7: Bolt Saga, Book 7 Read online

  “It’s all right,” I whisper.

  “I know.” Both of his syllables are taut tremors.

  “No, you don’t.” I grab him tighter. “Look at me. Feel me. Believe in me.”

  “Christ.” He bares his teeth. The war of his soul and his body still rages in the depths of his eyes. “Just take my cock, Emmalina. It’s always good enough for everyone else, for fuck’s sake.”

  “I’m not everyone else.” I practically spit it back at him. If he really wants a war right now, I’ll bring that shit to his doorstep. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

  Silver fire flares in his glower. “And if I just choose to let you ride me for hours with that pretty cunt?”

  “Then call me Cowgirl Jane.”

  “Fuck. Me.” His voice is nearly a croak, probably because his cock has instantly swelled. Naturally, he attempts to thrust up again. I resist, using my hold on the wall as leverage, preventing him from parking my pussy all the way down on his erection. Despite all my bravado, it’s torment. Our wrestling is spiking the adrenaline in my system, the sprint of my heartbeat, and every damn cell of the blood pumping to my clutching, yearning sex. If he succeeds in just a few full strikes, my body is liable to declare a coup and explode every resistance I have left.

  Whether Reece has detected exactly that or has capitulated to the rebels in his own blood, I’ll probably never know or care—because a lot of coherent thought flees me from the second he grips my waist and rolls me backward, reversing our positions in one explosive move. Suddenly, my head’s in the dirt, my legs are in the air, and my gaze is flooded with all this man’s heartache, bared in full to me at last. As he wraps his sizzling fingers in the fabric of my dress, he peels back more layers of his soul, stripping himself for me—as he releases his orgasm into me. His face is breathtaking, and I savor every inch of the sight. His teeth locked. His nostrils flared. His forehead crunched. His gaze ignited. He’s a mixture of surrender, strain, sexuality, and pain…and I’ll never ever forget the perfection of getting to see him like this. Utterly exposed for me like this…

  I fling a hand down and grip hard into his coiled shoulder. Somehow, I’ve kept my other hand locked against his face and use my hold to make sure he stays with me, looking at all of me as I take in every inch of his body and every part of his soul.

  All of him.

  His passion. His completion. His burden. His storm.

  The terrible beauty of it is too much to bear. I’m washed in emotion, brimming with the tears he’s given up on ever shedding for himself—so I let him see every one of them, heavy in my eyes and then pouring down my face, as words flow up from my heart as accompaniment.

  “I see you, Reece.”

  “I know.” It’s half breath and half growl as he continues pouring himself into me. Filling me with his electric magic…

  “I love you, Reece.”

  “I know.”

  “All of you, Reece.”

  His face tautens and his lunges deepen, and more of his liquid heat spills into me. “Then do it for me, Emma,” he snarls softly against my lips. “Fall apart for me, Velvet.” With the slightest roll of his hips, he changes the angle of his thick, thrumming length against the quivering walls of my body. “Come for me. Come…”

  His mandate is like a dark wizard seducing a virgin to a sacrificial pyre—and every part of my consciousness is that hypnotized maid ready to be devoured by the beast…devoured in the fire of his hunger. I cry out as the first flames hit. In return, the animal bites hard, puncturing the juices from the darkest reaches of my core. I’m consumed and claimed, eviscerated and engulfed, swallowed but set free. I’m demolished but have never been so restored. Drained but never more filled. My pussy keeps convulsing, needing more of his lightning heat. My body keeps clenching, needing more of his stretching salvation. My heart keeps bursting, craving more of the surrender of his.

  We could be doing this in a luxury bed on thousand-thread-count sheets, and I wouldn’t feel more intimate with him. I maintain the union of our stares, hoping he sees that. Praying he knows in every fiber of his being, as I know in mine, that he’s stolen more than my libido and my heart.

  He’s the storm that’s changed the landscape…

  Of my life, of my soul, of my existence.

  Forever.

