Ricochet (8 page)

He released her hips, gripped her breasts, clamped her nipples between his fingers, her shoulder between his teeth, and hammered into her. Her orgasm exploded at her core. She bowed and screamed. She fisted Nathan’s hair and held tight as he continued to thrust, growling out his own rabid release. When his climax’s grip faded, he lowered to his heels, still inside her, and trembling from the intensity.

With his forehead pressed to her back, his warm breath swept her spine, and she combed her fingers through his hair.
Unforgettable. Mind twisting. Life altering.
They were all thoughts that flitted through her pleasure-soaked mind.

When he’d caught his breath, Nathan pulled from her body and eased her down onto the oversize ottoman, then followed her, flopping onto his back and closing his eyes.

They lay there, spent, for long, quiet moments when their breaths were the only sound. Rachel fought to keep her mind from wandering to the reality of her situation: lying on a footstool, in a hotel room, naked except for her boots and her bra, next to a complete stranger who’d just given her the fuck of her life.

A complete stranger who was still fully dressed.

Slut.

As soon as the first judgment slipped in, she viciously shut down her brain. Sex was a normal biological human need. Only society put limits on the who, when, where and how of it. And Rachel was done with limits.

“Baby…” Nathan said, his voice choppy around quick breaths. “That was un-fucking-believable.”

She smiled, and a light happiness she hadn’t felt since she’d been young swept in and settled like an old friend. She’d definitely add
un-fucking-believable
to her list.

His hand landed on her hip and slid down her thigh. “I’m gonna clean up. Then let’s explore this place, find another cozy corner, and mess around some more.”

“Mess around,” she teased. “You make us sound like teenagers.”

Levered up on one elbow, he grinned down at her and splayed his hand over her belly. “You make me feel
better
than a teenager.”

She laughed, and he rolled into a sit up, then stood, hiking his pants higher.

“Hey.” She turned and grabbed for his shirt, catching the hem. “Why are you still dressed, while I’m nearly naked?”

He grinned over his shoulder before twisting and pinning her upper body with his. Slowly, he let his head fall until their lips touched. Until their tongues spiraled. Until he sighed and pulled away with a teasing grin in his pretty eyes. “Maybe,” he murmured, sliding the tip of his nose down the length of hers in a gesture so sweet it clutched at her heart, “because you were born to be naked and beneath me.”

To ease the pressure in her chest, she pulled in a dramatic gasp. Nathan laughed and rolled to his feet again so fast, she hadn’t even thought about grabbing him until he was out of reach. All she could do now—unless she wanted to move, which she absolutely did
not
—was taunt, “You wish.”

“Hell yes.” His smile softened, and something passed through his eyes, something that looked in that instant like longing. But then it was gone, and Rachel couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined. “I gotta clean up, babe.”

She sighed as he sauntered toward a hallway. “Come back naked.”

He turned the corner, then poked his head around the jamb and tossed his balled-up T-shirt at her.

“That’s a start.” She couldn’t wait to see all that muscle she’d felt, touch all his tanned skin, slide her hands over his tattoos.

In the distance, a door closed. The sound of water trickled in. Rachel took a moment to close her eyes and relax into the leather beneath her, absorbing the sensation of being so completely, deliberately, and expertly fucked. Her muscles felt liquid, her pussy tingled, and she couldn’t stop smiling.

Why
hadn’t she done this a long damn time ago?

The toilet flushed, and Rachel pried her eyes open, then dragged his T-shirt on over her head. She pulled the cotton to her nose, breathing in his scent—musky and spicy and so very male. Then she slipped off her boots and socks, pulled on her panties, and…bit her lip at a new surge of unease.

What happened now?

After cleaning up, Ryker braced his hands on the edge of the sink and stared at the reflection of his dog tags in the mirror. He’d forgotten all about them until he’d tugged his shirt off in the hallway. If Rachel had gotten him naked earlier…

A flash of how furious she might have been at seeing his full name on the tags snaked a river of dread through him.

