CHAPTER SEVEN
TOMMY
This woman’s a spitfire. Honestly, I could have let her drive home by herself and I wouldn’t have worried. Everyone watched David and me leave with Nikita, so they wouldn’t have gone after her for fear of running into me. Alex is right; my reputation does precede me. But if I let her drive home alone, I wouldn’t have been able to quiz her about how she knows Alex. And I wouldn’t have been able to check her out some more, either. She’s pure fucking fire. Seriously, the girl knows no fear. There are grown men out there, murderers, killers and rapists, who wouldn’t dare talking to Alexander the way she did. It was amusing. Fuck that, it was a fucking turn-on. I’m just trying not to admit that I’m attracted to this woman. I’ve been back in New Orleans for all of a day, and the very last thing I need in my life is a woman to complicate things even further.
When I was fighting full time for Alex, before Serena died, I made a game of seeing how long I could go without sex. I constantly walked a tightrope with my temper, battling to keep my rage under control, and denying myself sex seemed fucking easy in comparison. I realized in L.A. that I’d been going about things all wrong, though. Sex is the one thing that helps keep me in check. If I’m stressed, or tense, or about to lose my shit, a quick tumble with a girl helps take the edge off. A hard, fast fuck would probably clear my head right now, given that I’m definitely tense, stressed and on the verge of losing my cool in the most epic way, but I already know trying to seduce Nikita would be bad for my health. Potentially fatal, in fact. She’s grinding her teeth as she drives through the night, changing the gears of her Challenger with ferocity and precision, like she’s auditioning for a part on the next “Fast and Furious” movie.
We sit in silence, the engine revving and snarling as she punches it through the outskirts of town. Eventually, she asks, “Where are you gonna go?”
“Go?”
“You said you weren’t going to fight. You’re not planning on meeting up with West. That must mean you’re leaving town, right?”
I look out of my window, my eyes not really focusing on anything. Buildings and parked cars tear by in a blur. “He said he’d hurt her if I didn’t oblige him. I can’t leave until she’s safe.”
“Genevieve didn’t seem too worried about that back at the vault.”
“She’s good at keeping a cool head. Always has been. And Alex…well, you know. He can smell fear the way a shark can smell blood in water. It excites him. Turns him on.”
She says nothing, but her shoulders tense. I’m a dick. I’m so fucking curious about the relationship she clearly had with Alex; I’m curious as to why he let her walk away with her life tonight, when he’s killed so many more people for so much less. She’s a brick-fucking wall, though, a mile high and a thousand miles wide. I can ask her as many questions as I like right now, but I already know she won’t give me any information. Some people get chatty when they’re pissed off. Others shut down, batten down the hatches and wait for the storm to pass. I’m one of those people. So is Nikita.
“Can you stop staring at me?” she says. “It’s really off-putting.”
I stifle a laugh. “I’m looking out the window.”
“Ha. You forget, I’ve worked with men like you for years, Tommy Kendrick. I know when I’m being watched.”
Well, she has me dead to rights, there. “Men like me?”
She nods. “Men who watch the entrance to a room at all times. Men whose self worth is directly linked to their height, or their weight, or how much they can bench. Men who think they’re God’s gift to women, and everyone else on the planet for that matter.”
“I’m none of those things. And I’m sure as fuck not a gift. If anything I’m a punishment. I’m karmic retribution. I’m the universe’s idea of a cruel joke.”
She must ease off the gas a little, because gravity ceases to push me back into my seat. Just for a second. “Why do you say that?”
“You don’t need to shrink me, Nikita. I’m not on your roster for the day. Just get us back to your place and we can go our separate ways.”
She sounds scathing when she speaks. “You and I both know that there’s no such thing as ‘separate ways’ now. Our paths have converged. Life doesn’t shove people together like this and then allow them to part so easily. I’m gonna want to see Junior. You’re gonna want me to do something for you at some point. And you’re being eaten alive by questions. How does she know Alex? Why does she seem to think she’s invincible? How did she learn to fight like that?”
Damn. She’s good. I hate that. I fucking hate being judged and assessed. Worse, I hate that she’s completely and utterly right. “You could always stay away from Junior. Accept that he’s safe and happy. In return, I could always accept that I’m not going to get answers to my questions and make sure I never run into you again. That would be a start.”
“I met him in high school,” she says. “We were fourteen. He wanted to be a vet. Can you believe that? A fucking vet.”
