Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

In the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder. He’d stepped back under the water to finish washing. What a strange man . Shaking her head, she donned a T-shirt and pair of panties. Should she wait for him?

Her wobbly legs answered the question by taking her to the bed. Her mama would be horrified at the discourtesy of not seeing a visitor to the door, but deVries was fully capable of letting himself out when he left.

She slid into her bed. The thousand-thread-count, Egyptian cotton sheets whispered sweetly against her sensitized skin as she sank down into the mattress.

A few drowsy minutes later, she watched deVries walk out. Beautifully naked. Holy God in heaven, he was ripped, from the hard curves of his biceps to the deep valleys carved between his pectorals. The line of black stitches above his left hip didn’t seem to affect him, whereas if her flesh had been slashed, she’d consider it an excellent idea to take a pain med, lounge around, and watch TV all day.

Bet the man had never lounged a day in his life.

When he walked past and into the living room, she sighed. He hadn’t said a word. Sure, he’d gotten what he wanted; even so, she’d thought he’d at least say good-bye.

To her surprise, he came back in, dumped his bag and case by the nightstand, and tossed his clothes on top.

“What are you doing?” she asked, sitting up in the bed.

He ignored her and went back out, returning a few minutes later with the rope restraints from the couch. He tossed them on the pile of clothes. “Almost forgot these. Might have scared your guests.”

She choked at the thought. Not that she’d ever invited anyone here—it wasn’t really her place, after all—but still. “Discovery could be bad. So thanks.”

After he looked around the room, he ran his finger over the silvery silk quilt and cocked an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like your style or color, babe.”

She shrugged. What could she say—it wasn’t.

The light from the living room cast shadows on his hard face as he stared down at her. She watched him. Why wasn’t he patting her on the ass and leaving? Everyone said the Enforcer was a fuck-’em and forget-’em sort of guy. To her surprise, he crawled under the covers with her.

“What are you doing ?”

“Sleeping. I’m wiped. Not safe to drive.”

“Oh.” Sleep with deVries? She swallowed hard. Before she could figure out how to say I’ll call you a taxi , he rolled her onto her right side and spooned behind her. Her bottom rubbed against his groin. His rock-hard arm over her waist pinned her down as he curved his left hand over her breast.

He wanted to cuddle? The Enforcer? “But—”

“Go to sleep, or you’ll spend the night gagged.”

Well. Yet, even as she searched for the answer to his obnoxious threat, her heart quickened. His gravelly voice alone could carbonate seawater—and when he exerted his will? She simply fizzed.

Unfortunately, all those hot, hot bubbles flowed straight to her pussy. She rubbed her thighs together, trying to still the throbbing. She wanted him again. Criminy, what was wrong with her?

His hand flattened between her breasts, and he snorted. “With a pulse like that, either you’re scared or you’re horny.” He slid his palm over her panties, ascertaining for himself exactly which it was. “Soaked.”

The touch of his firm fingers made her quiver. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. Don’t—”

“Shut it.” With pitiless hands, he tossed away the covers and flattened her onto her back. “Just as well. I didn’t get enough of a taste.”

“But—”

The warning in his narrowed eyes froze her vocal cords.

He stripped her panties off, baring her. Pushing her legs apart, he knelt between them. His gaze moved over her opened pussy…looking at her there.

As her cheeks flared with heat, she slid her hands over her mound to cover herself.

“You don’t wear underwear if you’re with me,” he growled. “And you don’t withhold something I want.” Ruthlessly he positioned her fingers to keep her labia open.

“What are you—”

“You put your hands down here, I use them.” He nudged her fingers outward, forcing her to hold her folds more widely apart. “Hold yourself open for me, and don’t move.”

“But—”

“And don’t speak.” He licked over her, his tongue stopping to wiggle right on top of her clit.

So wet. So hot. Her back arched as heat blossomed in her core.

He watched her with a slight smile. “Screaming is okay.”

Propped up on one elbow, sprawled between her legs, he lowered his head. His tongue worked her hard and fast, impossibly effective with her clit so totally exposed. With his free hand, he slid two fingers inside her, thrusting rhythmically—hard and fast.

Her pussy clamped down on him, and he laughed, closed his lips around her clit, and sucked.

Good thing he’d given her permission to scream.

DeVries woke, lying still as he assessed his surroundings. Kitchen appliances hummed. Someone in the condo above had heavy feet. The woman tucked against his side breathed softly.

Normal sounds. Normal scents. Nothing burning. No stink of ordnance or gunpowder. No stench of fear or blood or sweat. Only the faint fragrance of a cinnamon candle. Laundered linens.

But the citrusy shower soap on Lindsey’s body and the scent of sex affected him like a female in heat must a wolf. He hardened. Jesus, again?

In the middle of the night, he’d realized she’d rolled away from him. He rarely slept with a woman and never fucking cuddled , but…for some reason, he’d tugged her back. When his arm had grazed over her small breasts, her nipples contracted to press into his skin. Still she hadn’t woken.

His cock damn well had. Swearing under his breath, he’d donned a condom, then used his hands and mouth to bring her to the brink even before she wakened. When her eyes opened, he’d held her in place and thrust in. She’d gone rigid, and damned if she hadn’t come immediately, her cunt pulsing around his cock. Fucking satisfying.

And now he wanted her again . The girl definitely cranked his engine.

He looked down at her. Curled against his side, head on his shoulder, one leg over his thighs. Her cheeks and chin were reddened from his beard stubble, her pink lips swollen. She knew how to use her soft mouth. And she’d enjoyed sucking his dick, giving as generously as she received.

Like he’d figured, she was a sweetheart. A nice woman. Submissive. Gentle. Fun. The type of woman he envied his friends for having. Simon’s Rona was smart and organized and bighearted. She adored her kids and her husband; hell, she cared for an entire hospital.

Xavier’s Abby was a genius, terrifyingly literate, and a nurturer down to her bones.

No surprise this little Texan made up the third woman in their girl-gang.

Using one finger, he stroked over his bite mark on her shoulder. Felt like he’d branded her. DeVries was here—no trespassing.

Not that he had any intention of ever scening with her again. One night had been folly; two would be insanity.

But he hadn’t left yet, and he had an urge to have her one more time. A pity she’d be too sore to take him anally again. No. Although he didn’t mind hurting her for their mutual pleasure, turning her off anal sports would be a shame. He owed it to other ass-players not to screw it up for them.

Besides, he was in the mood for a basic missionary position.

He’d fuck her and leave right after. Best to keep it light. Simple. Especially with this little sweetie who’d lured him into spending the night. Give her a chance, and she’d get her hooks into him. A woman could be more dangerous than any snake-infested jungle.