Bolt Saga, Volume 1 Page 27

  The policemen shift from foot to foot.

  The hipster’s lips twist from side to side.

  Reece’s stare slides between them, steady as a lead beam in a hurricane.

  And for a long moment, nobody does anything else. Even the hotel guests in the bar and the bartenders have gone utterly still.

  “Bearer of pure brass,” Fershan murmurs.

  “Uh-uh,” Wade instantly defers. “Bolt of pure badass.”

  I smile softly, knowing they’ll be dickering about it all night—but also confident none of their permutations will change the assignation that already exists in my heart.

  My hero.

  As if the truth of it needs more proof, Reece slides his hands down from their cuff-ready pose while their pyrotechnics keep going in and around his hands—which he curls into full fists. With those fires now encased with nowhere to go, blue and silver charges jump up and away from his hands and climb his arms like electric roots around dual tree limbs. Incredible, beautiful, muscled tree limbs.

  “I’ll only say this part once, as well,” he announces to the throng. “Our security cams on this area are up and running. My staff is taking careful note of who’s here and what publications you sell your ‘scoops’ and images to. If you’re still here in ten minutes, those publications will be omitted from any notification about, or invitation to, the forthcoming official interviews with Emmalina Crist and myself.”

  A few hours ago, I’d compared him to an array of historical hunks. Now, I feel like the corset-wearing counterpart to one of them, light-headed and short-breathed, swallowing down huge chunks of emotion at my modern-day Galahad as he defends everything I hold dear. My dignity. My privacy. My ability to do the job I’ve worked so hard to get and keep.

  “Goddamnit, Reece Andrew. How I love you.”

  I don’t even care that Wade and Fershan are privy to my heart’s confession. But I do push back from the doorway and dash back through the offices before they hear what I mutter after that.

  “And holy shit, how I want you.”

  Right now.

  Right here, if that’s the way he’s going to demand it.

  But I’m not sure I’m going to give him time to consider that.

  Because as he launches back through the door from the lobby, with the sound of a hundred shuffling footsteps muting his own wide stomps, I’m already waiting to leap on him. To wrap myself around him. To mash my lips onto him and ram my tongue between his. To let all the juices in my core loosen those damn balls in my pussy, which roll and rub and pulse at me with a force I’ve been battling all night.

  Not anymore.

  Especially not as he returns my kiss with just as much hot hunger and stabbing ardor.

  Not as he secures my legs against his waist with his elbows and locks my crotch on his broad bulge by cupping his hands around my ass.

  Not as he maintains the hold while carrying me into the private elevator to begin our ascent.

  Chapter Five

  Reece

  Seventy floors.

  Nearly a thousand feet.

  A single minute.

  The hottest strip-down I’ve ever had with a woman.

  Buttons ping and bounce everywhere as she rips off her shirt. My growled profanity counters them as she strips away mine. Our breaths, hot and rough and guttural, get heavier as she unsnaps her bra and hurls it away. My feral groan fills the compartment as her breasts tumble free, her nipples stabbing into my chest.

  “Emma. Christ. Yes.”

  “Shut up.” She barely gets it out before biting into me with a new kiss, descending so hard that our teeth knock and our tongues are a clumsy tangle—a mess never sorted out because she yanks back as fast as she’s plummeted and now seizes both sides of my face. “Shut the hell up and get these pants off me.”

  I smirk. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Shut up.” Her command is barely more than breath as we plunge into another round of tugs and jerks at snaps and zippers, her hands working my fly as eagerly as I fumble with hers, until our legs are bare and puddles of fabric constrict our ankles. I kick my pants free before she does, so I bend to help with hers—but instantly recognize that dire mistake. As soon as her first leg is free, she’s able to step a little wider—exposing my senses to the perfect, heady scent of the pussy that’s been clenching for me since the start of her shift.

  She smells like honey.

  She smells like ready.

  She smells better than any damn dessert I’ve ever eaten, in every fine restaurant around the globe.