  The certainty clings to the back of my mind despite the fuzz of the sexual hangover that persists after Reece slows and then stills inside me, finally withdrawing and then wordlessly carrying me into the house. I don’t speak either, choosing to let his thoughtful aura settle over me as well. There’ve been times when we’re like this after coming together as we just did, though this occurrence of the quiet—like the stillness after a choir has belted the “Alleluia” chorus—feels much more profound. Somewhere during that music, we recomposed some key stanzas for the song called “Us”—and now we’re picking our way carefully back through the new melody, note by precious note.

  After showering together, again in peaceful but mindful silence, we towel off and change into nighttime comfies. While we still don’t spend every night of the week up here, it’s nice to get away for a sleepover or two when we can swing it—and right now, with both of us still in a mode of exhausted contemplation, a drive back to the city feels as doable as a hayride in an ice storm.

  In my Stay Shiny T-shirt and cotton yoga pants, I yank my freshly washed hair into a ponytail, leave the master bathroom, and head for the office downstairs for a quick check on emails from anyone in the LA or New York offices of Richards Reaches Out. Other than filling in for vacationing or sick members of the Hotel Brocade’s executive team, mostly to thank Karma for the job that brought me to Reece in the first place, my very full-time employment is now with the nonprofit arm of the Richards Resorts empire—which means the afternoon I’ve just taken off has likely resulted in a huge stack of messages and an even taller stack of emails. Running a growing organization like this is a lot like managing a hotel. Lots of moving parts, little downtime, and miniscule room for error. It’d be a good time to check in, leaving Reece with some physical and mental room of his own.

  Only, I don’t get more than two steps into the hall before the man loops an arm around my middle and tugs me back against him. At once, my default reaction to his embrace kicks in. I melt into his heat. Revel in his massive muscles. Readily succumb to the way he alters the air itself, like a human blast range. Though he’s gotten better about controlling the shockwaves in public, he never holds it back with me—and my entire body tingles in gratitude, especially when realizing his idea of comfies is simply his nylon workout shorts. As he turns me in his hold, I’m given the treat of being pressed against his gladiator’s thighs and warrior’s torso, with all their sinewy striations still gleaming with post-shower dew…

  “Stay.” He spreads the command, underlined with a hefty dose of appeal, along my forehead. My reply gushes without second thought—nor much volume.

  “Okay.”

  As he steps back, his lips curve up like an arrogant rogue from a Regency romance. Of course, that makes it easy for him to tug me toward the bed and then under the covers with him. The cool, luxurious linens surround us, inspiring a near orgasmic groan from deep in my throat. I’m so damn happy the man doesn’t scrimp on his bedding selections.

  Once more, Reece wraps me from behind, securing his tree branch of one forearm around my waist while propping his other arm beneath a pillow, raising his head enough to watch the sun dip over the ocean along with me.

  For a long collection of minutes, we simply savor the moment. The glory of the peach and gold sky. The rustlings of the wind through the olive and pepper trees outside. The sturdy peace of each other’s presence. It’s all so perfect…

  Until I ruin it with a soft giggle.

  “Do I dare ask what that was for?” There’s a grumble beneath his murmur, but only a small one. Mostly, he’s still in Regency rogue mode, meaning I can be his glib heroine without worry.

  �
�We’re a dating app commercial,” I finally giggle out. “Spooning? Gazing at the sunset? Just add wine, and we’re every cliché in the book.”

  “You want some wine?” He grunts and laughs as I backhand his shoulder, though he twists his head fast enough to tag my knuckles with a couple of quick kisses. “Being a cliché sounds damn nice.”

  “Says the guy who used his hands as jackhammers for most of the day.” And, as his steady caresses on my belly prove, is none the worse for wear, either. I lower my hand over his, encouraging him to keep up the TLC. Though I don’t care to know where he learned how to stroke a woman’s skin like this, I’m damn glad it’s in the man’s wheelhouse.

  “Didn’t say it was possible,” Reece rebuts. “Just said it sounded nice.”