I open my mouth, but I can’t think of anything to say. The idea of Alex Bastien wanting to help wounded animals is just so alien to me that it simply won’t compute. I saw him shoot a dog in the head once. He didn’t even flinch.
“And I think I’m invincible because I am. At least I tell myself I am every goddamn day. I have to, working where I work. If I start believing otherwise, the men I counsel will be able to read my doubt. They’ll smell it on me, just like Alex can. They’ll take advantage of it.”
Just when I think I’ve got her figured out, she goes and pitches a damn fastball at my head. I guess she’s not one for subtlety. It’s refreshing, in a way. The women in L.A. can be so vapid. More often than not, it’s exhausting trying to have a worthwhile conversation with a chick out there. They’re all actresses/models/musicians. They think they’re hot shit because they had a walk-on line in some crappy procedural show, and they expect everyone to treat them like queens.
Crappy cop procedurals makes me think of Lucas Braddon, the guy I left lying in that alley outside Elysium in L.A. with a needle hanging out of his arm. I wonder if the fucker made it through the night or not. Weirdly, I find myself hoping he did. “You’re very different from the counselor they sent me to in the Parish, that’s for sure,” I say quietly. “That motherfucker wouldn’t have been caught dead showing up to an illegal underground fight in the middle of the night to check on a parolee. He’d cross the fucking street just to avoid one, I’m pretty sure.”
Nikita takes a left onto a wide, sweeping suburban street, lined with tall, leafy trees. She pulls into the driveway of a small two-story colonial house, the exterior painted haint blue. The front garden is a riot of weeds and knee-high grass, ivy choking the live oak that’s listing drunkenly toward the street from the side of the property. “Wasn’t called Rossi was he?” she asks.
I almost shiver at the sound of the bastard’s name. “You had the pleasure of meeting him, then?”
She nods, then huffs heavily out of her nose as she turns the key in the ignition, killing the engine. We both just sit there, staring straight ahead at the shadows playing across the porch that wraps around her house. After a number of long minutes play out, she lets her head roll on the headrest so that she’s looking at me. “I’m going to ask you inside,” she says.
I turn my head so that I’m looking at her, too. “You are?”
“Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s been a stressful night, and I just want to get laid.”
I try not to smile, but it’s impossible. I don’t know her at all. Strangely, the more time I spend with her, the less I know her—a frustrating, but also an intriguing fact. I can’t pin her down. I can’t even begin to predict what’s going to come out of her mouth next. I’ve made a handful of judgment calls in the past hour, expecting her to react one way or another, to say one thing, or nothing at all, and every single time she’s done the exact opposite. I don’t know what I find more attractive about her—the fact that she’s stunning, in a wild, raw, natural way, or the fact that her intelligence appears to be razor blade sharp, and she’s so damned unpredictable.
“Nothing wrong with that,” I say slowly. “I’m just surprised you want another guy pawing at you after what went down in the vaults.”
She narrows her eyes, blue and brown, light and dark, so at odds with each other. Her gaze is steady and inquisitive. “I’m in control of my body. I’m in charge of who touches it and who doesn’t, and I’m in control of my emotions. Those guys weren’t touching me in a sexual way. They were violent, and aggressive. I’m assuming the way you touch me won’t be anything like that.”
“Unless you want it to be.”
She arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. “What makes you think I’d want that?”
“Just guessing. If we screw, I’d say you’re either gonna try and beat the shit out of me, or you’re going to want me to pin you down and fuck the sense right out of you. I’m gunning for the latter.”
“I’ll bet you are.” She smiles, and it transforms her face. Her features seem to fully commit to whatever expression she wears at any one time. If she’s angry, the lines of her cheekbones are pronounced and angled. Her jawline is sharp and challenging. The steel in her eyes could cut a man in half. But when she smiles, everything about her suddenly softens. Her shoulders relax. An unexpected warmth lights in her eyes, and two small dimples form at the corners of her mouth. She’s like night and day. How will she change if she’s sad? Excited? Turned on? I’m betting there’s a different, unique version of her for every emotion she experiences. Fuck. I don’t know what the hell is going on with me right now, but I’ve never been so fucking fascinated by a woman before.
Nice tits. Nice ass. Nice legs: these are the things I notice when I meet a girl for the first time. Not with Nikita, though. Sure, she has all three of those things, but there’s something about her. Something so instant and vital. I’m drawn to her in a dangerous way.
