Killer Curves Read online

  Tough, raised flesh abraded her fingertips.

  She paused. Brushed over the anomaly of smooth, taut skin. A scar a little bigger than a quarter. Round. A bullet hole. And another just over it. Shock and horror tore through her, shoving aside the pleasure. Jesus, Ciaran had been shot.

  Firm, implacable fingers cuffed her wrists and shoved her arms down to the mattress on either side of her head. She stared up into his narrowed gaze, sadness and fear for him a metallic taint on her tongue.

  “Ciaran,” she whispered.

  But he shook his head once, then swooped and claimed her mouth in another fiery, carnal kiss that swallowed her question and refused to give her answers. In seconds, the desperate need returned in full force, submerging everything else beneath a deluge of passion.

  Calloused fingers pushed her bra straps over shoulders and down her arms, leaving them just below her elbows. His lips abandoned hers, but she didn’t protest because they brushed over her cheek and jaw. His teeth scraped her neck and collar bone, forging a scalding path lower. Once more he rose, his strong, muscled thighs straddling her hips. As if unable to resist, she dropped her hungry gaze to his cock. She swallowed, an embarrassing, low sound of lust escaping her throat, and her fingers curled into the covers, longing to shape themselves around the hard flesh. The clear outline of his intimidating, rigid length pressed against the front of his pants. God, he seemed so huge. No possible way he could fit all of that inside her. Her sex clenched, spasmed with an empty ache as if volunteering to give it the old college try.

  “You want to touch my cock, duchess,” he murmured, lowering the cups of her bra and baring them to the cool air and his hot stare. “You’ll get to. I want you to wrap your hands around me. Or better yet, that sexy mouth. But after…”

  After… She bit back a scream as his big hands cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples. Oh God. After.

  The previous night must have taught him what she liked, because he didn’t treat her like fine china. He rolled the tips between his fingers and thumb, tugging and flicking them into stiff peaks. She arched toward him, offering more, begging for more. Needing more.

  He shifted between her legs, his stomach pressing against her swollen, throbbing sex and pulsing clit. She cried out, widening her thighs, rolling her hips, and grinding herself against him. Oh Christ. So good. She lifted her arms, encircled his shoulders, and bucked against him again. And again. Pleasure radiated inside her, originating from her sex and spreading outward. God, she could come from just rubbing her clit over his washboard abs…

  “You need to come, sweetheart?” He rose, settled his cock right over the top of her sex, and circled his hips right where she needed it. Fire raced through her veins before culminating in a heavy, thick swirl between her legs. “I can take the edge off if you need me to.” Another cry-inducing circle of his hips, his dick dragging over her clit. She gasped, digging her nails into his shoulders, holding on for damn dear life. “All you have to do is ask,” he whispered, licking the top of her breast. “I’ll give it to you.”

  Temptation. He was temptation, wickedness, and sex wrapped up in one six-foot-plus package.

  “C’mon, sweetheart,” he purred against her skin. “I can feel you trembling beneath me. I bet your pussy is wet, needing just a quick release. I’ll take care of you. Just ask.”

  He must’ve known vocalizing her request was torture for her. Sex had never been noisy, filled with cries, groans, and this dirty, so-fucking-erotic talk. She’d never asked for what she wanted, and no man had ever asked her either. The words crammed together at the back of her throat. Desperation kept them ready to trip over her tongue, but fear of rejection or ridicule kept them trapped.

  “Sloane, look at me.” Eyes she hadn’t even been aware of squeezing shut opened at the hard demand. “Nothing we do in here is wrong. I’ll never shut you down. Whatever we do in here stays between us, in these walls. You’re safe, sweetheart.” He nipped at her bottom lip, and the sensuous sting caused a flutter in her belly. “Now, tell me. What do you want from me? What can I give you?”

  She stared up into his lust-sharpened features, the blue of his eyes that burned brighter, hotter. And trusted what she saw. Slicking her tongue over lips, she whispered, “Get me off. Make me come. I need it.” The flare of lust in his gaze emboldened her. “I need you.”

