If You Hear Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (23 page)

A smile bloomed on her lips just as he crushed his mouth to hers.

She moaned into his kiss and rose on her toes, arching against him. Her breasts pressed flat against his chest, her belly cradling his cock. Sliding his hands under the waistband of her trousers he shoved them down as far as he could without breaking contact with her mouth. “Naked, Lena. Get naked for me.”

She shimmied her hips and the black cotton fell into a puddle at her feet. Then she leaned back, reaching for the hem of her shirt. Ezra beat her to it, stripping the skimpy tank away and staring down at her. His mouth went dry.

Her breasts were perfect, small, firm mounds, pale as cream, topped with hard nipples. Dipping his head, he caught one in his mouth. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he boosted her up and turned, pressing her up against the wall. She tangled her hands in his hair and arched against him, whimpering under her breath.

Ezra worked a hand between them, unwilling to let her go, but he had to touch her, had to touch her more, had to touch her everywhere. At the first touch of the slick wet heat between her thighs, he shuddered and groaned. “Fuck, Lena … you’re wet.”

She arched against his hand and gasped as he plunged two fingers inside her. The walls of her pussy clenched around him, tight and greedy. “Put me down, Ezra.”

“Why?” He pressed his mouth to her neck and bit her. “I like you just where you’re at.”

“The bedroom.” She whimpered and rocked against his hand. “The bedroom’s upstairs.”

Ezra kissed her, keeping the contact light. “No bedroom, baby. Right here … I’m going to die if I don’t fuck you right here, right now.” He pressed his brow to hers and said, “Is that okay? Please, please, please say that’s okay.”

“Um … that’s more than okay,” she said, her voice breathless.

“Good.” He circled the tip of one finger around her clit, smiling as her long, slender body arched and shuddered. “So damn hot and tight. You’re already so wet for me.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth parted. The heat of her body seemed to skyrocket. Laughing, he leaned in and nipped her lower lip. “You like dirty talk, Lena?”

“Yes.” Then she blushed and tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging him close. “I like it when you talk, period.”

If he had any semblance of control left, he just might have pressed his lips to her ear and given her all the dirty talk she could handle, told her how he was dying to bury his mouth against her pussy and see what she tasted like, that he loved the way she smelled like peaches and moved like sin, but his brain was shutting down on him. Shutting down, drowning out anything but the need to lose himself in her.

“I’ll give you plenty of dirty talk. Later. Right now …” He slowly lowered her to the floor and then reached for his wallet. Yeah, just call him a Boy Scout. He grabbed one of the two rubbers he’d shoved inside it and then he dropped the wallet to the floor. He could get it later—he’d need it later, because this first time wasn’t going to last, and there was no way he could get his fill of her in a few minutes.

Hell, a few decades …

He tore the foil wrapper open, but before he could put it on, Lena reached between them. She took it from him, holding it in one hand while she slid her other hand down his chest, along his belly until she could wrap her fingers around his cock. “Carry rubbers around all the time?” she asked, fumbling a little as she unrolled it down over his length.

“No … but hope springs eternal.” He adjusted the rubber and then reached for her, pulling her into his arms.

“Your leg.”

“Leg’s fine,” he rasped, slanting his mouth over hers and boosting her up. It wasn’t—already the muscles were knotting up on him, but he didn’t give a damn. The pain in his thigh was nothing compared to the ache in his cock, in his balls. “Wrap your legs around me, Lena … hold on to me.”

She did and he shuddered as it opened her folds. Nudging against her with the head of his cock, he leaned into her, sank inside … lost himself. He stared into her sightless eyes and felt stripped bare as she curled her hands around his neck. “Fuck, Lena.…”

She arched against him and he sank deeper, deeper inside that long pale body, until the russet curls between her thighs tangled with the thick, coarse hair surrounding his cock. Buried inside her, he blew out a harsh breath and tried to suck in more air. “You okay?”

“No …” she whimpered, working her hips, trying to ride him.

“No?” He could feel her, through the thin latex barrier; she was slick as satin, wet as rain, and burning—burning him, wrapping hot fiery tendrils around his balls and squeezing tight, tight, leaving him torn between exquisite pleasure and near pain. “Not okay?”

“Hell, no. I won’t be until you move.”

He gave a pained laugh and then started to move, stroked deep inside her honeyed depths and shuddered. “Then maybe I should move … like this?” He pulled out until just the head of his cock remained in her snug heat.

“Hmmm. That’s a good start.”

“What about this?” He pushed deep, but stopped a few inches shy of complete impalement.

Lena pouted and rolled her hips against him. “Not so good there … damn it, Ezra, don’t tease me.”

He would have, though. If he could breathe. He would have teased, toyed, and played with her until she was the sweating, desperate mess that he was—until he thought she was even half as desperate for him as he was for her.

But he couldn’t because he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—couldn’t do a damn thing but swivel his hips and bury his length inside her. Again. Again. Her pussy went tight around him, gripping him convulsively, milking him like a hot, tight little fist, and he groaned, desperately.

He was going to lose it—going to come before he’d even had a couple of minutes in heaven, before he gave her even a tenth of the pleasure she was giving him. Working a hand between them, he pressed his thumb against her clit and stroked.

Lena stiffened in his arms and arched up, her head slamming back against the wall. A wild cry escaped her lips and he swore, crushing his mouth down on hers, swallowing her cry, swallowing her moans. “Come for me,” he muttered against her lips.

Too soon—he wasn’t giving her enough—

But she came—like she was already primed for him and all she’d needed was that teasing, taunting touch.

Hot and wild, she exploded for him, her hands tangled in his hair, her legs tightening around his hips. The ache in his balls expanded and he growled against her lips,
but now he fought back his own release with a vengeance. Again—he wanted to see it again, and this time, he wanted to watch her as she came, see it in her eyes.

