Vixen

 

Tiffany’s heart pounded and she gulped air. Fighting Cry Baby had taken more out of her than she wanted to admit. Cry Baby wasn’t just an expert fighter, he was a considerate one. He hadn’t pulled his strikes, as much as she realized he hadn’t struck as often as he could have. It was a calculated move, but he’d been sure to show her when he could have done damage. Her response, attack full force and show him he didn’t have to make concessions for her.

Now she had ten—make that eight—seconds to win against the hulking brute. She bucked her hips, and her Kevlar covered vagina came into direct contact with thick, long male. God, he’s hung. She shook her head to clear it, but when she bucked her body again, it was more roll than savage thrust, and she couldn’t suppress a whimper.

“Five seconds, beautiful.”

He smiled and she was temporarily blinded. She had never, in her entire life, seen a man a sexy as him. It wasn’t in the perfection of his looks, or in the way he’d built his body. Instead, it was the package. He was great looking, with full lips and a daring smile that hinted at dangerous fun. His sharp white teeth nipped at his bottom lip and she felt her knees go weak. It was his eyes, though, that slayed her. He watched the world with utter confidence, held his shoulders stiff, and she knew he never thought he’d ever be lacking. He was the sort of man, through arduous work and perseverance, who’d survived everything life had thrown at him.

“Three…Two…One…”

Wait…What?

It didn’t matter. Everything exploded. She never got a single move off, and Cry Baby didn’t wait to claim his prize. His sinful, warm lips slid across her and she was paralyzed. Muscles locked and rigid, her entire world zeroed down to just the touch of his lips on hers. He was crushed against her body from groin to chest and his heat pulsed into her, in time with the subtle rocking of his head. Tiffany wasn’t a prude, and she’d had her share of dates. In her field of work, sometimes the dates she had been necessary to her job, but she had never, ever, been kissed the way she was kissed right then.

Cry Baby cradled her head and pulled her into his heat as he sucked her bottom lip between his teeth. His sharp incisors pressed against the sensitive inner tissue and she moaned. She tasted coffee and hints of mint as he slipped his tongue against hers. She reveled in his sensual skill. It wasn’t so much that he did it with equal finesse and style, as much as the fact that he gave his all into it. His fingers speared into her hair, and tightened reflexively in the strands, pulling them ever so slightly. The tip of his nose danced along hers, and he sank into his kiss, his mouth fitting hers closer and closer with each turn of his head.

Cry Baby made love to her mouth when he kissed.

She should have pushed him away and asked him what he thought he was doing? She should have bit his tongue, to teach him to never touch her like that. The war going on silently around them meant more than a cheap roll on a hardwood floor after the emotional high of a fight. But the words didn’t ring true, and reducing his touch to cheap felt wrong. He’d been pressing his hips into hear earlier, but he kept them still now, and he rested his weight on his elbows on either side of her head. His musk, thicken with the scent of sweat, wrapped around her, and suddenly her temperatures skyrocketed. She needed out of the specialty suit made of Kevlar—for protection—and she wanted Cry Bay here to take it off.

She reached back and took one of his hands from her hair and directed it to the zipper underneath the neck patch. The design she’d had the suit built with looked like one solid covering, but she knew how to get out of it in her sleep. Cry Baby fiddled with it for amount before he found the tab and pulled the zipper down, slowly. Her pulse jumped with each inch he slipped down until she gasped into his mouth.

He smiled.

She felt it against her lips, and couldn’t help smiling back. But her smile melted into a groan as he kiss/sucked his way down the side of her neck. He let go of her hair and used both hands to peel away her form fitting suit. They said nothing, and the only sound that broke the silence was her moans as he nipped and kissed his way down her body. For every bit of her he exposed he used his tongue to memorize, stimulate, and sensitize it. Jesus, but she’d never had anyone take time like that. The callouses on his palms and fingertips scrapped her skin, reminders of the danger in his body, the skillset he possessed to crush as easily as mold. The edge of darkness in a man who could kill tempted her, but she wouldn’t be the only one losing her clothes.

Satisfied that she wouldn’t be breaking away from Cry Baby until she had everything she wanted, she regained her footing and pushed up with her hips. This time he let her flip him, never missing a beat, and he pushed the suit down over her hips. She was bare beneath the suit, and he palmed the cheeks of her ass in sure hands as she straddled him.

“I like being on top,” she said.

He didn’t answer her verbally, instead he pushed her hips tighter to his groin and rolled under her. Top or bottom, it wouldn’t matter, Cry Baby was a man who controlled his situation. James. She tried his name on her tongue, and liked how it sounded.

“James,” she gasped aloud, and his pupils dilated.

The muscles in his chest bunched and flexed as she dug her fingers in. He was so strong, powerfully made, and between her legs. The rush of that mixture warmed her to the core.

“Say it again,” he demanded. His lifted and sucked on nipple into his mouth, a dare and threat wrapped into one.

“James.”

The world spun and then lifted, and it took her seconds to realize that he’d flipped and gotten up, all while carrying her and never releasing her nipple. She cradled his head against her chest as he walked through his home. Despite not being about to see around her, he moved with sure strides across his floor and dropped with her on the bed.

“Memorized the layout?” she asked, breathless.

A ruddy color highlighted his cheeks for a moment. “It’s much less cool when you know what I did instead of being in awe.”

She chuckled. “How many steps from the front door to the bed?”

“Depending on the route, between sixty-six and one hundred and three.”

He stripped her suit off and his jeans pressed against her wet folds. “Natural weapons of the body?”

“Knife edge of the hand, protruding second knuckle of the fist, fingers bent at the second joint, elbow, knees, and teeth.”

He answered without thought, second nature to an elite trained soldier, and she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His very knowledge—the skills he had— added to her desire for him.

“What weapon is the SIG-Sauer P320 succeeding?” she asked.

He frowned down at her. “The Beretta M9. What dos that have to do with anything?”

She fiddled with his belt in answer, so turned on she needed to feel his skin closer. She jerked the leather from his belt loops and tossed it away before she popped open the button of his fly.

“Because,” she said between kisses everywhere she could reach. “You.” A kiss to the inside of his arm. “Are.” Another to his chest. “Sexy.” This time she nipped his flesh. “As.” She tongued her way to his nipple. “Hell.”

He groaned as she palmed his cock and squeezed.

“I’m the first woman you’ll ever have that can take anything you throw at her, big boy. You don’t have to play nice.”