8: Bolt Saga, Book 8 Read online

  “Yesssss.” As she whispers back, she pulls my hair with one hand and the knot of my tie with the other.

  Letting her keep those possessive holds, I tell her softly, “I want to watch you enjoy your dessert more, Velvet. In better ways…”

  As the sibilance of my offer winds through the air between us, Emma’s gaze jerks back open. She crisscrosses the look over my face, emitting another gasp when I’ve apparently answered her wordless wondering.

  “Now?” she rasps. “Here?”

  I make her gape flare wider as I twitch my lips like the Big Bad Wolf. “Well, now that you mention it…”

  “Reece.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Oh, dear God.”

  Her words are tiny squeaks as I push Cosette’s call button. With her predictable agility, the attendant appears. The attentive service isn’t a shock, since I’ve likely given Cosette the easiest money she’s ever made over the Atlantic Ocean. Inside the next hour, I’m going to make that paycheck even easier.

  “Yes, monsieur?” she murmurs.

  “Mademoiselle Crist and I have some complicated contracts to go over in the next hour. We’d prefer to be completely undisturbed.”

  “Oh, my God.” It’s just a whisper from Emma now.

  “Of course, monsieur.” If Cosette has put together an inkling of what I’m about, nothing about her demeanor betrays it. But this is definitely not the first time she’s seen a couple sprint for the mile-high club in her first-class cabin.

  Though never again will she witness it done by a couple deeper in love.

  That, I completely promise.

  Chapter Two

  Emma

  “Holy shit.”

  At least it’s not oh, my God again—not that it means anything different. Not that I’m taking in Reece’s face, so beautiful that even Cosette does a double-take at him before she disappears, as if she can hardly believe the hot, heavy need across his stark features is just for me.

  Hell. I can hardly believe it myself—even while beaming a bashful grin and demure blush up at her, communicating two messages at the same time. Yeah, he really means all of that and yeah, he’s really all mine, so don’t even think about secretly passing your digits, lady.

  Reece, catching the tail end of my move, kicks up a smirk. So the alpha likes his bunny morphing into she-wolf mode, hmmm?

  But before I can redress him about any further lupine grandeur, he’s already surging over and damn near atop me. Pushing in so that he’s fully kissing me. Plunging down to consume me, tongue and lips mashing and claiming me, until all I can taste is him again. Every breath I take is filled with his smoke and spice masculinity. Every thought I can generate is dominated by his energy, his force, his passion…his drive, his desire, his near-violent need…

  So good.

  Dear God, it’s always so damn good with him.

  And we’re only getting started…

  And just like that, I couldn’t care less if we were in a puddle jumper over the Amazon forest. But we’re not, thank God, and Reece is shoving the armrest back between our seats and sliding closer until he’s angled all the way over me, raking his hand up beneath my skirt, seeking my throbbing, excited core. I moan as he finds me, sending the sound into his mouth as he rubs his powerful thumb across the triangle of my panties, at once taking me to a realm that feels like we’ve catapulted out of the plane and into the clouds.

  Shit, shit, shit!

  He doesn’t relent, even now, and I gnash my teeth into my lower lip to abstain from crying out as he rolls my clit beneath his thumb until I’m trembling and undulating underneath him. “Ohhhhh!”

  “Yeah,” he snarls, his primal rumble vibrating against the base of my neck. “Yeah, sweetheart. That’s it. Exactly.”

  My lips fall open, though my teeth are locked and my breaths are brutal rasps. I dig my fingers into his flexing biceps and meet his silver-fire gaze with what must be a conflagration in my own.

  “I’m close.” Holy hell, I can hardly believe the revelation is here already. “I’m so close.”

  But I instantly regret my loose lips—as soon as the formidable hills of his take on the angles of wolfish cliffs.

  “Oh, Bunny,” he snarls softly. “You’re just getting started.”

  Shit, shit, triple shit.

  Sure enough, as I’m on the brink of crashing into my cataclysm, he backs off on the heavenly massage at my core. As he pulls away more, he hooks a couple of fingers around my panties, gliding them all the way down my legs and over my boots. With the garment free from my body, he raises the bunch of satin to his face. As he breathes in, his eyes grow heavy. As I gawk at him, mine do too.

