Rock Chick 03 Redemption (11 page)

My heart started beating faster.

“Come here,” Hank said softly.

“No, take me back to the hotel.”

“Come here and I’l convince you that you don’t want to go back to the hotel.”

Good God.

He didn’t have to convince me, I was already pretty certain I didn’t want to go back to the hotel. But, I had to go back to the hotel, for Hank’s own good if not for mine.

“Whisky, I have to get a good night’s sleep. I have things to do tomorrow.”

I didn’t real y, but I needed an excuse.

“What things?”

I kept silent.

Then he went on. “You can come here or I can go over there and get you. Your choice, but I’l warn you, you should probably come to me.”

I stared at him and he stared back.

My heart wasn’t only beating faster, it was tripping in my chest like a jackhammer.

We kept staring at each other, one beat leading into two, two beats leading into three.

Then his arms uncrossed and he moved forward.

Shamus saw Hank’s advance and deserted me (damn dog).

I backed up and as I was standing at the door, in half a step, my shoulders slammed against it.

I lifted my hands to keep him at arm’s length.

“Whisky…” I started but he avoided my hands by bending double, putting a shoulder to my stomach and lifting me in a fireman’s hold.

Holy Mary, Mother of God.

“Hank!” I shouted at his back, but he’d turned and was walking through the dining area.

“Put me down!” I yel ed, pushing against his waist but he kept going, through the kitchen and into a dark room.

“Goddammit! Put me down!” I kept at it when he turned and walked into another dark room.

He stopped, bent, turned on a lamp and then put my feet on the floor. I would have escaped but he was right in front of me and a quick glance around showed that there was a huge bed, made out of what looked like logs, behind me;
right
behind me.

“Get out of my way,” I demanded. “I’m cal ing a taxi.” His arms slid around me.

“No taxi,” he said, one hand gliding up my back and into my hair to cup the back of my head and keep it steady. “No hotel,” he went on, the other arm wrapping itself completely around me so his hand was gripping me at the side of my waist, my body pressed the length of his. “Tonight you sleep in my bed with me.”

I looked up at him. In his arms I was quickly losing the wil to fight.

“Please,” I whispered, the last desperate attempt.

His head bent and, with his lips against mine, he said,

“Remember that word, you’re gonna be using it a lot tonight.”

My stomach fluttered, I felt it and I liked it.

Those were my last coherent thoughts.

He kissed me, his tongue sliding into my mouth. I went dizzy and my brain scrambled. I kissed him back; I wanted to fight it but I didn’t. I probably could have if I wasn’t weak.

But I was. I’d been weak with Bil y and now I was weak with Hank.

My arms went around his neck, my hand slid into his hair.

He had great hair; thick and soft and just enough wave.

“You have great hair,” I whispered into his ear as his lips trailed along my cheek to my ear.

“You’re a nut,” he whispered back, sounding like that was a good thing. Then his mouth touched me behind my ear and I shivered.

“I’m not a nut,” I went on quietly and turned my head to press my lips to his neck, just above his turtleneck, then I touched my tongue there.

His hand left my waist, went into my shirt and slid up the skin of my side. I was sensitive there, even ticklish, and I squirmed against him.

“You gonna talk through this?” he asked, lifting his head to look down at me.

“Maybe,” I answered.

He shook his head and he kissed me again.

I had kinda thought the last kiss was serious as it had a serious effect on me. But I was wrong.
This
kiss was serious. If I thought I was dizzy before, I didn’t know the meaning of dizzy.

The kiss was hot and hard and before it was done, I had my hands up his sweater, roaming the skin of his back and shoulders.

He kissed me again, likely to keep me quiet, and I lost any control I had (though there wasn’t much to lose).

Then again, so did he.

