What You See: Sons of the Survivalist: 3 Page 13

  She grabbed his big-boned wrist—her fingers couldn’t even close around it—and moved his hand to her pussy. “There.”

  Oh, bad Frankie. Some men felt threatened by—

  “There, hmm?” His mouth quirked.

  His unshakable self-confidence was even sexier than his body.

  He gripped her ankle, lifted her right leg over his head, and set it down in his lap, so he was seated sideways between her thighs. Reaching over to the bottle on the coffee table, he pumped more lotion into his palm. “I forgot. We’re in the middle of a massage.”

  Her mouth dropped open. She wanted sex, not a massage.

  Smiling slightly, he ran those big hands up and down her thighs, across her stomach, down again—missing her pussy entirely.

  She groaned, and her hips tilted up in demand.

  “Really?” A corner of his mouth curved.

  His fingers were still slick as he moved from her belly down over her mound—and wasn’t she glad she’d shaved that morning? He slid his fingers up and down the plump outer folds, and the skin began to tingle, reminding her of the strange lotion he’d been using. Slowly, he opened her, exposed her, and slid those lotion-coated heavy fingers right over her throbbing clit.

  “Aaaah!” Her hips bucked up, and with one hand over her pelvis, he held her down.

  Her legs were kept open with his huge body between them, and he circled a finger around her clit. As the lotion heated the swollen tissues, and her sensitive nub began to tingle, she started to squirm. The feeling was…intense.

  “Look at me, sweetheart.”

  Her gaze was caught by his black eyes, held in the same way he held her hips down.

  His fingers never stopped moving. Although his hand was so powerful, his touch was light. Teasingly firmer, then only a brush as he drew all the blood, all her focus to that one spot.

  Wait, no, making love should be equal. She ran her hands up and down his arms, over his chest and down.

  He slid farther away. “Next time. I want you badly enough that I’ll wait.” He grinned. “It’s a guy thing.”

  Without waiting for her answer, he bent down, and his lips closed around her. Between the tingling lotion and his mouth, her whole clit seemed to burst into glorious flames.

  She cried out, knew she was making noise, and couldn’t stop.

  Chuckling, he ran his jaw over the crease between her thigh and pussy, the goatee a rough scrape on the tender skin, then returned to tormenting her. Flicking licks of his tongue alternated with rough suckling.

  “More. More, now.” She shot from aroused to urgently needing to come and grabbed for his hair to pull him closer. To make him do what… Her fingers found only warm skin. No reins.

  At her frustrated growl, his head came up. His gaze swept over her and filled with amusement.

  If he didn’t touch her, she’d die. And he was amused? “You, you bastardo.”

  “Not according to my mother, sweetheart.” Watching her face, he slowly slid one finger inside her, sending her right to the brink of orgasm.

  She gasped at the overwhelming sensation.

  “Oh, yeah,” he murmured, then bent his head and took her into his mouth, sucking and licking even as his finger slid in and out.

  “Oooooh.” The explosion of pleasure was so intense it drove all the air from her lungs. She gasped for air and screamed as she convulsed in a blinding climax.

  His finger thrust deeper, sending her over, again and again and again, until she was reduced to quivering jelly.

  As she pulled in lungfuls of air, he smiled down at her. “Jesus, I love the way you sound when you come. How you look.” He kissed her mound lightly and moved her leg from around him so he could rise and shed his jeans.

  Mmmm. His cock was fully proportional with his size—thick and long and very erect. His balls hung between his legs, potently full.

  His wallet was in the coffee table basket, and he slipped out a condom and sheathed himself.

  Easing himself down, he settled on his knees between her thighs, lifted her hand, and curled her fingers around his cock. Cazzo, he was big. He made a low rumbling sound of enjoyment when she tightened her grip and gave an experimental pump.

  His gaze assessed her expression. “You all right with continuing, Ms. Bocelli? We can stop now if you want.”

  She snorted and answered by pulling his cock toward her.