He pulled his tags off over his head and stuffed them into his pants pocket. Only now, he felt naked. No, worse—he felt vulnerable. Which was epically stupid. Taking off a few tin tags couldn’t shed his life in the military.

He shook the thoughts away. She hadn’t seen them, thank God. The rubber edge covers he’d added a decade ago had kept them quiet, and the length of the chain If she’d felt them, she hadn’t said anything. He was pretty sure he’d dodged that bullet.

Explaining these tattoos, though… Not impossible, but probably awkward. Then again, she hadn’t made a big deal out of the flag on his arm. Whatever, he’d power through the inquisition if it came to that. Downplay it as much as he could without outright lying.

Direction renewed, he cupped his hands beneath the cool water and splashed his face again. He’d already done a quick wipe down to clean off his travel, because if he discovered Rachel wasn’t doing a Renegade, he planned on staying supremely personal with her for the rest of the night..

His head was still hazed around the edges from that orgasm. He hadn’t come that hard in a long time. His body hummed with testosterone, adrenaline, and triumph. She was one hot little multi-orgasmic rocket.

A slow smile curved his mouth. He always took pride in a job well done. Only… He lifted his gaze to the mirror. This time he’d done the job with one of Troy’s coworkers.

Of course he
should
have been thinking more clearly about this
before
he’d actually fucked her. And, if he were honest, he hadn’t thought about it very hard, because he’d expected her to pull out of the deal before they’d ever made it to the hotel room. She hadn’t seemed like the type to hook up with a stranger at a bar, and she’d offered spontaneously, after an obviously upsetting text message.

Then they’d gotten touchy in the van, and, well…yeah, after that, all he could think about was how he hoped she
wouldn’t
pull out. He hadn’t been thinking about the whole Troy connection at all.

Now, in light of how easy it had been to hook up with her and what an awesome fuck she was, he had to wonder—who else was she hooking up with?

Ryker’s eyes closed in dread. God, he prayed she wasn’t also having sex with some other member—or members—of Renegades. Worst of all Troy. But if she’d slept with, or was currently sleeping with, any of them, Troy would be in the mix. Ryker knew his buddy. Since Troy’s ex had dumped him for the bright lights of Nashville, he’d been hell-bent on fucking every relatively sexy chick he could charm his way into. And Rachel ranked well beyond the
relative
sexy mark.

He shut the water off and dried his hands with mixed feelings growing in the pit of his stomach. On one hand, Ryker really, really,
really
hoped he hadn’t just screwed his buddy’s girl. On the other hand, he really, really,
really
wanted to do it again. Wanted to spend the whole night fulfilling fantasies—hers, his, theirs. Wanted to spend hours finding ways to make her scream
yes
, and
Nathan
, and some other naughty vocabulary he planned on teaching her.

He growled, pushed his already-hard-again cock back into his pants, and zipped. Then shoved the boots and socks he’d removed into the space between the cabinet and toilet.

Straightening, he gave himself a stern glare. Friendship always came before pussy. Always. Even great pussy, like Rachel. Ryker would have to find some way to confirm or disprove the fact that she wasn’t seeing Troy without tipping her off to his own identity. Because, realistically, in her role as a secretary and his role as a temporary consultant in the field, they’d probably never meet up again. Which would make his identity a nonissue. No point in making it one.

Hell, it had been a long time since a woman made him toss logic out the window for sex. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been getting any either. But he didn’t want to think about why this woman was different. He needed to get this whole Troy thing straightened out first.

He exited the bathroom with his body amped for a literal fucking marathon. Great sex always hyped him. But he usually took that energy to the gym for a workout or the ocean for a swim. Tonight, he wanted to put all his energy right back into Rachel.

He passed the bedroom, a massive suite with a king bed, dresser, armoire, fifty-two-inch flat-screen TV, and adjoining bathroom, moved through the dining room with a full-size table, and turned past a marble-topped side buffet into the living room.