We were al over each other; hands inside each other’s clothes, tongues inside each other’s mouths. He pul ed away and unwrapped the scarf from around my throat and tossed it aside. Before he could come back, I lifted his turtleneck from the waist and pul ed it over his head. He shoved me back on the bed but fol owed me there, his body covering one side of me, his hand going up my shirt, trailing up my bel y to cup my breast. He kissed me again and I felt him yank the cup of my bra roughly down and then his hand was skin against skin on my breast.

I arched into it and his hand went away but his finger didn’t. It circled lazily around my nipple, his mouth stil on mine.

“Let me take my shirt off,” I muttered.

“I’m not done,” he said, stil circling with his finger and it was driving me mad, but in a good way.

I pressed into him. “Whisky, let me take my shirt off,” I said.

His head lifted and he looked down at me, stil circling.

It felt good.

“Why Whisky?” he asked.

“What?”

“Why Whisky?”

I tried to scoot away so I could get my clothes off and, I don’t know, maybe attack him, when his thumb joined his finger and he did a rol .

My body stil ed and I felt a spasm between my legs.

“Holy cow,” I breathed.

“Why Whisky?” he repeated, going back to circling.

“Your eyes…” I said, “They’re the color of whisky.” He smiled.

I felt a spasm between my legs again.

Then his mouth was on mine.

I was dizzy when he final y moved and pul ed my shirt off.

I would have thanked him but he covered my body with his and used his hands and mouth on me,
all
over me, so I was robbed of speech. Before I knew it, my bra was gone, he reached down to pul off my shoes, then he yanked down my jeans. Then, without warning, his hands spread my legs and his mouth was on me over my panties.

It was nice. It was better than nice, it was amazing.

Then he whisked away my panties and his mouth was on
me
.

That was even better,
way
better.

In fact, so much better, I felt it coming and I knew it was going to be good.

“Hank,” I said and it sounded like a moan.

Then his mouth was gone and he came back over me. I stared at him, lifted my hands to his shoulders and pressed down. I wasn’t done so he certainly wasn’t done. To my surprise, he resisted and buried his face in my neck, touching his tongue there.

“I was close,” I whispered.

“I know,” he answered, stil resisting the pressure of my hands.

I blinked at the ceiling.

“Why?” I asked.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

And he wasn’t.

He took me from nearly there to nearly there to nearly there and I tried to get him nearly there but only got so far as getting his belt unbuckled and the top button of his jeans undone. He did pul away to yank off his boots and socks but that was it.

He had his hand between my legs and I had my hand in the back of his jeans and I was nearly there again, panting against his mouth when his fingers went away and slid up my bel y.

My eyes flew open.

“Whisky!” I snapped, bucking and trying to push him to his back to get some leverage on the situation.

I was so turned on, I’d never been that turned on before, my body was humming with it.

He was smiling.

“Don’t smile at me, you rat. Finish what you start.” He gave me a light kiss.

“Ask nice.”

I growled.

Then I attacked.

It got out of hand then. There was a bit of wrestling and unfortunately Hank was stronger. I ended up on my back, wrists over my head held by one of his hands, his other hand between my legs again and his mouth at my neck. I was close again and I knew he knew it.

“Let go of my hands, I want to touch you,” I demanded.

He didn’t answer but, instead, ran his tongue along my neck.

“Hank.” His name came out kind of whiney.

Okay, maybe a lot whiney.

His hand went away from between my legs and my body tensed.

“Please,” I said low and his head came up and he looked at me.

His eyes were hot and intense and I held my breath.

He rol ed completely over me. I opened my legs and his hips fel between them as he let go of my wrists. His hand worked at the buttons of his fly and I pushed his jeans down his hips, my mouth at his neck. Then my hand wrapped around him.

“Jesus, Sunshine,” he muttered but there was a smile in his voice.

I looked him in the eye.

I was trying to guide him into me but he was having none of it.

“I want you inside me, Whisky. Now.”

He pul ed my hand away and then his hands went to my hips, lifting them and he stared down at me but he didn’t come inside.