“You don’t seem surprised that I’m asking you inside for sex,” she says. “Most guys would probably be a little shocked.”
I try not to look at the graceful column of her neck. Is she hyper sensitive? What will her reaction be when I kiss her there, use my lips, my teeth and my tongue to lick and bite at her? Is she going to fall to pieces? Is she going to lose her fucking mind when I bite her earlobe, my breath hot and heavy over her skin? My dick is getting harder by the second just thinking about it. “You’ve been angry with me since the second you laid eyes on me this morning. No woman’s ever that angry with me unless she knows she wants to fuck me and she’s mad at herself for it,” I tell her. “So no. I’m not shocked.”
“Hmm. Well aren’t you an arrogant son of a bitch.”
I shrug. “I’m betting that’s why you want my dick inside you.”
She laughs—the sound is like silver and moonlight, cold water running down my back. “Kiss me, Tommy Kendrick. And make it a good one. I want to know what I’m signing myself up for here before I let you do your worst.”
She doesn’t need to tell me twice. A younger, more inexperienced guy would rush in, grabbing hold of her, shoving his tongue down her throat, too eager and turned on. I’m beyond that, though. I’ve kissed more women than I can count. I know how to make a motherfucking first impression. I’m going to make her purr. By the time this kiss is over, she’s going to be a hot, pliable mess, and I really will be ready to do my worst.
I graze my nose against the tip of hers, breathing slowly. I brush her hair back out of her face, tucking it back over her shoulder, then I cup my hand around the back of her neck, drawing her closer to me. I can sense her holding back. She’s not rushing into this either. She’s waiting to see how I’m going to handle her, waiting to see if I can impress her. I’m going to do more than that. I’m going to blow her fucking mind. The tip of her delicate pink tongue darts out to wet both of her lips, and I have to grind my teeth together in order to hold myself back. Her mouth is perfect, her lips a soft, coral pink color. I have a stellar imagination; I already know what they’ll look like wrapped around my dick, and it’s making my cock throb to almost painful degrees. I can’t remember the last time I was this hard.
She’s trying to play it cool, but I can feel the goose bumps on the back of her neck under my fingers. I can see the tiny, fair hairs on her arms, standing up straight. “Open your mouth, Nikita,” I whisper.
She gives me a guarded look, but she complies, opening her mouth an inch. Slowly, I flick the tip of my tongue against her top lip, tentatively tasting her, and her body shifts ever so slightly in her seat. Her breath catches in her throat. It’s a soft, subtle, barely-there sound, but I hear it. I’m in tune to her every movement. Her heart can’t even skip a goddamn beat without me knowing about it right now, and I plan on making it jump rope for me.
I trace my tongue over her bottom lip. She’s stopped breathing altogether, as if that might trick me into thinking she’s unaffected by my close proximity. I know the truth, though. Every cell in her body is focused on me, on what I’m going to do next. I’m all she’s seeing, hearing, tasting, and feeling. When I finally allow my mouth to meet hers, she hums softly, and a thrill of adrenaline spikes inside my veins. I can already tell I’m going to like making her hum and sigh for me. It’s going to be music to my ears. I cup the side of her face with my other hand, stroking my thumb over her cheek as I kiss her, softly at first, our lips barely touching. I wait for the perfect moment. The second when she melts underneath my hands. When she finally surrenders to me, and hands herself over. Patience has never been a strong suit of mine, but I’ll wait for this. If I rush her, she’ll back off and I’ll have blown it. If I wait until she’s ready to admit that I’m in control here, that I’m capable of making her toes curl, that she fucking wants me, then I’ll have won. Then she’ll do anything I tell her to, and she’ll do it willingly.
I tease her mouth with mine, tasting her, growling deep in the back of my throat when she actually grazes my lips with her teeth, too. The intensity builds piece by piece, moment by moment, until I can feel her teetering on the edge. She wants to let go. I know she does. All I have to do is wait. And not for long. I suck her tongue into my mouth, biting down gently, winding my hands around her ponytail, my fingers skating over her neck, and she moans. It’s a deep, unashamed moan that makes me want to tear her fucking clothes from her body right here and now in the car. Her arms wind around my neck, and then she’s melting against me, panting, her breath coming in short, staccato gasps as she tries to get closer to me.
That’s right, sweetheart. You’re mine. You’re fucking mine.