“What are your thoughts on fondue?” were the first words out of her mouth.

She was curled in the corner of the gray sofa, wearing his blue T-shirt, looking at something open in front of her, her bare feet curled beneath her. He glanced across the sofa and found her dress folded on an ottoman, her fancy cowboy boots sitting on top.

“That’s…a random question,” he said.

“Do you have any allergies?”

Her second question drew his gaze back. He took another look at her in his T-shirt. She had her thumbnail between her teeth, her head tilted down toward something open in her other hand, but her eyes were up and on him. And…damn…she was
wearing
his T-shirt.

“Oooo.” The word sounded more like a purr and skittered over Ryker’s skin. “Another tattoo.” She patted the sofa beside her. “If you let me touch, I’ll let you choose dinner.”

His cock thickened. It liked that idea way too much. “You read my mind.” He sauntered toward the sofa, unable to shake the strange sensation tumbling through his belly. “You’re also wearing my shirt.”

She lowered the menu and smiled. A knowing, sexy, teasing smile that made Ryker’s stomach fold. “I didn’t see a point in getting dressed.” She hesitated, raised her brows. “I’ll give it back if we can order fondue.”

He didn’t want it back. He wanted to look at her in it. Maybe even wanted to leave it with her. And wasn’t that the strangest fucking idea ever?

“Baby, you made me a hell of a lot hungrier than a few pieces of bread and a little cheese is going to fix.”

“No.” She pushed the menu toward him, her eyes bright. “They serve it with chicken, steak, roasted vegetables, potatoes, pasta,
and
bread. And,” she added, her tone and her gaze turning sexy again, “it comes with chocolate fondue for dessert.”

He did love chocolate. And he could think of all kinds of ways to use
liquid
chocolate.

He crossed his arms and tilted his head. “I don’t know. I’m a growing boy.” He lifted his chin. “Talk more about my shirt.”

She pursed her lips, let her eyes drift up toward the ceiling. “Okay, how about…” She focused on him again. “I give you the shirt as soon as dinner arrives and won’t put my dress back on.”

Ho-ly hell. Ryker couldn’t keep the smile from crossing his face. But he did send up a prayer that she wasn’t messing around with Troy. “I guess I could make that deal.”

She smirked. “But it’s a hardship, huh?”

“That’s one of my favorite shirts.”

“I can understand.” She closed the menu, tossed it aside, and rubbed her hands down her chest, over her breasts, and across her stomach with a decadent hum. “It’s super soft.”

“Sweetheart.” He lowered his voice in warning. “Do that again, and
you
will be my dinner.” He reached out to pick up the menu but grabbed the sweet little foot tucked underneath her instead and pulled. Rachel squealed and laughed and squirmed away. But Ryker held her easily and pulled her foot to his mouth for a kiss.

Her toes curled and her leg flinched. “I’m ticklish.”

When he released her foot, he caught a glimpse of the panties she’d put back on, and picked up the menu. “You’re going to be sorry you told me that.” As he strolled to the kitchen where a phone sat on the bar, he said, “And we need to renegotiate the fondue deal.”

He turned and met her expectant gaze. “If I’m eating fondue for dinner, you’re doing it without my shirt
and
without the underwear you’ve still got on underneath.”

Her lips parted in surprise, and she crossed her arms. “Hardly fair. You haven’t even been out of your pants.”

“The important parts have been.” He opened the menu, glanced down the selections, and chose the most offensive entree he could find, announcing it with a suggestive voice. “Oh, here we go—escargot and caviar.”

“Ew, gross,” she said, her voice half complaint, half order. “This is the deal: I either take off my shirt or my underwear, not both. You choose.”

“It’s
my
shirt,” he corrected, snapping the menu closed with a grin. “And you drive a hard bargain.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s me,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “The shark.”