  His laugh rang through the room. “All right then.” Setting a hand beside her shoulder to brace his weight, he used the other hand to set his cock at her entrance and slicken the head. “I love how wet you are for me.”

  His deep voice, his care for her comfort added layers of excitement. Her arousal rose under his touch, his voice.

  Slowly, he worked his way in, inexorably stretching her, filling her until her whole lower half throbbed with excitement.

  * * *

  “You feel amazing, city girl.” Bull kept a firm grip on his control, enjoying the little sounds she was making—the tiny inhalation as he pushed deeper, the almost inaudible moan as he withdrew. Yeah, it’d be far too easy to shoot before he was ready—and he intended to take his time and savor this moment.

  Damn, he enjoyed her—her courage, sure, but also her sense of humor, her ability to laugh at herself, her kindness to Gryff. How she talked to Hawk without acting afraid. The way she lost herself in her orgasm with a scream. Fuck, he’d almost come right then like a horny teen.

  He pressed in, slow and sure, going balls-deep until she was a hot, tight fist around him. And he felt her tighten her pelvic muscles to make it even better for him, because that was the type of woman she was—as generous with giving as she was enthusiastic in receiving.

  Braced on one arm, he cupped one lush breast with his free hand, plumping it, kneading it, smiling as her muscles clenched around his dick. Sensitive breasts were his favorite. “The way you feel around me is fucking wonderful.”

  The corners of her mouth tipped up, and he could see the pleasure in her big brown eyes.

  Slowly, he started to move in and out, enjoying the slick feel of her cunt around him. Her nipple jutted into a peak in his hand.

  He moved faster, harder, keeping a careful eye on her. He was big—yeah, no denying it—and it was worth taking a little extra time to ensure a woman was ready. But her hips were rising, meeting him with every thrust.

  The sound of sex, wet and slapping, filled the room. Her face was flushed, eyelids at half-mast, as she ran her hands over his chest.

  Close, but not quite there, and he’d give his next breath to see her come again. Fuck, he’d never seen anything sexier, and he damn well wanted to be inside her this time.

  Let’s take a bit of control from her.

  Releasing her breast, he lifted her left leg, setting it on his shoulder and holding it there—eliminating her ability to move or lift her hips. Forcing her to take what he had to give. As he drove harder, he watched her swallow, saw her color deepen, her nipples bunch tighter.

  Her eyes closed as the muscles of her torso tensed. A thrust, another, and then her neck arched as she went over. Her cunt squeezed his cock, released, squeezed as she came in waves and “ohh, ohh, ohh, fuck, ohhhhh,” filled the room with her gorgeous voice.

  The fantastic buffeting around his dick shoved him right over the edge. With a low roar, he slammed into her, deep, deeper, as heat engulfed his balls, then his cock, and he came with hard pleasurable jets.

  Jesus fuck.

  He pulled in some air, then gently lowered her leg to wrap around his waist. She did the same with her other leg and drew him even closer, holding him inside her with the same generosity that she made love.

  Easing himself down on one elbow, he brushed her hair from her damp face and traced a finger around her swollen mouth. “Sweetheart. That was amazing.”

  Under his touch, her lips curved up. “Hmm. It was…pretty good. Maybe we should go again, so I can be sure.”

  He burst out laughing and hugged her to him
. “We will definitely have to go again and see.”

  It was well past dawn.

  Frankie was curled up against Bull’s side in his bed, drowsing off and on from the last bout of sex. When they’d come upstairs to his bedroom, he hadn’t closed the wide doors that overlooked the living room below and had a view out the two stories of windows facing the lake. As the rising sun turned the snow on the distant mountains to golds and pinks, he’d woken her, reminding her she’d asked for a repeat. His hands had already been busy, and she’d been far too aroused to protest.

  The slow, sweet, sensual second time had been even better than the first, leaving her feeling as if her body had melted into syrup.

  Sleepily, she skated her palm over the warm satin of his chest, feeling the hardness of the muscles beneath. His arm tightened around her in an affectionate squeeze.

  In the corner, Gryff lay in a big cushy dog bed, his fluffy tail over his nose.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” Bull murmured.