  “Fuck.” The word is drenched in so much of his lust that it comes out more like a German version. Fukkkhhh. “Perfect, Velvet.” He pries his gaze open to watch my reaction, savoring my whole face. “You’re fucking perfect.”

  “Merci.” I attempt to be coquettish, but the intent of his stare, now darkened to the shade of shadows, sends me into silence again. Heart-halting, breath-stealing silence.

  He angles himself deeper toward me again. In a tone originating from the center of his chest, he corrects, “Merci…Mr. Richards.”

  Dutifully, almost as if a shy wallflower has taken over my being, I whisper, “Merci, Mr. Richards.”

  His growl, curling from the same place at his center, stirs inexplicable sensations through more than just my shivering pussy. I’m affected so much deeper, awash in emotion and warmth despite him borrowing a page from some Doc Savage novel. Perhaps, I even feel this way because of that. I’m admired. Coveted. Craved…

  “Very nice.” He intensifies the praise by inhaling the crotch of my panties again. The sight of the pale-pink fabric against his burnished, taut skin is so hot, I gush from the inside out again. Every inch of my sex is soaked. Both of my breasts are hard and pointed. All my extremities are tingling and alive. And why that torment is worsened as I watch him reach for the plate of my uneaten macarons, I have no damn idea…

  Until he growls at me again.

  “Say it again, just like that, and you can have more dessert.”

  Air stutters in and out of my chest. Without even stopping to think, I rush out, “Merci, Mr. Richards.”

  His eyes turn the color of diamonds.

  “Good girl.”

  My sex turns the texture of magma.

  “Now…dessert.”

  And heats up, even as he divides the halves of his murmur by lifting the hem of my skirt.

  My breath hitches with harder force. I’m bare and exposed, my skirt in puddles at the outsides of my thighs, yet all I think or care about is what the sight of my exposed crotch does to the depths of his gaze. I feel like that necklace the old lady tossed overboard at the end of Titanic, with my modern-day Moses who’s parted the sea to find me.

  “Reece.” Still, a girl’s got to make at least a bid for modesty, right? “Is this…I mean we’re…”

  “Ssshhh.” He imposes it while taking the cookie in his fingers—and sliding it directly through the wettest part of my panties. “And enjoy your dessert.”

  “But—ohhhh.” If Cosette’s listening now, I barely care. He lowers the cookie now, teasing its sugary curve against the lips of my entrance before rolling the thing up and over my slick folds.

  “Ohhhh…gaaahhh…”

  “Sssshhh.” His order is just that now—a full, guttural mandate—as he continues to work the cookie through my pulsing petals. “No words, my Emmalina. Just enjoy. And let me watch it all. Let me see it all.”

  We both start breathing hard. Then harder. With every new inhalation, I can smell the tang of my arousal with the warmth of fresh sugar. I clench my teeth, holding back moan after moan, but as soon as Reece slides the treat over my clit, the silence turns into anguish.

  “Good girl,” he praises.

  I nod frantically, though surrender to a long hiss. In desperation, I clamp a hand around the armrest he hasn’t lif
ted yet. With my other hand, I secure purchase around his neck, quivering in anticipation of how he’ll redefine “dessert” next.

  Our stares lock and tangle. The center of his eyes are liquid steel, reflecting the brilliant blue at the tips of the two fingers he extends, letting me watch as he grazes the edge of the cookie, softening the creamy middle into an erotic pink puddle.

  “Spread for me.” His voice, now rough and aroused, is a direct contrast to the cream he drips over me, coating my intimate flesh with liquid sugar. Every squeeze he gives the macaron gushes more of the frosting over me. It’s sticky and hot and decadent and nasty, equating to what is undoubtedly the wildest sexual adventure of my life. For him. Because of him.

  God, how I love him.

  He doesn’t stop. The glaze teases at every sensitive inch of me. Some of it even escapes and trickles between my legs, sliding sugary drops across the quivering rim of my back hole.

  “Holy…shit.”