  “Emma.” I move in, pinning her thighs to the elevator’s wall as I literally salivate, anticipating her taste. “Christ. You’re like ambrosia…”

  The goddamned doors slide open. The ding that follows is worse than a time’s-up bell from a bad game show. Too late. You forgot to buy a vowel.

  Except that now, I’m running the game show.

  And I know exactly what vowel to nail down next.

  I lift her again, my hands at her ass and my face at her neck, with one pant leg dangling from her ankle. Both of her flat shoes are still in the elevator, and I don’t fucking care. Every muscle in my body and neuron of my mind is consumed with getting her back into a position where I can lick and suck and sample every delicious drop drenching her impossibly sweet cunt.

  “Reece! Ohhhhh…”

  And there’s the vowel I need, flowing from her as I make it as far as the entry to the penthouse living room before setting her down once more—and instantly dropping to my knees before her.

  Inhaling her into my deepest being again.

  Closing my eyes as the near-Godiva goodness invades me again.

  “God.” It’s a shallow groan, mostly because my lungs refuse to function for speech. Every breath right now is for one purpose alone. Getting my lips closer to her sexy-as-fuck honeypot. “God, Emma. Let me in, beautiful. Spread for me. Now.”

  Thank God she’s in no place to be feisty, at least for the moment. The second I park my hands to the wall on either side of her hips, she reaches and braces her hands on my forearms, securing her balance. The slide of her hair on the wall, likely coinciding with the backward jolt of her head, adds an erotic sibilance to the air as I lap at her nectar for the first time.

  “Ohhhh!”

  The magical vowel again.

  As her juices burst on my tongue.

  As her scent invades my whole system.

  As she makes my cock jut straight to attention, even spilling telltale white drops on the floor between my knees.

  She’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever tasted. The headiest delicacy I’ve ever known. The newest obsession of my rampaging lust.

  I have to have more.

  I widen my lips, openly sucking at her. And suddenly, excruciatingly, knowing why.

  As the first of my altered ice balls slides out of her pussy and into my eager mouth.

  Fuck. Me.

  If licking her outer folds was heaven, this is the outer limits of paradise. Her tangy arousal enhanced by the electricity still shivering the orb is the best damn piece of candy I’ve ever sampled. It’s sensual and silken and sweet…

  It’s all her.

  And holy fuck, there are two more.

  With a savoring growl, I toss the clean ball over my shoulder.

  With an even more eager moan, I dip my head in for more.

  “Reece. Ahhhhh!”

  Technically, it’s still a vowel. And officially, I’m enjoying the hell out of this game show—though soon I’m sure the network will reclassify us as after-hours adult fare. Just fucking fine by me, because never in my life have I enjoyed devouring a woman more. Feeling her inner walls shift and move as I do. Savoring the little river of sexuality that drenches my mouth between each undulation. Listening to the changing cadences of her sighs and cries and moans, telling me exactly how good those balls feel for her…and how close she’s coming to giving up number two.

  “Oh…God. Reece. It’s the
re.” She moves a hand into my hair, twisting the strands from my scalp and ramming her pussy against my lips. “Take it. Take it!”

  Her new verbosity only increases my enjoyment of the second candy—though I don’t linger as long on it because her body is undulating like a seductress as the third ball begins to descend her channel. Sure enough, nearly from the moment I press my lips to her again, the last bulb is waiting for me to pull. To triumph. To take.

  As I do, she unfurls an ecstatic scream—a sound so addicting, I can’t even think of giving it up. Not yet. Not fucking yet.

  So I don’t take time to lick her candy coating off the ball. Instead, with the ball poised in one of my hands, I hook her thigh over my shoulder with the other—to keep her locked in place as I roll the pulsing orb right back over her sex. Across her labia. Through the glistening, trembling folds surrounding her gorgeous, intimate entrance. Then, with ultimate purpose, I spread back her soaked hood and brush the ball over her most sensitive button…

  “Shit! Ohhhh, fuck!”

  No more vowels.

  They aren’t needed.

  The grand prize has been unveiled.

