Harris (Alpha One Security #1) (14 page)

I was beginning to feel it, now. Not doubting, exactly, but feeling the toll. And Nick was a mess.

“Are you ready to come, Nick?” I gasped in his ear.

“Fuck…please. Yes, Layla.”
 

“Will you beg me?” I rode him slow, now. “I think I need to hear you beg.”
 

“Layla…” he murmured my name. “Please, Layla. Please, please,
please
let me come. I need it, so bad. I’m begging you.” He whispered this in my ear. Desperate, earnest, intent. A ragged whisper.

“I think you’ve earned it.”
 

I slid him out of me. Moved to the foot of the bed, untied his right ankle. His left ankle. And then I lay down on my back beside him, putting my lips to his ear. “I’m going to untie your left hand now.”

 
“Bad idea,” Nick growled, sounding more like Scary Harris than anything. “Really bad idea. I have zero control.”

I bit his earlobe, reaching up to work free the knots of the necktie binding his right wrist to the bedpost. “Don’t you know me well enough by now, sweetheart?” I freed the last of the knots. “That’s what I want most.”

As soon as his wrist was free, Nick moved like a pouncing lion. He ripped the cock ring off and hurled it viciously across the room. Something smashed. He yanked open the bedside drawer—I heard the snick of a knife unfolding, and then I knew he was free.

No lie, my heart was pounding. I was a little scared of the monster I’d created. I’d lost track of time, but I think I had Nick tied up and helpless beneath me for, oh, at least three hours, if not more. An eternity, for a man accustomed to utter control. An eternity of needing to come, being on the edge, and not being able to cross over.
 

He moved like a predator, pouncing on me like a lion grabbing a gazelle. He snatched my wrists, both of them in one hand and used his other hand to knock my thighs open, one, then the other. He traced the opening of my wet, throbbing pussy, guiding his cock to the entrance, holding himself there, just the wide head notched inside me. He leaned down, breathing hard, shaking all over and put his lips to my ear.

“You got me back, babe.” He whispered in a guttural, barely-controlled snarl in my ear. “You got me back good.”
 

And then, without warning, he let go of my wrists, grabbed my hips and flipped me over. He shoved my face into the mattress, jerked my hips up, so my ass was high in the air.
 

Then he slapped my ass so hard I squeaked, rocked forward away from the spank, more out of surprise. But Nick grabbed me and put me back in place. Then he reached down and guided himself back in, just the tip nestled in the very outer limits of my cunt. He held himself there, as if gathering himself. Focusing.
 

And then, with a feral roar, he slammed in, deep, hard. Fucked in mercilessly. Flesh slapped, and his cock buried itself in me, and I cried out. He gave no quarter, then, but began fucking me in earnest, harder than he’d ever fucked me the entire time we’d been together. Almost brutally hard.

And I loved every single second of it, rocked with his battering thrusts, rocked back into them. Cried out in bliss as he fucked more orgasms out of me. No more counting.

Lies: Thirty-five—thirty-six…fuck, fuck, fuck, how many more could I take? They hurt, now. Ripping, plundering, scattering climaxes, one after another, because Nick was fierce and wild and insatiable.
 

And then he came, slammed home once more, and then buried himself to the hilt and ground his hips against me, ground himself inside me, fingers gripping my hips with bruising force, keeping me jerked hard against him. He came, exploding in me so hard I felt it like a geyser.
 

“Layla! Fuck—fuck, oh fucking Christ—” and then he was just shouting incoherently as he literally blew his brains out through his cock inside my throbbing, well-used cunt.

Over and over and over, he came. So long, so hard. A seemingly endless orgasm.
 

And then he collapsed.
 

I was done.

 
So done.
 

“How—how many?” Nick gasped.

“Thirty…thirty-nine, I think. I lost track toward the end there.”
 

I was seeing stars, feeling dizzy and faint.
 

The vibrator was still buzzing madly inside my ass.

Nick could feel it, too. He reached back there, levering himself over me. “Thirty-nine?” He found the pull-string, and gently tugged. His other hand was busy, too, swirling against me. “Might as well make it a nice round forty.”

“I don’t know…” I grated out, teeth clenched. Fighting it, now. “I don’t know if I—if I can.”
 