  “No, baby.” He pries my fingers off the handrest, moving them down to the candied eddies between my thighs. “Just dessert.” He rolls my fingers over everything, stopping only when I cry out again. Dear God, that icing feels incredible on my cookie. “Make it the best one I’ve ever had.”

  If his words don’t get across his full command, the focus of his gaze does. He’s riveted on my pussy, and all the swirls of my fingers through it, during every second he takes to unhook and unzip his placket. After shifting around so both his hips are free, he jerks down the wool far enough that his cock can spring free, long and erect and offering beautiful beads of white frosting in his own right. Now, I’m just as transfixed with the sight of him. I lick my lips, yearning to feel his silken arousal on the tip of my tongue…

  And for once, I’m damn glad the man can read my mind.

  With an efficient swipe at the tip of his purple bulb—I swear, the man’s fingers atop his penis should be a vision for one of those office motivational posters—he’s got a sizable jewel of his precome captured.

  Without hesitation, he extends the digit to me.

  Without shame, I bite my lip as that hot bead approaches.

  Without another thought, I open my mouth and extend my tongue.

  Just an inch out, Reece holds his hand still. A rogue’s chuckle escapes him in answer to my needy growl. “You want this?” he taunts.

  “Yesssss.” My hiss is threaded half with lust and half with frustration. Damn the man when he wants play time!

  But there are shadows in his gaze, lots of them, that don’t play at all. That darkness informs the tone of his reply. “Then say that you do.” Once more a growl that’s all command—to which I’m all too happy to be his wanton, compliant slave.

  “I…I want it.” I huff when confronted by his disapproving scowl. “I want it, sir.”

  More dark nuances to his gaze. “Give me all the words, Velvet.”

  I give him a rougher sigh. Parts of me declare open war on each other. I’m not the dungeon dolly type and he knows it, but sections of my heart and soul adore his authoritative side, especially tonight. After all the insane, incredible, nearly unbelievable events that have led us to this moment. Since October, so many people have barged in on my life to take control of it—the thugs in the metro station, Angelique La Salle in her bad girl bitch phase, and just about every member of the entertainment press corps. All of it has led to a different Emma Crist, one not so willing to hand over control, even when the situation calls for it. I’m grateful that most people in my immediate world—the management team at Richards Reaches Out, my sister, my friends—not only see it but understand it. But that still doesn’t make it okay or even healthy.

  But right here, right now, it feels healthy.

  It feels right.

  It feels natural and real and perfectly, wonderfully good.

  “I…I want your come.” With a hasty smirk, I add, “On my tongue. In my mouth.”

  Reece’s features harden. His beautiful lips part. But he doesn’t lower his finger. “Tasting me?”

  “Yes. Yes, sir. Tasting you.”

  “Sucking all of me in?”

  “Sucking all of you in.”

  A ruthless grunt unfurls from him. Angels singing couldn’t improve the sound. At the same time, another milky pearl appears in the slit atop his cock. I lick my lips while watching him wick it off. The man’s penis is such a work of art, I’m shocked they’re not selling replicas of it next to space blankets and Bolt blue nail polish in the airline’s sky market magazine.

  “Then take it.”

  And finally, finally, he’s slipping that finger past my lips, wiping the silky essence along the length of my tongue…

  “And take me.”

  He thrusts his perfect cock through the sugar and cream coating my pussy, penetrating all the way into my body.

  “Mmmmmm…” My moan is long and anguished and pleasured and stunned. Another spills out right after it as Reece pulls out nearly all the way, rolling just his cockhead in the mix of frosting and juices near my entrance, until pushing all the way back. The air between us fills with an erotic slick of sounds as he refills the emptiness in my core again and again. I close my eyes and drown in the wonder of his breaths, the rhythm of his passion, the very beats of his heart. I’m lost in him. In us. In the charge that binds us beyond electricity and sexuality. It’s the fusion of our souls. The perfection of our love.

  After plunking the used macaron back to the tray, he twists back around to position himself between my legs. As my gaze stays fixed on him, he hooks two fingers from his free hand into my mouth.

  Oh…wow.