  “It is, isn’t it? And you have such a beautiful—quiet—view. I can’t believe the lakeshore isn’t crowded with houses.”

  “That’s because we own most of it. We wanted enough land that the sarge wouldn’t feel crowded.”

  “The sarge?”

  “Ah, he was basically our adopted father—and a recluse and paranoid as all get out.” Bull smiled slightly. “He raised us in an off-the-grid cabin, but when we all left, we talked him into moving here where he’d be closer to his friend Dante. It turned out that Dante had bought a lot of lakefront property when land was cheap, and he was eager to sell us this side. My brothers and I pitched in to buy it and build here, so we could be near the sarge when time allowed.”

  “You miss him.”

  After a long moment, Bull sighed. “Yeah. We’re combat vets and know how short life can be, but we never expected him to die. He always seemed indestructible.”

  Grief. Why did the sound of it in his deep voice pull on her heartstrings? “I’m sorry, honey.”

  He smiled, then his eyes seemed to darken. “Speaking of dying, do you want to tell me more about your trip to the PZs yesterday?”

  “No, I think my curiosity about them was satisfied.” And that was all she was going to say about it. She couldn’t lie to him and didn’t want to.

  Besides, she was just someone he’d had a nice bout of sex with. No entanglements, remember? She could hardly tell him the truth and ask for help. There was no way to predict how he’d react. He might well ignore Kit’s objections and call in the FBI and cops.

  She could handle this. Her desire to have someone hold her hand while cutting a fence could get Kit and Aric killed.

  Bull didn’t make the obvious comment—that curiosity had almost killed this cat. When she checked his face, his gaze was far more thoughtful than she liked. Not surprising, really. Under that good-natured, sociable front was a frighteningly intelligent man.

  With a fingertip, he traced a scratch so lightly that it barely hurt as if to remind her of the danger she’d been in. “I think there’s more to it than curiosity…but you don’t know me that well, do you?”

  A much better subject to pursue.

  “Not exactly. For all I know, you could be a serial killer who’s leaving corpses all over the mountainsides.” She gave him a half-smirk. “Maybe I was out there searching for all those dead bodies.”

  His dimple appeared for a second, but then he ran his fingers through her hair, moving the heavy strands to fall down her back. “When you’re ready to share the rest, I’ll be here. Ready to listen.”

  She wanted to share. To tell him everything. And couldn’t.

  At the burn of tears in her eyes, she hastily slid out of bed. “It’s morning. I should get moving. My shift starts early today.”

  “Frankie.” He lifted those black eyebrows, his gaze steady. “You’re going to be too sore to carry trays. You’ll have the next two nights off from work. Stay.”

  But if she didn’t leave right now, they’d probably do…sexy stuff…in that bed. And that was the problem.

  Cazzo, she knew this would happen—that she’d start feeling all emotionally vulnerable and get attached. Just because of a few orgasms. And the way he felt inside her. That deep voice calling her sweetheart. His hand on her face. Those black eyes and…

  No, no, no. Casual sex. Nothing more. She needed to concentrate on getting Kit out of that place. He was a distraction she couldn’t afford.

  “I have lots of other stuff that must be done.” She pulled on her clothes, still astounded he’d not only washed everything for her yesterday, but had managed to get all the blood out, as well.

  He rose from the bed, intimidating in size, yet so very tempting. Because she knew the feeling of his fingers on her skin, the taste of his mouth, his skin, his—

  “Let me make you breakfast.” He adjusted her shirt sleeve, easing it over the bandage on her arm.

  “No, no, thank you. I need to get home.” She wanted to settle her feelings, get past the sadness that this was all there could be.

  She forced a smile. “This was a one-time thing, remember? No complications or entanglements. No expectations for anything afterward.” She bent to pet Gryff, taking comfort in the soft fur and wagging tail. Dogs were so straightforward.

  When she straightened, Bull had pulled on a pair of jeans and stood watching her.