He held back and shifted, reaching down and hooking first her left thigh, then her right over his elbows, leaning into her. Holding her open, exposed, he slowed his thrusts and eased back, stared, watched as he fed one slow inch after another into her heat. She was so fucking wet, so damned soft. Beads of moisture gleamed in her curls and he groaned. Needed to taste her—had to, but couldn’t stop.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped and she did. With rapt fascination, he watched as she worked a hand between their bodies and circled one fingertip around her clit. Quick, light circles. Her breathing sped up and he gritted his teeth as she went tight around him. “Don’t come again, not yet, fuck it, you’re killing me. Give me your hand, give me a taste.”

She hesitated.

“I want to lick your fingers, Lena … one taste, give me a taste,” he ordered, staring down at her pink pussy, so desperate to taste her that he might have pulled away and gone down on her, fuck his bad leg, fuck his aching balls. Worth it to taste her—but then she reached up, seeking out his mouth. He leaned in and caught her fingertips between his lips, sucked on them.

Sin. She tasted like sin. Hot, dark, and ripe—

“Fuck, Lena, we should have gone to your room. I want a better taste of you.” He leaned in and kissed her, plunging his tongue inside her mouth and gorging on her. Sweet, she was sweet everywhere.

She arched up against him, moaned into his mouth. Her pussy flexed around him—milked, squeezed …

Ezra lost it. Hard and fast, he shafted her. She cried out against his mouth, and he swallowed it down and rode her until she cried out again, and again, and again … 
as she came apart in his arms. And then it was his turn, his orgasm ripping from him with near-painful intensity.

He let go of her legs and wrapped his arms around her torso, banding her against him and shuddering, shaking like a man caught in the grip of fever. Shaking. Shuddering. All but dying.

I
T WASN
’
T ENTIRELY UNUSUAL TO SEE A VEHICLE PARKED
in front of Lena Riddle’s house.

But he knew the cars he expected to see there.

He was careful—after all, this was his territory and he made sure he knew exactly what took place in his territory.

The truck parked in front of Lena’s house now wasn’t one he wanted to see there.

It belonged to a newcomer.

It belonged to a cop.

One who’d been in the sheriff’s office last week.

One who’d been talking to Lena Riddle in town last week.

One who’d been talking to Lena Riddle rather often, as a matter of fact.

Seeing that truck parked in front of the woman’s house now had him furious—for so many reasons.

He’d finally made a decision about what to do with his girl, and he’d come to take care of things, and now, he couldn’t. Not while there was a cop a few hundred yards away.

“Why?” he muttered to himself as he retreated into the trees.

Why in the hell was the cop there? What did he want with Lena?

He’d done some asking around about Ezra King. Knew the state cop was on leave.

On leave. And out of his jurisdiction. But that didn’t mean much to some cops, he knew. Apparently King was one of those, the kind who’d caught a scent of something and he didn’t want to let it go.

Or maybe all he had caught scent of was Lena. Still, on leave or not, he was showing too much interest in that woman, an interest that hadn’t started until after the phone call reporting the screams.

Damn it.

Damn her.

Right then, he didn’t know if he was damning Lena, or damning his girl, or damning them both.

As he got farther from the house, he broke into a run. It was hot out, hot and muggy and sweat dripped down his arms. Under the long-sleeved shirt he wore, sweat stung the scratches on his arms. Scratches from her, from his pursuit of her through the woods.

Fortunately, considering his job, it wasn’t unusual for him to be seen wearing long sleeves, and nobody would think twice of it. The scratches would heal, and they weren’t deep enough to scar.

New plans. He needed to come up with a new plan, something that might deter the cop. Give the cop something else to focus on.

The cop—damn it.

The anger ate him, but he’d be careful.

He was good at his games and he knew, better than most, just how important it was to be careful.

“I don’t know if my legs are gonna work,” Ezra mumbled against her neck.

They still leaned against the wall and Lena was pretty sure that if he let go of her, she would just sag to the floor, maybe sleep for an hour or two. Or ten. Then, she just might find the energy to walk.

“You’re gonna have to walk, Slick,” she said, turning her head and kissing his ear. “If I have to stand here too much longer, I might decide to spend the night here.”

“Night’s still a long time away. I might be able to move before then.”

She laughed and pushed against his chest. “Move.” She grinned, lifting her face to his. “Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

“Hmmm.” He dipped his head and rubbed his mouth against hers. “Okay. I’m always up for dessert.”

“There’s no dessert in my room.”

Ezra trailed his fingers down her side, over her hip, dipping them between her thighs and stroking the slick, sensitive folds there. “There will be if you’re in there.”

She blushed. She could feel the heated flush as it formed on her chest and crept upward until her cheeks flamed with it. “I haven’t been called dessert before.”

“Hot and sweet, sounds like dessert to me.” He took a deep breath—she could feel it against her breasts, hear it whisper along her skin.

“My room. Now.” She swallowed and pressed against his chest. “Or better yet, yesterday.”

She took a step away, but there was something on the floor. She stumbled, slamming a hand against the wall, but the heel of her palm just glanced off the edge as the wall curved into the arched doorway of the living room.

But she didn’t fall. Hard, strong hands caught her, steadied her. “Shit, Lena. I’m sorry …”

She turned her head toward him, following the sound of his voice as he knelt down.

“It … ah … it was my wallet. I dropped it.”

Lena reached out, brushed her fingers against his cheek. He caught her hand and pressed it against him as he stood. Under her fingers, she could feel the prickly, rough growth of stubble and his skin—hot—too hot. She heard the strain in his voice, recognized the embarrassment easily enough and it helped ease her own.