  “Spread wider for me.” Though his voice is a sensual command, his face is a visage of stark lust. What he’s ordering me to do for him with my body, he’s giving back to me a hundredfold with his undaunted desire. “Take me deeper, Emma. In your creamy cunt. In your gorgeous mouth.” He fucks into both orifices more forcefully, and my sex shudders as my throat gags. “Goddamn.” The ferocity on his face is blurry now as my eyes water. “You like deep throating me, don’t you, beautiful?”

  “Mmmmmm.” I try communicating the feelings with my tone, but the groan isn’t doing much good. I hope he can see the real feedback in my eyes, with the tears running from the corners as he adds yet another finger from each hand, shoving them even deeper as his cock pulses and expands inside me. With the angle of our bodies in the seats, his abdomen strokes my most sensitive nub with each lunge too. I’m close to imploding, and I try telling him so with frantic licks of my tongue between his fingers.

  “No.” He emphasizes by jabbing his thumbs into the hollow beneath my chin. “No playing with my fingers when they fuck you. Take them in your mouth like your pussy takes my dick. Damn. Damn. Yes, Emma. Fuck, yes!” He jams his fingers harder, likely cutting himself on my lower teeth as he stretches my lips, ramming into my mouth. “So pretty, letting me invade you everywhere. Letting me fill you up…”

  I respond with sounds but am past making sense of them. They’re primal whimpers and harsh little chokes, the verbalizations of a woman gone to another plane…of surrender, of sensuality, of utter abandon and perfect affirmation. I’m so gone. So lost.

  And now so consumed, as I’m gripped with total, carnal, white-hot ecstasy.

  “Ooonnngggg!” I let my moan take over as the first zap of my orgasm hits, with my mouth clamping over his fingers as my pussy milks every lurching inch of his stalk. He’s right. I am filled. With his exquisite, kinglike fingers. With his long scepter of a cock. With his demanding dictator’s orders, still pushing into my ear as he charges toward his own awesome completion.

  “Stay here. Right here, Emma. Jesus God, your cunt. And your mouth. They’re mine. All mine.” He plunges all six of his fingers deeper inside me, fucking my mouth at the same cadence his cock takes my tunnel. His movements get harder, faster, more demanding. I moan, feeling the fuse burning closer to the dynamite of his control.

  “Close, baby,” he rasps, his lips
hot and harsh against my ear. “I’m so close. I’m going to come inside your tight channel, and you’re going to take it.”

  Yes. Yes. Yes!

  And suddenly, he’s flooding my womb with his essence. Filling me up with his passion. And yanking everything free from my mouth to replace it with his tongue. As he trades the lunges of his fingers with the stabs and slides of his mouth, I finally cut loose with a full scream into him, hitting my second orgasm as strongly as my first.

  His electric semen soaks me, taking hold of every erotic particle of me from the inside out. I’m fire and fury. Light and glory. A thousand stars of ultimate surrender, giving him everything I’ve ever been and am, taking him deeper and farther and higher and hotter than I ever have before. On the outside, we may be in a tin can flying through the sky, but on the inside, I am the sky, spreading out and around and against the perfect billowing gray thunder of him…and the blinding consummation of his silver lightning.

  We’re locked against each other like that for long minutes. Hours? I’m beyond caring—and far beyond thinking. And why start now on that one? If logic was really a requirement for being with this man, my application would’ve been rejected a long time ago. Sometimes, even now, it’s a struggle to wrap my mind around how we’re here…how I’m here, wrapped in the glory of him. Loving the whole of him. A part of his incredible world.

  And sometimes, when he cants his head and wallops me with this exact gaze, feeling like his whole world.

  Gulp. Big-time.

  Which, of course, he notices at once. “Hey. What is it?” And demands with just as much a take-no-prisoners growl in his voice. As if I’d even think about turning him down anyway. As if I’d want to. Sometimes the only way to survive lightning isn’t to hide from it. The lightning himself has taught me that in the easiest and hardest ways.

  “This,” I murmur at last. “Us.” I let him see all the creases that creep across my brow. “Sometimes it just feels like…”

  “A lot.” He brushes his lips from one end of those furrows to the other. “I know. I know. Me too, baby.”