  And she’s shivering against my fingers. Bucking around my ears. Clenching and clutching and climaxing and climbing, higher and hotter and fiercer, toward a paradise even better than this one. The nirvana of another release already building through every inch of her. I can read its approach in the need on her face. Feel the tension forming in all her muscles. Feel the anticipation in every air molecule around us. She’s commandeered all that energy from me, and goddamn, it feels amazing. For once, to not be the glaring isotope in the room. For once, not worrying about hiding myself. Instead, completely losing myself…

  To her.

  For her.

  All of it. Everything I am. Every move I make. Every breath I release and touch I give. Hers. Hers.

  “Reece! Oh, God. Reece!”

  “Here, Velvet.” I grate against the inside of her lifted thigh. “I’m right here.”

  “I know.” Her reply isn’t much more than a couple of sounds from between her teeth, mashed to seem like words. She makes up for it the next second, screaming through her enunciation. “Goddamnit, I know. That’s the problem!”

  And now I understand. And break into a savoring grin about it. And continue to relish the moment while kissing my way to the valley between her thigh and pussy and then up and over the silk of her stomach. With a growl, I tongue the indent of her navel before licking wet swirls up to the space between her breasts, giving both the attention of the vibrating ball still in my possession. As her nipples turn red and stiff for me, she crosses an invisible line between needy lover and writhing she-demon. No part of me confirms that clearer than my cock, now smashed between our bodies and enduring the friction of her every demanding thrust.

  “This what you want, Emmalina?” I push back at her, making sure she feels every inch of the state she’s gotten me into. Not that I wasn’t here before. Now, it’s an unstoppable pain. A pounding need. A feral, jungle obsession…

  “Mmmmm.” Her face is awash in soft arousal and dire need, limned in the cobalt glow from the swollen veins throughout my dick. “Yesssss,” she’s finally able to add as she lifts her hands, clutches my shoulders, and uses the leverage to mold her body closer to mine. She’s so stunning, I can’t help but stare at her and then string her…just for a few seconds longer…

  “This?” I scrape the word along her forehead, adding small, wicked bites along her eyebrows. “The cock swelling for you? Hurting for you?”

  A high cry trembles off her lips. Faintly, she nods. “Hurting,” she murmurs. “Make it stop…hurting.”

  “Yeah, baby. I will.” I duck my head, trailing my teeth and tongue down her hairline. “You hurt too?”

  A new nod, just as dreamy and languid, clashing with the talons her fingers have turned into against my shoulders. As she digs in deeper, I hiss against her ear—and shove my cock tighter along her belly. Holy fuck, I need to be inside her. At least five minutes ago.

  No.

  Three goddamned hours ago.

  “I hurt too. Christ, Emma. All fucking night I’ve been like this. I wasn’t even able to go out on patrol. I was like a caged animal up here, practically scaling the walls…” The ball falls from my fingers as I glide my hands down to her hips and start to guide her body in the tempo I plan on pounding her at. Soon. So damn soon. “Thinking about just that small part of me, living and throbbing inside of you…”

  “But not anymore.” There’s a sob in her voice as I rear my face back and align her body forward. Lifting her to straddle me…and soon to ride me… “Not anymore,” she repeats from gritted teeth. “And I’m empty. So damn—”

  Her scream takes the place of her plea.

  As I lunge all the way inside her with one thrust.

  “Christ,” I growl.

  “Yes!” Emma shouts it again and again, drawing out every part of the syllable in time to my movements. The Y trembles out as I pause with my cockhead at her sleek pussy lips. The E she extends during my long, forceful stroke up the silken fist of her passage. She draws out the S once I hit home deep inside, adding to our mutual pleasure by circling my hips until my crown has said hello to the most intimate parts of her shivering core.

  Over and over again, I take her like that—until the power surge in my sack starts to crackle and sizzle, threatening to blow me apart if I don’t give the electrons somewhere to go. My ass is clenched. My thighs are burning. My balls are matching lightning storms, wild with need, charged with light, on fire with demand. The only force keeping me rooted to reality is the lock of our stares, where turquoise light engulfs me, keeping me safe but urging me on. Where the smaller pinpoints of cyan are like lighthouses guiding me through the squall of a lust I’ve never dealt with before. A need I’ve never known. A longing that terrifies me…but inexorably lures me. A pull I’ll never be able to resist.