My hands work quickly. I unclip her seatbelt, and then I take hold of her by the waist, yanking her out of her seat. She doesn’t object as I plant her in my lap so that she’s straddling me, and I slide my hands up the back of her shirt. “Press down,” I command. “You need to feel me against your pussy. You need to feel what you’re doing to me right now, Nikita. It’s fucking criminal.”
She angles her hips, and then lets out a gasp when my cock rubs up against her through our clothes. I’m rock solid and pulsing. She must be able to feel that through the layers of denim that separate us. She must understand now how insanely turned on I am.
“Are you wet?” I whisper, nuzzling at her jawline with the bridge of my nose. “Have I turned you on yet, firefly?”
I wait. She’s going to comment on the pet name, I’m sure of it, but she just sits there, staring at me, her tits almost in my face, her fingers playing with the hair at the back of my neck. Her expression has hardened a little, but there’s curiosity in her eyes and questions on her lips, I can tell. She doesn’t ask me anything though. Instead, she pushes down, her hips grinding against mine, our bodies creating the delicious friction, and I can’t stop myself. My hands slip down to her waist, and then to her hips, and I gently begin to rock her forward, so that she’s pushing down harder on my dick. She lets me move her, lets me manipulate her body. Her waist feels tiny underneath my hands. She weighs next to nothing, but she feels powerful. She isn’t a waif-like model. She’s lithe muscle, toned and strong. She doesn’t just work out; she fights. That much was made clear when she put those morons down at the vaults, but the proof of her training is here in her body, too.
I stop kissing her, sliding my fingers into her mouth, groaning when she begins to suck. So. Fucking. Sexy. Her mouth is hot and wet, her tongue working over my fingers like they’re actually my cock. She knows what the fuck she’s doing all right. I can’t wait for her to be on her knees…
She clamps down with her teeth, just a little, enough that I notice and can imagine what it would feel like to have her teeth grazing my dick like that. My body responds in a visceral, urgent way that I can’t control.
“Where are your keys?” I demand.
“What?”
“Your house keys. Where the fuck are they? If you don’t give them to me right now, I’m gonna drag you out of this car and fuck you over the damned hood.”
She freezes. Sucks her bottom lip into her mouth. A look passes between us, and I see it: she wants me to fuck her over the hood of the car. My blood is liquid napalm. My hands aren’t obeying me anymore. I rip open the door, grab her around the waist, and I climb out of the car, my heart surging in my chest like a motherfucking freight train. I lower her to the ground, spinning her around, then I forcefully bend her over. She slaps her palms against the gleaming hood of the car, crying out as I take a handful of her hair. I jerk her head back toward me, leaning forward so I can growl into her ear.
“This is what you want? For everyone to see me destroying your pussy? Once we start this, I’m not fucking stopping, Nikita.”
She sounds like she’s been running a marathon. I can feel her pulse racing beneath my hand as I slide it up over her rib cage, cupping her breast and squeezing. “Yes,” she pants. “I want it. I don’t want you to stop.”
Green light. Green for motherfucking go. I reach around and unfasten her jeans in one fast, smooth motion, then I’m ripping the denim down her body. I deal with my own pants next. In two seconds, I have my rock-hard dick in my hand and I’m sliding my fingers inside her pussy.
She’s wet all right. She’s so fucking wet. I can smell how turned on she is and it’s fucking dizzying. I drop to my knees on the spot, burying my face between her legs from behind. She tastes phenomenal. My mind is reeling as I dip my tongue between her thighs, teasing her clit, sliding my fingers and tongue inside her at the same time. She moans, and it’s as though the world is tilting sideways. I can’t handle how hot she is. It’s driving me fucking crazy.
With other girls, I might wait to test them, gauging their reactions before I go anywhere near their asses. Not tonight, though. I rub my hand over the swell of her flesh, barely able to hold back as I dig my fingers into her skin. Sliding my other hand between her ass cheeks, I tease her, stroking, gently probing, exploring her body, listening to the strained sounds of pleasure working their way out of her mouth. She’s not hating the attention I’m showing her; she’s fucking loving it. I press a little further, carefully sliding my fingers inside her ass, and she tenses, her whole body going rigid. She doesn’t tell me to stop, though. I wait, just in case she needs a moment to object, but then she pushes back against me, angling her hips, asking for more, and I can’t fucking take it anymore.