  He shot off of her as if blasted from a gun. With quick tugs, he removed the jumpsuit and her panties, leaving her naked except for the bra tucked under her breasts. She didn’t have time for modesty or embarrassment, because in seconds he covered her again, his hand tucked between her legs and his mouth latched to her breast.

  “Ciaran,” she cried out, driving her fingers through his tumble of curls. The silken strands, so much softer than they appeared, caressed her flesh as he sucked her nipple deep between his lips, drawing on her, tugging, licking. Desire lashed her as hard as his tongue, and she couldn’t prevent the pleas and tiny screams that rolled out of her in a sensual litany.

  He switched breasts, and thrust two fingers deep into her. Another scream ripped out of her at the fullness, the pleasure. Again, he wasn’t hesitant; last night had introduced him to her sex, and he filled it like they were old familiar friends…or fuck buddies. He set up a fast tempo meant to launch her into orgasm. Just as he promised. The heel of his palm rubbed her clit with each stroke. Electrical sparks sizzled at the small of her back, crackled and coalesced in her core. So close. God, so close.

  Ciaran pinched the nipple he wasn’t sucking. Withdrew his hand…then drove high and hard into her sex.

  She splintered, a high, keening wail on her lips. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but shatter and shake in orgasm.

  “Fuck, that was gorgeous. You’re goddamn gorgeous,” Ciaran growled above her. She blinked, her fuzzy vision revealing the stark lines of his face. Blue fire gleamed down at her, and his golden skin was pulled tight over his facial bones, making the carnal curves of his mouth even more pronounced. A flush stained his cheekbones as he studied her with a lust that reignited the sated heat inside her. No man had ever looked at her with such…hunger. Like if he didn’t have her he might lose his mind. “I want more of that. My fingers have fucked you twice. Now it’s my dick’s turn. You’re going to squeeze me tight just like that, you understand?”

  All she could do was numbly nod. Whatever he said. As long as he again took her to the place she’d just tumbled from.

  For the second time, he left her. He backed off the bed, reaching into the pocket of his pants. His gaze never left hers as he removed his wallet and plucked a small, foiled square free and tossed it on the bed. In moments, he’d shoved his pants and underwear down his hips and thighs, standing naked before her like that pagan sex god she’d often compared him to.

  Holy shit.

  This is what he hid beneath the veneer of civility with his clothes. Wide shoulders and chest. Narrow hips. Muscled thighs. And his cock. She crossed her arms over chest, and the protective gesture wasn’t lost on her—or him, if the wild flicker in his eyes was any indication. He tracked the movement, his hand rising to the huge, thick column of flesh angling out and upward from his body, fisting it. Stroking it. The bulbous head almost reached his navel, and a flash of feminine anxiety quivered inside her sex. She’d thought his fingers had filled her, stretched her. No. Not like that almost brutal-looking shaft of flesh would.

  He settled a knee on the mattress and picked up the condom, continuing to roughly pull on his cock while he ripped the packet open. Her palms itched with the need to replace his hands with hers. She could imagine the silk-over-steel heaviness in her fist, savor the throb of it.

  “You’re going to make it hard for me to go slow if you keep looking at me like that,” he warned, gliding the protection over his length.

  “You promised you’d be rough with me,” she reminded him, not recognizing the hoarse, throaty tone as hers.

  “Yeah, I did.” He crawled ba
ck over her, captured her mouth in a burning kiss. “I also said you could take it. Tell me I’m right. Can you take it, sweetheart? Take me?”

  “Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and this time she took his lips, nipped the corner. “Don’t hold back.”

  He didn’t answer, but a tiny muscle jumped along his jaw, telegraphing he’d heard her. She glanced down between them as he guided his cock to her entrance. At the first nudge of the head against her flesh, she jumped, even though she’d expected it.

  “Shh,” he soothed, rubbing the tip back and forth through her folds, slickening himself in her wet heat.

  She moaned when he bumped her clit, and nearly bowed off the bed when he circled the flared crown around the nerve-packed nub. When he pressed the head against her again, she whimpered, needing him to enter and ease the ache he’d created deep inside her. He didn’t make her wait.