“I thought you didn’t have a threshold?”

“I think we…oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! I think we found it.” I sounded desperate. Panicked. The pressure inside me was unbearable. Volcanic. Sharp. Cutting. I couldn’t take it. This one would be too much. Too much. One over the line.

“Can’t stop now, isn’t that right?” Nick’s voice was pleased, because he was once again in control.

And the truth was, I’d known all along I’d never find the edge, never find my limit without Nick to take me there.
 

I was not a woman who submitted, not to anyone, not ever. But when I gave in to Nick, that’s when shit got the most intense.

I gave over, then.

Abandoned myself to it. His fingers worked hard. He gradually drew the vibrator out, and then pushed it back in. Out, and then back in. Further out, and then in. Fingers circling me wildly all the while.
 

I found the crest, and I reached it sobbing. Actually sobbing, the searing, painful heat of the breaking climax was so much, too much, so completely too much for me to handle. And when it crested, when I fell over that edge, sobbing too hard to even scream, Nick pulled the vibrator free and the orgasm detonated within me, a white-hot nuclear spasm washing through me, overtaking me.
 

And then I literally passed out.

When I woke up, I was in Nick’s arms—I was home. I let out a contented sigh before I even opened my eyes. I knew he was awake already, from his breathing.
 

“I love you, Layla Campari.” His voice was muzzy; he hadn’t been awake long, then.

“Even though I’m stubborn, reckless, and refuse to ever do what I’m told?”

He rolled over, my head cradled on his forearms, his body over mine, nestling into me, gliding in where he belonged, lips kissing mine, whispering. “Especially because of that.”

“You know I’ll listen to you when it counts, right?” I said, between gasps of bliss.

“Yeah, babe. I know. And I promise I’ll never take it easy on you. Out there, you’re one of the guys.” He plunged, bucked, rocked, but slowly, smoothly, lovingly. “In here, though—”

“I’m all yours.”

“Forever.”
 

“Promise?”

He pressed his forehead to mine. “Yeah, I promise.”

“You know I still expect a romantic proposal one day, right?”

“You’ll get it. Someday.”
 

That’s all the promise I needed. I didn’t really need a ring or a proposal, I just needed this man, no matter what.

Keep reading for a sneak preview of:

THRESH

An
Alpha One Security
novella

By
 

Jasinda Wilder

1

DAMN THAT MAN

The hospital PA system crackled over the speakers at the same time my pager buzzed in my lab coat pocket. “PAGING DOCTOR REED TO THE ER, DOCTOR REED TO THE ER, PLEASE
.
”

My pager confirmed what the PA had just announced: I was needed in the ER.
 

I’m not an ER doctor. I hate the pressure and the pace of the ER, and vowed after doing my time in med school that I’d never work the ER again unless absolutely necessary. I like the peace and relative quiet of the ICU. Clean, empty corridors, doors all closed, my shoes squeaking on the tile. None of the wild bustle and manic, frenetic insanity of the ER, the paramedics shoving crash carts through the doors, ambulances coming and going, nurses on the run, doctors bustling from door to door, never a moment to yourself, never a moment to breathe.
 

Nope.

So being paged to the ER was unusual. I wonder what they wanted me for?

I quickly finished checking the vitals of the patient I was with, replaced his chart, feeling reassured that the seventeen year old boy would be okay in no time—he’d been in a car wreck, out joy-riding with some friends. I reminded him how lucky he was to be alive, hoping it would drive the message home.

I left his room and moved at a quick clip to the elevators, down to the first floor, and across the hospital to to the ER. I found the triage desk, and the brusque, gray-haired man working it.
 

“Hi, I’m Doctor Reed. I was paged to the ER?”
 

He didn’t look up from the computer screen. “Waiting room. Patient asking for you.”
 

“What?”
 

He finally turned his attention to me. “The waiting room.” He enunciated it like I was either stupid or hard of hearing. “There is a patient asking for you by name.”
 

Who in the world…?

Anyone who knew me would come up to the ICU looking for me. Or call me. Or text me. Or find me at home. Who would come to the ER and ask for me?

I tugged on the ends of the stethoscope looped over the back of my neck, a nervous habit of mine. I blinked a few times, and then pushed through the door and out into the waiting room.

