Shannon McKenna Bundle: Ultimate Weapon, Extreme Danger, Behind Closed Doors, Hot Night, & Return to Me. Shannon McKenna
pale, too, and too young, somehow with all that tangled hair hanging down. A big-eyed innocent. Tarted up in slutty, inappropriate lingerie.
His hands slid up to cup her breasts, and her body rippled in his hands. She stifled a whimper. Her skin almost hurt, it was so sensitive to every tiny touch. Vulnerable.
“Why did you do that to me?” she asked, her voice muted.
He nuzzled her shoulder, toying with her nipples with his thumbs. “Do what? The drug, you mean?”
She twisted in his grasp to meet his eyes. “What else?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You dare to be indignant, after what you did to me in the hotel room?”
She waved her hand, irritated. “That’s different. I asked nicely for you to fuck off. Then I asked not nicely. You didn’t respond, so I had to put you down. Too bad. Very simple. Nothing personal. But drugging me to seduce me is completely different. That’s extremely personal.”
His hands dropped from her breasts and gripped her waist, stroking the curve of her belly. His eyes slid away from hers.
“I needed to get close to you,” he admitted. “And your defenses are so strong. It is practically impossible to get through them. I think that I could have done so, given time—”
“You think very well of yourself,” she cut in, stung.
“Given time,” he repeated firmly, “I could have done so. I did, at Shibumi. But Imre does not have time, and I do not have time.”
“So it was all about Imre, then? Just as I thought.” She felt an irrational urge to weep, scream, shove him away. “Not about me.”
“No.” His face contracted. His arms circled her, wrapping around her and dragging her close against his chest. She felt the bulge of his erection, prodding her buttocks. “God, no. I want you. Do not doubt it.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Of course, he had to say that. She would be a boneheaded bimbo to let herself believe it. But still, she stood there, wrapped in his warmth, her mind melting down.
He felt so good. Every cell of her body was thirstily sucking up his hot energy. There was so much of it. So much of him. He was delicious.
“It still doesn’t track,” she said stubbornly. “What does sex have to do with Imre? We won’t be fucking our way into Novak’s stronghold.”
He dropped his face to her shoulder and started kissing her again. “You found me out,” he said. “I wanted you, I could not melt you, and I could not bear to wait. Forgive me. I am a filthy porcone. The truth is out.”
“Stop using that word,” she snapped.
He lifted his head, eyes narrowed. “What word?”
“Truth,” she clarified, her voice cutting. “It bugs me.”
His face went somber. “Of course it does. It is the thing you need, above all else, no? The thing you long for, whether you know it or not.”
She snorted. “And how do you know this secret longing?”
“Because I need it as well,” he said. “We are two of a kind.”
The low, gentle vibration of his voice was the magic touch that slid through her defenses. She stopped fighting him, and herself. Her body ached for contact. Her nails dug into his forearms and her breath hitched with each slow, skillful stroke over her skin.
He slid his hand down between her legs, stroking the damp seam of her labia with a fingertip, in no hurry to penetrate. It was just an invitation, a gentle call to all her nerves to get ready, to work themselves into tingling awareness. He rubbed her clit, a lazy, undemanding swirl around…around. Reminding her that he was thinking about it, that he had big plans for it…and oh…
God. A shudder arced through her body. The accumulated tension of years, violently unwound by his light touch, throbbing through her.
Tears shimmered in her eyes. She squeezed them shut.
“I barely touch you, and you come apart,” he murmured. “Beautiful.”
But it didn’t make her feel beautiful. It made her feel like she had no skin. Foolish and needy. And so goddamn stupid.
She couldn’t bear to play the fool again so soon. She couldn’t push him away, either.
So she chose another path.
Instinctively, she threw a switch inside her brain. A technique she’d learned when she was very young, and it had served her well. Her seductive siren persona, the part of her that could drive men mad with pleasure while mentally composing a grocery list. A part of herself she had never intended to use again after the Novak debacle. It was ready to do its job, though, and it was a blessed relief to feel that power rise, bolstered by her confidence in her own beauty, her practiced skill at giving pleasure.
It had never failed her, except with Kurt Novak. And he’d been a special case, being something both less and more than human.
But Janos was wonderfully human. It would flatten him to the ground, just as he had done to her. Yes. She couldn’t wait.
She turned and shoved him back against the wall. He looked startled by her sudden aggression. She splayed her hands over his hot, hard chest. Her palms crackled with the hot polarity between them.
His eyes narrowed at the change in her. She sought out every tiny detail of him with her fingertips, then her lips. She trailed hot, moist kisses down his chest, feeling him shiver and gasp as she kissed and tongued the tight, dark nubs of his nipples, perched on the flat, hard shelf of his pecs. Tasting his sharp salt flavor. She slid her hands down over the rippled belly muscles, the silken grain of dark hair arrowing down to his waistband. She wrenched the buttons of his jeans open, yanked them down his thighs, combed that arrow of hair with her fingertips down to where it swelled again to a springy tuft at his groin.
And his cock. So thick and broad, filling her hand. The slit at the tip was gleaming with slippery pre-come. She anointed her hand with it and stroked, pulled, gripped, milked him. His eyes closed, and he flung his head back. His breath rasped harshly.
Ah, yes. This was much better. She was in control. Disposed to make his wildest dreams come true, to be his nympho siren, blow his mind, rock his world. She sank to her knees with theatrical slowness, breathing in the salt tang of his skin, the hot musk of his groin.
His cock jutted out so far she had to scoot back to accommodate him. She stroked the whole throbbing, empurpled length of his broad, veined stalk with her tongue, swirling it all around the crimson head. She took him into her mouth, creating the wet, silken suction that all men dreamed of with her lips and her tongue, varying it with luscious lapping, teasing flutters, deep and bold and hungry. She caressed the dips and swells and hollows of his naked hips.
She deepened the strokes, pulling him as far as she could into her throat, suckling hard, fluttering her fingers under his heavy balls. He wound his fingers into her hair, urging her on with pleading tugs, now and again holding her still and drawing back to climax without ejaculating. Three times. The man had astonishing self-control.
She would make him lose his control, goddamnit. She would punish him for demolishing her life, for making her want him so badly. For being so strong, so difficult, so persistent. She would make him explode and weep and beg. She would show him who was boss.
He cupped her face in his hands and pulled it gently away from his body. “No,” he said unsteadily.
She looked up, confused, and wiped her mouth. “No, what? No, not yet? No, not in my mouth? Be specific.”
“Not with a sex toy,” he said. “I prefer the real woman.”
The rejection was a slap. Soul deep. Entirely unexpected. She stared, shocked to immobility, then rose and backed as far away as the small room would allow. “If you hate it, just fuck off.”
He winced.