  Despite his mini massage, I stiffen. Regency Rogue is gone—replaced by Get-Me-Out-Of-My-Own-Skin Superhero. “You okay?” I back up the query with a matching graze over his fingers—firmly ordering my deeper worries to stay out of the words but knowing he’ll sense them anyway.

  After a longer-than-normal pause, he utters, “Yeah.” Bestows a firm kiss on my neck. “Sure.”

  “Then why don’t I believe you?”

  With his chin still fitted against my shoulder, he lets out a huff. “Be patient with me, Emmalina. This is…” A new sigh. His tighter embrace. “This is just all a lot of new for me.”

  I lift his hand and press an answering kiss to his palm. “That’s fair. It’s a lot of new for me too.” And I use the adjective as a noun because it’s another one of our special things, and in this moment, all of them feel especially important to acknowledge.

  “Like getting screwed in the mud?”

  I snicker softly. “And that’s the one you went for first?” Though I wriggle a little, enjoying what the memory just did to the part of him nestled against my ass. “But for the record, yes. Definitely a new. And an enjoyable one at that.”

  “Noted.”

  “I’d expect nothing less.”

  “‘Less’ certainly wasn’t what you got.”

  Deciding his quip will spawn more with encouragement, I sideswipe another smack into his bicep instead. After his chuckle fades and I’m settled back in, I murmur, “Okay, your turn.”

  “My turn for what?”

  “Ohhhh, no you don’t.” I secure both hands atop his forearm, keeping him locked in place. “The drill here is clear, mister. Sharing is caring. Your turn.”

  He mmmphs and growls as if I’ve just awakened him for work and even attempts the same tactic to distract me. Yep, with practiced ease, he works his thigh between mine and starts to drag that perfect log of muscle up and down the sensitive crevice at my center…

  “But technically, you didn’t ‘share.’”

  “Excuse me?” I manage the forceful blurt but barely. Holy shit, does the man know how to use that freaking thigh.

  “I shared for you.” He supplies it with another knowing move—the tuck of his lips against the shell of my ear brings exquisite, erotic torment. “Then you just agreed with embellishment.”

  “All right, then.” I wield my down-to-business tone as fortification. “So I’ll share for you now.”

  A new growl, not so ready this time. “Should’ve seen that one coming.”

  “You were distracted.” I provide more evidence by grinding my crotch more wantonly against his quadriceps, savoring the scrape of his wiry leg hair against the soft cotton of my pants.

  “Now it seems you are too.”

  “Not enough to forget I’ve got to share.” The statement sparks fresh tension through Reece’s form, but before he can funnel that into seducing me more, I forge forward with the rest. “That I know it was new for you to expose the scars of your past. That you’re so used to covering them, you had no idea they still existed. And that they probably hurt as if you’ve torn them all back open again.”

  I have a lot more to add but force myself to clamp it at that, cued by the discernible energy rolling through him as a reaction. It’s more than agitation but not quite anger…a notch past loneliness yet not all the way to desolation.

  In short, I’ve hit the nail on the head, but now he’s debating how to diminish the dents.

  And losing the battle.

  A fact to which he bears blatant testament, all but snarling out his retort into my ear.

  “Re-exposing wounds only infects them, Velvet.” He bites down, dragging my lobe between his teeth and layering his triumphant hiss over my sudden outcry. “So don’t expect my blood every time you come knocking now.”

  He keeps his mouth open while leaning in farther, scoring the line of my jaw and the hollow of my neck. At the same time, he shoves his hand beneath my shirt, not stopping until he reaches my breast…and twists relentless fingers around my pointed nipple.

  I don’t cry this time.

  I scream.

  He doesn’t snarl this time.

  He rumbles.

  “Okay,” I finally gasp. This time, it’s not easy. With my breast throbbing and my pulse racing, words are rapidly becoming close to impossible. “Got it. D-Don’t…expect…b-blood.”

  “Not unless you’re willing to shed a little in return.”

  Oh, God.

  I’m vaguely aware of the expression actually tumbling off my lips just as the impact of his ultimatum hits my senses…

  In the form of the rogue that’s returned to his voice.