  A bond I’ll never give up.

  The woman who composes more and more of my purpose with every new lunge, every fresh flame, every hoarse breath. She knows it too, thank fuck. I can see it in every soft, adoring inch of her face as I brace my forefinger beneath her jaw and tuck my thumb against her bottom lip. Fuck, how I adore her like this. Locked for me and accepting every drop of my power as a man, not a goddamned superman. But ironically, because of it, turning me into that hero all over again. Larger than life for her. A man of steel because of her.

  “Good?” I growl it, letting her know I want the response from her lips as well as her eyes.

  She swallows hard before whispering, “Yeah. Good.”

  “Your cunt is happy?”

  “Yeah,” she rasps. “Oh, yeah. Happy.”

  “Full now?”

  “Yes. Yes. So full.”

  “And now your pussy wants to come?”

  “Yes. Oh God, yes, please!”

  “Words.” I push my thumb in, using her tongue to wet it, and then rub the pad along the gorgeous blush of her bottom lip. “Say the words, Velvet.”

  “I…I want to come.”

  “Again. All the words this time. Every filthy one. And you’ll look at me this time.”

  Her lashes flutter. Her chest heaves, a bellows of passion and nerves and lust. Holy fuck, her nipples are perfect arrowheads against my chest.

  “I…I… My pussy needs to come. God, Reece, please. All over your cock!”

  “Damn.” I reward her for the bravery with a smoldering, tongue-filled kiss while returning my hand to her hip, joining the other to start ramming her sweet body even harder over my raging, burgeoning erection. With our gazes meshed again, I set the pace of our bodies to a brutal rhythm. Our fucking flesh sounds like whip cracks against the walls. The echoes are an erotic backbeat to the driving, decadent pulse of our mounting, soaring completion.

  “Oh, Reece!”

  “Hang on, baby.”

  “I…I can’t…”

  “Hang. On.”


  “Shit. Shit!”

  White fire bursts in my balls. Silver specks dance in my vision. “Tell me. Now, Emmalina. Tell. Me!”

  “I’m…coming.” Her mouth falls open. She flares her aqua eyes. Her entire face is a sunbeam of wonder and desire and devotion and ignition…

  Sending me all the way over too.

  I’m a torch of lust. A missile of purpose. A burning staff of damn divinity, sworn to worship her and her alone. Powered higher and hotter only by serving her…fulfilling her…fucking into deeper and darker parts of her…

  Giving more and more to her.

  My cock. My climax. My seed. My essence.

  My soul.

  My heart.

  My being.

  My world.

  The only thing that matters or exists, for a long and perfect time, as I empty into her hard and long enough to finally slow our pace into a rolling reverie—though as I gentle my thrusts, my heart still attempts to punch out the center of my chest to be closer to hers. Not that I blame the thing one damn bit. Even the inches between our torsos feel like a canyon of separation, inciting me to lean in close again, expelling my heavy breaths along the back of her neck.

  As we go completely still, we’re also totally silent, soaking up the perfection of still being one. Shamelessly, I inhale the scent and the sensuality, all sugar and silk and satisfied sex, that form the pheromones of this woman, still driving me utterly crazy even in my satiation with her body. There’s no riddle to it either. With every other woman, my curiosity usually ended at sex. With Emmalina Crist, that’s just the beginning of my need. I don’t even waste time being shocked by the fact. It just is. It always will be.

  She makes me crave more.

  She makes me want to be so much more.

  Before my mind can sprint off into that enormity, I haul in a long breath and force words back to my lips.

  “Damn.”

  Okay…one word.

  “Emma. Damn.”

  And now two. Yeah, folks. We’re really winning here.

  It’s beyond funny, if I really think about it—because never before have I had more things to say to her. No. That’s not right either. Not to her. With her. Talking to her implies that she’s an entity separate from me, outside of anything and everything that I’ve become or ever will be. And frankly, that’s just not the case. Not by a mile. Not by an inch. Not by a single breath.