Beneath the Secrets
Page 19

Blake snatched a condom from his jeans before tossing them aside. She scooted to the edge of the bed and held out her hand, her legs opened just wide enough to tease him with a glimpse of what was between. “Can I?” she asked softly.
Damn, she did the “innocent temptress who wasn’t innocent at all” role to perfection. And that temptress called to his need for control, a need that had become bigger, more powerful, more demanding, every day since he’d left behind the ATF, every hour he didn’t have his revenge.
“Since you asked,” he murmured, stepping closer to her.
Her fingers closed around the package he held, her gaze lifting. “You aren't very good at asking.”
“I have my moments.”
“Just not with me.” She ripped open the condom.
“No,” he agreed. “Not with you.” But he had a soft spot for her. And soft spots were like poison kisses, easily lethal. It angered him. She angered him. If only that was all she did to him.
She reached for his c**k and he grabbed the condom and pulled her off the bed and against him. “I don’t like games.”
“I wasn’t aware we were playing one.” Her gaze cut to his chest, a sign she didn’t believe the words.
“Yes. You were and we are, but know this, Kara. Whatever the outcome of this game, I’m going to win.” His mouth slanted over hers, crushing her lips to his, his tongue stroking against hers with rough, angry thrusts meant to claim her, claim everything about her, and them, and this night. She moaned and leaned into him and that punch in his gut she so easily created happened all over again. Damn it to hell, he thought again.
Blake flipped her around, pressing her knees into the mattress, and holding one hand on her lower back. “Don’t move.” He felt the tension in her spine, her desire to resist, and he held her there, waiting for her spine to soften into submission, before he lifted his hand and rolled the condom over himself.
He came back to her, widening her legs and ignoring her anxious look over her shoulder. Blake fit his c**k into the slick V of her body and ignored his instinct to ready her, wasted no time with a prelude. He drove into her, hard and deep, and she arched her back, pushing her hips into him. His fingers curled into her hips, and he thrust against her, pulled back, thrust again. Trying his damnedest to send her a message of who was in control and to f**k her out of his system, to f**k himself into the kind of bliss that tore away the memories, the pain, the need, he could never fill. This is what he did. He rode the ride, the woman, the adrenaline, until there was nothing but pleasure. Nothing but release. And then there was just nothing. At least for a while, until next time.
Too soon, the blood pounded deep in his groin, tugging at his balls, at his body, forcing the moment of release, forcing him to let go of the escapism of the moments before he came, and the adrenaline slid away into the muddled darkness of the aftermath of the sex.
Sweat gathered on his brow, his muscles bunched beneath his skin. Blake groaned with the tug of his release, trying to hold back, unable to succeed. He lunged hard into Kara and shook with the intensity of his shaft hitting the deep center of her body, of her muscles clenching around him and pulling his release from him. Time faded into shadows, sensations, pleasure, until he collapsed on top of Kara, and she flattened onto her stomach. The sounds of their breathing filled the room, the sense of reality returning slowly seeping into Blake’s mind. The sense of Kara beneath him, of him liking her there, of her feeling right there, with it. The scent of her teasing his nostrils, sweet and feminine, and soft.
Blake started to roll to his side and take Kara with him, but he caught himself a second before he did. What the hell was he doing? Cuddling? Flipping cuddling? He was losing his f-ing mind. Blake rolled off of her and shoved off the bed, standing up and giving her his back, before stalking toward the bathroom, ridding himself of the condom and tossing it into the trash. He glowered at himself in the mirror a moment, but didn’t dare leave Kara alone. He had no idea how she’d pulled off drugging him before. He wasn’t leaving her an opening to do it again.
He stalked back to the main room and found Kara sitting up, her knees curled to her chest. “Why after you insisted I come here do I feel like you now want me to leave?” she demanded.
Blake snatched up his jeans and started to tug them on. “I don’t f**king want you to leave.”
“You aren’t very convincing,” she snapped back. “And you say ‘fuck’ and ‘fucking’ a lot.”
Blake’s hands settled on his hips. “You have a problem with the word ‘fuck’?”
“You use it in every other sentence.”
“So I’ve been told.” By his brother Royce’s wife, Lauren, who was one of the only women he knew who came off sweet and still fought like a tigress. Until Kara. And he liked it. He liked it a little too much. His c**k thickened. Apparently, it did too.
“But you don’t care enough to stop,” Kara commented.
“It’s not that I don’t care.” Blake ran a rough hand through his hair, and he forced his shoulders to relax on a breath. “It’s a habit. I picked it up from a client I worked for.” He sauntered to the desk chair and sat down, trying not to think about Kara spread wide on the desk. He failed and adjusted his jeans. “Someone would say ‘Good morning’ and he’d reply with something like ‘Good morning and f**k you. Now where is product I ordered?” Kara’s eyes went wide and Blake grinned. “Or there was this time he took a bite of his food in a restaurant and dropped his fork in distaste and grumbled ‘fuck’, then glared at the people walking in the door and told them to ‘run for their f**king lives’.”