongue and driving it deeper into the aching core he possessed.

Her cries and his groans filled the clearing.

His fingers pierced her ass and her pussy simultaneously. His lips surrounded her clit, drew it in and

sucked it with wicked force.

Crista cupped the fingers of one hand around his balls, fondled and caressed as the other hand stroked the steel-hard shaft and her mouth sucked the head with hungry greed.

His fingers pumped inside her, fucking her with strokes that, combined with the heated suckling of his

mouth around her clit, threw her into an orgasm that would have had her screaming, should have had her

screaming. But Dawg’s release had him arching, pressing his cock deeper into her mouth and filling it

with the creamy essence of his semen.

They collapsed long seconds later, Crista’s head pillowed on Dawg’s thigh as he turned to her, his lips

pressing into the inside of her knee as they fought for breath.

“I won’t let you go,” he finally told her, his voice dangerously calm, stunning her as the words reached her ears. “No matter what you do, Crista, I’ll never let you go again.”

EIGHTEEN

He remembered.

As he felt Crista’s orgasm shaking her body, the memories washed over him like a wave of crashing

emotion. How she had found him in that damned ditch, the truck he had been driving then so damned

stuck his liquored mind couldn’t figure out how to get it free.

Her voice had been soft, filled with pain, and it had soothed the ragged edges of fury tearing at his mind.

He had let her lead him from the truck to Alex’s car, and as she drove them to the marina, the scent of her had wrapped around him like sunlight.

He had made her laugh.

He leaned close to her and said something about Alex letting her out to play with the big boys, and she

had laughed at that.

Once they got to the marina, she had kept him from falling from the docks into the dark water below.

Leading him to the Nauti Dawg, she kept up a steady, whispered conversation. Teasing, her voice urged

him on and made his dick so damned hard he had been amazed. He’d thought he’d drunk enough whiskey

that night to keep from getting a hard-on for days.

But he had been hard for Crista.

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make certain he was safe. That he was comfortable.

He had fallen back on the couch, and she eased his boots and shirt off. As he struggled with his pants, she helped there, too, even as she blushed to her virgin roots. And as she began to move away from him, he

had cupped his hand around her head and had drawn her lips to his.

From that moment she had been his. His in a way that no other woman had been. She had taken to his

touch as though she had been created for him alone. And perhaps, in a way, she had been.

Now, eight years later and nearly two hours after the memory had seared his mind, he walked behind her,

back to the houseboat, the still-full picnic basket in his hand and Crista’s stiff shoulders in front of him.

She had clammed up the minute he had made his declaration.

“We need to talk,” she had stated as she rose from beside him and began looking for her clothes.

“So talk.” Dawg had sat up, draped his arm over his upraised knee, and watched her struggle into her

clothes.

She had shaken her head angrily. “Not here. I can’t do this here.”

And now, he was more than interested in whatever the hell had her so damned mad.

He had fucked up eight years ago; he admitted it. But not to the extent she thought he had. Half-formed

thoughts had slipped past his lips, unfinished. The possessiveness he had felt rising inside him then had shocked him, left him reeling and off balance.

Now, eight years later, he was reasonably more mature, but he still felt like he was in over his head with Crista Ann Jansen.

As they stepped onto the deck of the Nauti Dawg, Dawg unlocked the door and ushered her in as he lifted

his brow at her continued silence.

She had barely spoken in the truck. The closer they had come to the marina, the quieter she had become.

“Here we are.” He placed the basket on the table and turned to face her, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head.

Her gaze flickered around the room before coming to rest on him. Her lips parted, and at the same second, a hard knock sounded on the glass door behind her.

Crista jumped as though a gunshot had sounded rather than the sound of knuckles against glass.

“Who is it?” he barked out.

“Dawg, I have Cranston with me. Open the damned door.” Natches’s voice was anything but happy.

Pressing his lips together, Dawg stalked to the door and whipped the panels to the blinds back to see

Cranston’s stocky form standing behind Natches.

Grimacing, he opened the door again, watching from the corner of his eye as Crista turned to the visitors with an edge of curiosity.

Timothy Cranston stepped into the room, his briefcase clenched in his hand, his gaze going straight to

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pulling at his brow and Crista’s.

“What’s going on, Natches?” Dawg didn’t bother to soften the suspicious tone of his voice.

“You’re not going to believe this, Dawg.” Natches’s smile was cynical, cold. “I’ve had a few hours to

digest it, and I still don’t believe it.”

“Cranston?”

The special agent was still watching Crista, his gaze narrowed on her as she stared right back at him, a challenge glittering in her brown eyes.

“She’s about the right height. Right eye color, right hair. But I’ll be damned if you’re not right about the differences.”

Dawg felt his body tense as Cranston walked slowly around Crista then.

“Did you turn your boat into a auction block, Dawg?” Crista snapped irritably as the agent tracked every curve and hollow in her body.

“There’s a difference in the curves. You were right there, too,” he muttered.

“Natches,” Dawg bit out warningly. “What the hell is going on?”

Dawg could feel the warning tingle in his gut, the itching at the back of his neck. The way Cranston was watching Crista was getting his hackles up and pissing him off. And it wasn’t doing much for her, either.

She flashed him a hard look, a warning to do something about the bulldoggish little man who kept

watching her like a strange little puzzle he was trying to figure out.

“You’re not going to believe it.” Natches shook his head. “I’m still not certain I believe it.”

“Why not explain it and give us the chance to believe it, Natches,” Crista retorted with mocking sweetness as she edged away from Cranston and moved closer to Dawg.

It was the first move she had made toward him since their time in the clearing. Crossing the last few feet to her, Dawg wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, ignoring Cranston’s sardonic look

and Natches’s quiet reflection.

He could feel Crista’s fear in the face of Cranston, though. She knew who he was; she knew the danger he could represent to her. A danger Dawg swore he was never going to let touch her.

“Does this have anything to do with Agent Dane attempting to follow us earlier?” Dawg asked.

“Plenty.” Cranston’s bright brown eyes gleamed merrily as he ran his fingers over his short gray hair and flashed them a victorious smile.

Victorious. As though a battle had just been won.

“You going to explain it to us anytime soon?” Evidently, there wasn’t a pending arrest in the works.

Cranston wouldn’t have made the mistake of trying to bring in Dawg’s woman without help.

Timothy grinned cheerfully. “You know, my wife, Angie, she’s always telling me I need to get to the

point faster. But sometimes…” He stared back at them with a scary sort of playfulness. “Sometimes, you

just have to have fun getting there, don’t you Dawg?”

Dawg glanced at Natches. His cousin had lowered his head and was shaking it pitifully at Cranston’s