  Oh. God. The burn. The stretch. The bite of pain that mingled so closely with pleasure, she couldn’t decipher the blurred tangle of it. Like he vowed, he didn’t stop his relentless surge forward. He burrowed past resistive muscles, taking, claiming, branding. She released a long, low, greedy groan, clinging to him as he carried her along on an erotic ride she couldn’t have possibly prepared herself for. He filled her and filled her until she almost believed she couldn’t take any more of him.

  “Yeah, you can,” he assured her. Had she spoken the thought aloud? She must have, because he leaned back on his knees and palmed her thighs, spreading them wider, pushing them back and higher. “Fuck.” He groaned as he sank deeper, staring at the place where he penetrated her. “So beautiful how your pussy opens up for me, sucking me in, squeezing me. A little more, sweetheart. A little more.” He shifted her hips, angling her, and with one more thrust of his hips, was fully seated inside her.

  She writhed beneath him, trying to get away….trying to get closer. Lust had grabbed her in its teeth, ravaged her, tossed her back and forth like a rag doll. She couldn’t think past the pleasure and pain that seemed to tear her in two and stitch her back together as this new, wild, carnal creature.

  Ciaran fell over her, his palms bracketing either side of her shoulders. “That’s it, baby. Ride my dick. Use me to get there.” He loosed a soft chuckle. “Take it.”

  She didn’t need his urging. Locking her heels behind his back and digging her nails into his shoulders, she bucked and undulated underneath him, crying out his name, demanding he move, demanding he fuck her.

  “Dammit,” he growled, and she swore she could feel the snap of his control. He proceeded to ride her hard, his hips slamming down, plunging into her over and over. And she rose to meet every pounding drive. He gripped her behind the knees, shoving her legs wider and toward her chest and God, dug deeper, rocking higher inside her. He didn’t give her any mercy. And she didn’t want any.

  Their harsh breaths, their groans, her whimpers, the slap of sweat-dampened flesh, the wet suction of his cock withdrawing and burying inside her—it filled the air, the symphony of dirty, rough sex. She twisted in his grip, grasping for the orgasm that loomed just within reach.

  “Ciaran,” she cried, begged. “Please. I need…” she breathed, gasped, unable to finish the plea. But she didn’t need to. He dipped his hand between them, slid his thumb over her clit, once, twice. Thrust, and hit a place she hadn’t known existed deep and high within her.

  And she imploded. Detonated from inside out. This orgasm was harsher, more cataclysmic than its predecessor. Darkness closed in on her, winking at her, even as she continued to shudder and quake as Ciaran rode her into the mattress, extending the rapture, shattering her in pieces. Dimly, she heard his muted growl and hoarse roar. Felt him stiffen over top her. Savored the pulse of his cock within her spasming sex.

  Slowly, the black veil shrouding her senses ebbed, receded. She cataloged the tiny aftershocks still rippling in her core, noted the heaviness of Ciaran’s body on top of her, cherished the hot expulsions of his breath against her neck.

  Minutes—an eternity—passed as their bodies cooled, relaxed. Silence crept in, and so did cold reality and the inevitable doubts.

  She closed her eyes, trying to hold on to the rapidly fading, sensual lethargy. No, dammit. She didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to see the recriminations and regret in his face. God knows, she hated to see that…

  The vibration of a cell phone on the bedside table seemed discordant and deafening in the suffocating quiet. Carefully, Ciaran eased out of her. And in spite of the whirlwind of thoughts rioting through her head, she bit her lip, moaned as her muscles reluctantly released his flesh. Her lashes lifted, and she caught the sexual glint in his gaze and the firming of his mouth before he turned away from her and snatched up the phone.

  “Yeah,” he said, voice brusque, so unlike the sensual, lazy tones of moments earlier. “You’re kidding,” he barked, tension entering his body and any semblance of the fierce, focused lover from moments ago evaporated. “Shit. We’re leaving now. We’ll be there in a few hours.”

  He tossed the phone on the bed and got to his feet. In seconds, he’d pulled on his pants and shrugged into his shirt.

  “You need to get dressed,” he said, no traces of warmth remaining in his face or voice. Suddenly, an inexplicable cold crept through her body, and the modesty that had been missing before made its presence known in full force. She sat up, folding her arms over her breasts, crossing her legs. Hiding from him and maybe from the unknown words he would utter next. “We have to leave and head back to Boston.”