  And the stiffness that swells again in his cock.

  And the purpose that guides his hand down my pants.

  To the crevice between my buttocks.

  And the sensitive entrance he begins to finger there.

  Chapter Three

  Reece

  “Oh…God.”

  She repeats it, with a higher pitch and a heavier breath, as I work the tip of my index finger inside the rim of her pretty asshole. And fuck yes, it’s pretty. And hell yes, I know that even though my gaze is currently fixed on her mesmerizing profile—and the effect of my penetration on the perfect slit between her gorgeous back cheeks.

  The fantasy that’s never far from my mind…

  But in so many ways has never been further.

  Because entertaining it for too long would mean an instantaneous climax.

  Holy fuck.

  I’ve always enjoyed the act with other lovers—I may be a mutant, but damn it, I’m still a guy—but none of those past occasions even comes close to the turn-on of just thinking about my cock there with Emma. Inside Emma. The woman who’s changed my life. The lover who’s changed my desires. All of them now about her…so much better and brighter and hotter because of her.

  She proves it all over again now, with her fluttering eyelashes and parted lips and addicting sighs, pulsing out in time to my rhythmic circles of her tiny pucker, urging her forbidden flesh to yield for me. Christ. Just watching the effect it has on her is intoxicating. I drink in every inch of her face as I stretch her…and open her…

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  But I shut my eyes to cancel out that vision because even now I’m spurting precome inside my shorts. If I cared to look down there—and I really fucking don’t—I’m sure the edges of the nylon would be aglow with brilliant cobalt light from my happy Smurf Daddy of a dick.

  “Happy” being relative.

  Really relative.

  “Well…” The last of it trails off my tongue as I lick the backside of her ear with lusty languor. As a shiver takes over her skin, her intimate muscles suck at my fingertip. “I’m an equitable man. The trade-off doesn’t have to be in blood.”

  To make that message clear—and who am I kidding? I need to and want to make it perfectly clear—I prod her ass a little deeper. I’m past the point of all my previous playful teases and into the realm of showing her exactly what I’m craving here and now. What I might even need, beyond the physical urgency of my body. Baring her like this, conquering her in this primal way, gives the chance to swing our pendulum back to center. Fear for
fear. Nakedness for nakedness. Revelation for revelation. And yeah…reward for reward. Emma just doesn’t know that part yet.

  But if she says yes, I sure as fuck promise that she will.

  “Wh-What do you have in mind?”

  I smile against her shoulder. That’s a very good sign—and a damn good question.

  “What do you have in mind, my velvet cowgirl?” I tilt my head, knowing she catches my smirk in her periphery, at least. “What special commodities do you have to trade?”

  The sexy slopes of her lips purse tight but open right back up as I insert a second finger into her tight, tantalizing hole. “Let’s…ummm…let’s see…”

  “Oh, yes.” With one easy flip, I roll her onto her stomach. “Let’s.” With another, I’ve tugged her yoga pants to her knees. One deft grab of my toe, and they’re off her completely.

  “I…I assume my boot collection and guacamole recipe are off the table.”

  “I’d look great in your Vaccarellos, and your guacamole is the nectar of the gods…” My growl, dark and primal, inserts itself from the second I push apart the sweet valentine of her ass. “But I want the nectar of a goddess.”

  And not just that. As I spread her wider with my free hand, I work a third finger inside her forbidden entrance. As soon as she accepts my invasion, filling the air with her succulent sighs and mewls, I curl my touch around and then in so I can caress into all the wet, fascinating folds of her pussy.

  She’s captivating.

  Breathtaking.

  Glistening and shining and coming alive for me in ways I haven’t ever anticipated.

  There’s the shiny arousal just inside the V of her thighs. The dewdrops of sweat trailing the focused furrows in her forehead. The kiss of early twilight, reflecting from the open hills and the distant sea, in the elegant valley of her lower back. She’s a collection of light and liquid, of pale-amber skin and gleaming electric reflections—especially as I reach for the nightstand and my fingers start to pulse brighter.