I gave in.

“Please.”

He slid inside.

It felt beautiful.

My head arched back and my arms wrapped around him.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

I looked at him, he moved inside me and it felt delicious.

“It starts now,” he told me.

I moved with him, I wasn’t real y focusing on what he was saying, mainly because it was building again and I could feel it coming.

“What starts now?” I asked.

“You and me.”

He moved faster, pressed harder, went deeper.

Good God.

“What?” I asked dazedly.

“You and me,” he said again.

“Whisky,” I breathed, “I’m not keeping up with you.” I was keeping up with him, but not in the way I was talking about. I held on to him and tilted my hips and he went even deeper.

“God, you feel good,” I said.

“Sunshine, try and pay attention,” he replied, sounding amused and I blinked at him.

He was stil moving and I was getting closer al the time.

“Are you crazy?” I asked, not real y caring if he was.

“Starting now, there’s a you and me.”

My arms tightened involuntarily and other parts of me tightened involuntarily too.

Hank’s eyes went lazy.

“Now,
that
felt good,” he muttered.

“Hank –”

He slid in deep.

“Be quiet.”

“Hank!”

His mouth met mine.

“Quiet,” he said.

Then he kissed me, he moved, I moved, pretty soon I said his name again (in a moan again) but mainly because he final y let me come.

And it was glorious.

After we finished Hank moved away, pul ed off his jeans, positioned me into the bed with the covers over me, slid in beside me and turned out the light.

He lay on his back and rol ed me into his side.

Throughout al of this, I was silent and compliant, mainly because I was trying to decide how many types of fool I was.

I was settling on twenty-seven types of fool when Hank spoke. “I think I prefer you talking.”

“I’m sleepy,” I lied.

“You’re thinking and the way your mind works, that’s probably not a good thing.”

“You don’t know the way my mind works,” I told him.

“You’ve talked yourself into thinking al igators are cute.”

“I didn’t talk myself into it. Have you
looked
at an al igator? They
are
cute.”

His body moved with laughter.

“And owls are cute,” I went on, nonsensical y, ignoring his laughter, or more likely,
because
of his laughter. “I’ve always wanted to own an owl. Like Florence Nightingale.

She carried one in her pocket.”

His body kept moving, except I could tel instinctively the laughter had turned deeper.

Then a thought struck me and I got up on an elbow. “Hey, are you related to her?”

I felt his eyes on me in the dark. “Not that I know of.” I settled back down and put my head on his shoulder.

“Oh.”

He rol ed into me and I fel to my back.

His hand went into my hair at the side of my head.

“Are you real y sleepy?” he asked.

I wasn’t. I was wide-awake and scared out of my wits.

“Um,” I answered.

“Because if you want to talk, we got shit to talk about.”

“I’m sleepy,” I said immediately.

His hand slid out of my hair, down my neck, between my breasts and down, to circle my waist. Then, he pul ed me into him.

“We’l talk tomorrow,” he said.

I pushed in closer.

I pushed in closer.

I wasn’t going to think about it. Not then. Maybe not ever.

I wrapped my arms around him and he held me close.

After a few minutes, I whispered, “Hank?”

“Yeah?”

I pressed my face into his throat.

“Thanks for tonight.”

His arms went tight.

* * * * *

I laid there, in the dark, assessing the situation, then remembered.

I was on my back and Hank was at my side, I could feel his breath at my temple, his bicep was resting on my midriff, his forearm curling up my ribs with his hand resting at the side of my breast. His thigh was thrown over both of mine. Adding to this, Shamus was on the other side of me, his head resting on my bel y under Hank’s arm, like my stomach was a pil ow.

Both the human and canine Nightingale boys had me trapped. I’d been feeling trapped for years, but this kind of trapped felt snug and secure.

It was at this juncture that reason returned.

This was not a good thing.

It was
so
not a good thing that it might have been a catastrophic thing.