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered, searching the floor for her discarded clothes.

  “That was Maddox. The surveillance team we had on your house just caught someone trying to break in.” He paused, and she shivered as his expression hardened, transforming him into the lethal ex-DEA agent and security specialist. “It was Drake Morriston.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ciaran pulled his SUV outside the District A-1 station of the Boston Police Department. Even at nearly ten o’clock at night, the station teemed with life. As the station that served the downtown business district, Financial District, Charlestown, North End, Beacon Hill, and Bay Village, where Sloane lived, this place was never really quiet.

  He hated bringing Sloane here; he hated that she had a reason to be here. He glanced to the passenger side where she sat, back as straight as a poker, fingers clenched together in her lap, the cool reserved mask firmly in place. She stared straight ahead through the windshield, and a casual person would presume she was composed and calm. And that person would be mistaken. Ciaran had only known Sloane for a week—damn, had the engagement party only been last Friday?—but he could decipher the tell-tale signs signaling stress. The flattening of her pouty lips. The slightly elevated rhythm of her breathing. The pale knuckles from the tight clasp of her hands. He lifted his arm, almost reached out to her. But at the last second, he lowered it. Hell, hadn’t he touched her enough tonight?

  No. The answer was immediate, loud, vehement inside his head. Even now he could still taste her kiss, could feel the sensual abrasion of her pebbled nipples grazing his palms, pressing against his tongue. He could hear her plaintive whimpers and moans in his ears…could sense the chokehold of her tight sex on his cock. His heart thudded in his chest, and that quick need thickened his blood, pounded in his dick. That kind of pleasure was mind-blowing.

  Worse. That kind of forgetfulness was addictive.

  He didn’t deserve the gift of forgetfulness. He should always remember.

  Briefly closing his eyes, he inhaled a deep breath, grabbing for his control. Desperate, he grappled for an image of blank eyes, blood, and pain. The consequences of losing focus, of not maintaining control at all times. How the hell he could disregard that, or allow himself to ignore it for one second, he couldn’t explain. Couldn’t reason or rationalize.

  He’d fucked up.

  But he had to try to undo the damage. She’d already been attacked on his watch. And now, a
s he prepared to walk her into this station to possibly face the person at the helm of this coordinated assault, he couldn’t afford to think about how good—no, goddamn amazing—the sex had been. He had her life to protect.

  That was his number one, his only, priority and purpose.

  “Ready?” He palmed his car keys, his hand on the handle. She nodded, and he pushed the door open. “Okay, wait while I come around to get you.”

  Again, she nodded. Seconds later, they headed toward the station, his hand pressed to her back as he scanned the parking lot and surrounding area out of habit. Just because they were at a police station didn’t mean shit. Hell, the building was full of criminals.

  “Hey, Ciaran.” The tall, broad-shouldered man straightened from his lean against the stair railing. “You made good time.”

  Ciaran shrugged a shoulder. He’d made the four-and-a-half-hour drive in a little under four, anxious to get to the station before they released Drake Morriston. Because Ciaran didn’t doubt the little shit would be released. After all, he was a rich, well-connected little shit.

  “Tristan, this is Sloane Barrett.” Turning to Sloane, he waved a hand toward his friend and new employee of GDG Security. “Sloane, this is Tristan Scott. He works with us.”

  Tristan nodded. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Barrett.”

  “Sloane,” she corrected. “It’s nice to meet you, too. And thank you for calling us about”—she paused, and the tremble that quivered through her vibrated against Ciaran’s palm—“Drake.”

  Ciaran shifted closer to her, silently offering his body for protection and heat. The temperature had fallen to the mid-seventies, and in her haste to leave, she’d neglected to grab a sweater. Tristan glanced from her to him. Though he didn’t say anything, Ciaran knew the ex-cop hadn’t missed the gesture.

  “We should go in. They’re questioning him now. I had to cash in some favors, but they’ve agreed to let us watch the interrogation,” Tristan said, pulling open the station door, and Ciaran and Sloane followed.