  She hadn’t noticed before, but when he didn’t smile, he appeared dangerous—like the soldier he’d been. She drew in a breath. “Thank you for the rescue and one wonderful night away from reality.”

  When he nodded, she knew he’d caught her meaning—that they were back in the real world. She had Kit and Aric to rescue. After that, well, her home was in New York as was her job and her responsibilities.

  This night…had been just a dream.

  Chapter Eleven

  Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts. ~ Winston Churchill

  * * *

  The next morning, Frankie walked down Main Street, needing coffee more than she needed her next breath. She’d run out of coffee for the tiny coffeemaker in the cabin. Not that it made particularly good brew anyway.

  She scowled at the blue sky, the cheerful snapdragons in the barrel-planters, and the bright clapboard storefronts. How dare everything be so happy.

  Despite a dose of ibuprofen, her muscles still ached slightly from the unfamiliar hiking, and her arm throbbed. Nevertheless, she was past ready to return to her roadhouse job, but noooo. The boss said not until tomorrow.

  I need coffee. And people. And to do something besides fail.

  Maybe she’d just lay herself down on the sidewalk and have a temper tantrum.

  “Morning, Frankie,” the postmistress called, herding her grandchildren into the grocery store.

  “Good morning.” Well, merda. Guess it wouldn’t be appropriate to give Irene’s toddlers the example of a screaming tantrum. Besides…big tits, sore arm. It’d hurt too much.

  Hands stuffed into her fleece jacket’s pockets, Frankie continued down the sidewalk. Nothing was going right.

  Like the failure of her visit to the PZ compound. The chief was probably grateful the PZs weren’t located on a public road. Just imagine if visitors to Alaska decided the place was a tourist attraction.

  A thrill a minute. Visit the notorious Patriot Zealot compound. See if you’re fast enough to dodge speeding bullets. Terror will strike on our featured cliff-ride when you fall right off the trail. Caution: Adults only. Possibility of death. Not recommended for the faint of heart.

  Despite reaching the compound, she hadn’t figured out which building the children were in.

  Then again, she’d gained essential information. Like if she wanted to cut through the fence, it’d better be done out of sight of the guard towers and at night because there was a big wide space between the fence and the tree line. She knew—all too well—that the guards had guns and would use them.

>   She’d found the right trail to use—the one that started at two cabins close together. What were their names? Chevy and Knox. Bull had called them the town’s handymen. If she could find them, would they give her permission to park there?

  Then…she’d have to manage to walk that trail at night. The thought sent a shiver up her spine. She’d either end up lost forever or killing herself in the darkness. But using a flashlight would be like painting a target on herself. Where were her see-in-the-dark superpowers?

  Wait… One of her friends had gone on a bat walk in Central Park, and the organizers had given her night vision goggles to use. She’d said it was amazing how much she could see.

  Yes, yes, yes.

  In the coffee shop—her favorite place to use the internet—Frankie did her research. So much research. Finally, she decided a night vision monocular would work best along with head mount equipment so she could wear it hands-free. Tomorrow, she’d visit sports and hunting stores in Soldotna to get the equipment. She just wished she had more time to learn to use the stuff.

  With a sigh, she leaned back in the booth and made the call she’d been dreading. “Anja, I got your voicemail.”

  “Francesca, finally. I’m so fed up with my manager, and I’m thinking of letting him go. Instead of fixing things, he seems to think I need to apologize to one photographer, and he actually ordered me an alarm clock and said to start using it. Can you imagine? You need to get back here and deal with him.”

  Closing her eyes, Frankie searched for a tactful answer. Because it sounded as if—without Frankie present—the manager was finally doing the job he was supposed to do.

  Worse, Frankie had been enabling Anja’s unprofessional behavior. That wasn’t a surprise. It was one of the reasons her family insisted she stay. Although she preferred to think of her job as partly crisis consulting, her family used her more like a Mafia fixer.

  When her sister’s ranting slowed down, Frankie managed to interject, “I’m sorry you’re having a rough time, Anja, but you’ll have to deal with it. Learn to use the alarm clock and show up on time.”