I scanned the crowd—it was a Saturday night, so the Jackson Memorial ER was a hopping place. People were everywhere, bleeding, holding bandages to thumbs and other appendages, moaning, leaning on loved ones. I didn’t see anyone I knew.
 

And then…there he was.
 

The man I’d privately nicknamed Atlas. Seven feet tall, probably somewhere in the neighborhood of three hundred pounds, maybe three twenty. A real monster. But…a ridiculously gorgeous monster, if you went in for mountains of muscle wrapped around tectonic plates of bone, all sheathed in rolling acres of tan skin. But holy hell, those eyes. Pale, pale, pale ice blue. Almost white, they were so blue. Or very pale gray to the point of being blue. An odd, piercing shade. And his hair. Platinum blond, shaved on the sides to create wide Mohawk that resembled a Roman helmet crest, perfectly trimmed and shaped. The kind of thing that, on anyone else, would look stupid, or at least juvenile. But on this man? It just suited him. Made him look even scarier. Thick blond scruff on his jaw. God, that scruff was delicious looking.
 

He’d been here a little over a year ago; standing guard for a friend or co-worker who had been shot. Nicholas Harris? I think that was the name of the guy. Older, good looking in a lean and sharp and rugged way. Shot four times, or five? Lived, and walked out to tell the tale. Damndest thing I ever saw, and I’ve seen a lot.

Now here he was again, asking for me by name?

His left arm was a bloody wreck. His whole torso was covered in blood, but I think the worst of it came from his arm, and possibly his shoulder. Some of the blood was dried, and the blood on his black T-shirt was crusted stiff, which meant he’d been injured a while ago.
 

That shirt, though—it was so big I could probably fit into it twice, yet it was tight on him, stretched across the dizzying cliffside that was his chest, and bulging to bursting at the biceps.
 

I took a deep breath, crossed the waiting room.
 

“You again.” I kept my voice sharp. “How can I help you?”

He shrugged his shoulder, indicating his wounded arm. “This.”
 

“I’m not an ER doctor.” I gestured at the waiting room. “This is the ER, you have to—”

“Been waiting a while, doc. I want you to fix it.”
 

“I’m not a triage physician, Mister—?”

“Name’s Thresh.” He stood up, slowly, carefully. Woozily. Instinctively, I moved closer to him, put my shoulder under his good arm to prop him up. Not that I could do much to stop him if he were to pass out. “Don’t care what kind of doctor you are. Just…fix it.”
 

“You’ll have to go through the appropriate channels, Mr. Thresh.”
 

“Then I’ll just bleed out here, I guess. Been bleeding for awhile, now.” He leaned into me, and his weight nearly crushed me.
 

I bore up under it, tensed, straightened. Lifted. “You can’t guilt me into seeing to your injuries, Mister Thresh.”

“Just Thresh.” His head flopped back on his neck. His weight increased as he lost the ability to stand up on his own. I’m a pretty buff girl, but there was no way I could hold him up for much longer. “I’m getting faint, doc.”
 

 
I stared up at him, at his sculpted, brutally beautiful features. He really did look peaked and pale. I wondered how long he’d been bleeding. What had happened to him? I shook those thoughts away; it didn’t matter.
 

“First things first: we need to get you processed.” I glanced over my shoulder at the male nurse behind the desk. “Can I get his paperwork, please?”
 

The nurse, once again, didn’t look up. “Wouldn’t fill it out.”
 

“Can I have the blank forms, then, please?”

He heaved a sigh, as if I’d asked him to sell his firstborn child, or a kidney, but he brought me a clipboard with the intake forms. “Here. Good luck.” He glanced at Thresh warily, and possibly a bit derisively. “You’re gonna need it.”
 

Thresh growled, a sound not unlike the warning rumble you might get from, oh, say, a displeased grizzly bear. “Hey, pal, watch it. I can still crush you like a fuckin’ bug.”
 

The nurse paled, shuffled backward a step. “I—I’m sorry. I just—”

“Piss off, pissant,” Thresh said.

The nurse fairly ran back to his desk. I hated how it made me feel, seeing Thresh put that unpleasant person in his place. I fought to keep the grin off my face. I handed Thresh the clipboard. “Fill this out please.”