“Dirty fucking girl.” I slap her ass. She’s earned the punishment. She needs it. I slap her again, my hand stinging, leaving a bright red mark on her ass, visible under the streetlight. She gasps, swearing under her breath. She leans further over the hood of the car, her head turned to one side, resting on the still-warm metal. “I want to hear you,” I inform her, slowly running my hand up and down the length of my hard-on. “I want to hear you when I fuck you, Nikita. Don’t you dare hold back.”
“I won’t. Just do it. Do it now. Please.”
She doesn’t need to beg. I can hear the need in her voice; it’s like an open flame, spreading from her to me, consuming, burning, destroying. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop myself now. The control I’ve fought so hard to maintain over the past few years has slipped away, vanished. The only way I’m going to regain my sanity is if I fuck her until we’re both spent.
I brace myself as I thrust into her. I already know how tight she is. I noticed when I was pumping my fingers inside her just now, but I’m not ready for the intense wall of pleasure that grips hold of me as I inch myself deeper and deeper.
“Ahh! Fuck!” She writhes against me as I push myself as deep as I can go. I have to still myself for a second. The sensation of her clenching, tightening even further around my cock, is enough to wind me for a moment.
She is so goddamn perfect. I can’t stand it. She arches her back, moaning softly, her fingernails scratching at the Challenger’s paintwork. “So fucking sexy,” I grind out. “So. Fucking. Sexy.”
I slowly pull out, and Nikita shivers beneath me. When I slam myself back inside her, I hold there for a second, my hands working fast as I take hold of the straps of her shirt, ripping them down over her shoulders. She’s not wearing a bra. With her tits bare to the night air, I roll and pinch her nipples, making her suck in a sharp, surprised breath.
I fuck her, then. I fuck her like my life depends on it. I lose myself in her, my hands roaming and claiming every inch of her body, and every time I thrust upward, she cries out, her voice hoarse and desperate. I’m not going to lie: this power I have over her right now is thrilling. She’s been caustic and rude since the second she laid eyes on me, so to have her literally bending to my will is addicting.
I’m getting seriously close to coming when I notice the woman watching us from the window of the house next door. The room she’s standing in is dark and in shadow, but the pale white of the dress she’s wearing is clearly visible. Her hand is covering her mouth, her eyes fixed on Nikita as I slam myself inside her.
I don’t say a word. I stop what I’m doing and I spin Nikita over, lifting her, laying her down on the hood of the car so she’s lying on her back.
She wraps her legs around my waist, and I sink myself deep inside her pussy again, palming and kneading her bare breasts. The woman next door doesn’t turn away. She hovers to the left of the window, watching, unmoving.
“Shit,” Nikita gasps. Her head is angled back, the muscles in her throat working as she looks up. She sees the woman, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. She reaches down, her hands grasping my hips and my thighs as I fuck her even harder. Nikita’s body bows when she comes, her shout of pleasure ripping free from her body like a bullet from a gun. I roar as I come, too, our voices tearing through the otherwise silent night air. My whole body feels like it’s ringing like a struck bell. Holy…fucking…shit…
I bow over Nikita, taking her nipples into my mouth one at a time as I catch my breath. She’s as exhausted as I am, as completely and utterly spent.
“Well. That’s going to make getting the morning paper slightly awkward,” she says eventually.
“Don’t pretend like you give a shit,” I say, smirking wickedly. “You fucking loved having an audience.”
“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” She smiles, and it’s a rueful, secret expression that makes me think there might be a handful of other kinky things Nikita would be into, given the opportunity. She’s so…God, there aren’t even words to describe her properly. She’s an enigma, unfathomable, so different to every other woman I’ve met. Worryingly, she’s the first woman I’ve come across that I actually want to get to know better.
She slides off the car, dressing herself quickly, her eyes shining brightly in the dark, the iris of her blue eye almost a pale silver color, the iris of her brown eye almost black. “Go home, Tommy Kendrick. Figure out what you’re going to do about West.” I zip up my fly and lean against the car, arms folded across my chest, trying not to smile as she walks herself to her front door. She lets herself in, pausing on the doorstep before she vanishes inside. “Oh, and by the way?”
“Mmm?”
“Don’t come back here again. That capital T doesn’t stand for Tommy. It stands for trouble, and I have enough of that in my life already as it is.”
“Oh, I’ll be back all right, sweetheart. You know it, and so do I. Wild horses couldn’t keep me away from this doorstep.”
The door slams closed, and my laughter rings out into the night.