From Evil: Books 4-6 Page 8

  Her chest hitched, an exquisite response. Then she slowly walked toward him.

  CHAPTER 7

  Sweet mother of God, he was beautiful. Easily the sexiest man in the room. Hell, in Lucia’s thirty years, she’d never seen a man that jaw-droppingly stunning.

  And that was the most crucial part. She’d never seen him before. Not in this sex club. Not in Caracas.

  She would’ve remembered the intensity in those crystal blue eyes, the way they honed in on her, tracked her every move, and took her breath away.

  She floated toward him, propelled by curiosity, desire, stupidity. He could’ve been any number of deadly traps—an enemy of Tiago, a Fed for the United States, a kidnapper or serial killer.

  Her insides might’ve been damaged, but her gut was trustworthy, and it told her he was none of those things. Besides, it wasn’t like she would leave with him or tell him anything incriminating. If he were simply here to fuck, she’d gladly take him for a ride.

  While this was the only place she could have sex on her own terms, the pursuit of pleasure wasn’t the reason she came. She had a job to do, a mandate from Tiago to visit twice a month. He didn’t care who she fucked while she was here, as long as she cataloged the words exchanged around her. Some of Tiago’s competitors frequented the club, and their tongues tended to loosen after an orgasm or two.

  This moonlighting gig also aided her own agenda. An agenda Tiago could never, ever find out about.

  Sliding one foot in front of the other, she approached the gorgeous stranger with deliberate slowness so that she could savor every glorious inch of him. Dark brows hooded those captivating eyes. Pillowy lips parted with his aroused breaths. Stubble shadowed his cheeks and jaw. And what a jawline. Even with the scruff, she could make out the chiseled angles.

  His nose was perfect, no bumps or bends to suggest it’d ever been broken. Unlike most of the brutes she kept company with. His brown-blond hair was cut short. Neither buzzed nor long enough to style. Low maintenance.

  For a white guy, his complexion had a remarkable glow, as if soaked with sunlight and lathered with oil. It was probably just the low lighting. But good lord, all that flawless tanned skin, the way it stretched over defined pecs and abs… No wonder every woman in the room was watching him, waiting for a turn to choke on his dick.

  The one between his legs blocked Lucia’s view of his package. The two on the couch looked like they were seconds from humping his face.

  Time for them to go.

  Lucia picked up her pace, suddenly very aware of her nudity. What a novel feeling. She’d thought the first couple of years with Tiago had broken her of all modesty. But now, goosebumps rose on her arms. Her nipples hardened in the stuffy air, and she fought the urge to hug the scar on her abdomen.

  The man didn’t break eye contact, and as if held in hypnosis, she couldn’t either. She paused within arm’s reach, and without removing her gaze from his, she made a shooing motion.

  At the edges of her periphery, the women skulked away, knowing better than to challenge Tiago Badell’s favorite confidant.

  Her eyes stayed on his as he lowered his hand and removed the condom. Then he sat back and rested his arms along the back of the couch, unabashedly nude with the robe open, as if inviting her to look.

  She meant to take a leisurely stroll down the length of his body, but she only made it to the thick column of his neck before skipping straight to his cock.

  Her breath caught, and heat flushed between her legs. God almighty, the man was blessed in both length and girth. So hard and thick. Beautifully shaped. A vein pulsed along the fat shaft. The wide, suckable crown and silky skin pulled taut—

  Wait. He was circumcised? It’d been so long since she’d seen a cut penis. It wasn’t a common practice in South America. Or Europe.

  But it was prevalent in the United States.

  Her gaze lifted to the blue of his, which hadn’t moved from her face. “You’re American.”

  He glanced at his erection, a frown piercing his forehead. Then he returned to her eyes. “So are you.”

  Her Colombian heritage made it easy to blend in here, but her American accent always gave her away.

  For the first time since she spotted him, he released her gaze, lowering his down her body, inspecting her mouth, throat, chest, and lower. He gave her ugly scar a cursory glance and paused on her pussy.

  The brazen way he examined that part of her made her inner muscles spasm. Could he see the throbbing? The desire dripping onto her thighs?

  She endured his predatory stare for long seconds before lowering to her knees and settling between his spread legs. Her hands itched to wrap around his swollen length, but she wouldn’t. Not until he was feverish and ready to crawl out of his skin with need.

  She started with his ankles, trailing feather-light caresses up the backs of his calves. The dusting of coarse hair tickled her fingers, and his muscles bounced against her touch. She gave the fronts of his legs the same attention and moved above his knees, inching her body closer and relishing the feel of his powerful thighs around her.

  When she reached his heavy sac, she let her fingernails graze the skin but otherwise neglected the neediest part of him.

  His arms lowered from the back of the couch to his sides, and his breathing deepened, his lips separating to accommodate the pull and release of air.

  He looked ravenous, and she fed off it, her hands traveling over his torso, exploring every brawny bump and carved furrow. She kept the motion unhurried, rhythmic, seductive. Then she added her mouth, licking and nibbling his velvety skin.

  God help her, he smelled heavenly. Clean and pure, without a hint of cologne or aftershave. He smelled natural, fresh, like a man who took care of himself. His pubic hair was trimmed. His teeth were white, and his physique was a powerhouse of sculpted muscle. The perfect example of a healthy male.

  The sounds of slapping flesh and hoarse groans saturated the room, spurring her on. She worshiped his body with her hands and mouth, delighting in every twitch, every moan. His erection pressed like a hot iron against her belly, and his lashes fell half-mast over sexy bedroom eyes as he teasingly caught the edge of his bottom lip between his teeth.

  Oh, how she wanted to taste the hunger on that sinful mouth. Which was crazy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d kissed someone, the last time she’d been kissed. It was before Venezuela. Before she was taken.

  It wasn’t like she avoided it. She just didn’t have access to the kind of sex that invited intimacy. But as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, she knew she would kiss him. She just wished she remembered how to do it well.

  Peering up through her lashes, she fell into his vivid stare and waited for him to get bossy. He would. She knew his type. She just had to be patient. Or maybe give him a little push.

  Sliding her fingers over his hard nipple, she pinched it, twisted it hard.

  He groaned and rocked his hips. Then he gripped the base of his cock and met her eyes. “Put your mouth on me.”

  “Hmm. I don’t know.” She fought a smile.

  He held out a foil packet from the pocket of his robe. “I’m not asking.”

  There he is. Demanding. Coarse. So fucking sexy.

  She plucked the condom from his fingers and rolled it on, fighting to stretch it into position. One-size-fits-all didn’t quite cover the full length of him. Poor guy. A chuckle escaped her lips.

  “Stop laughing at it,” he said, gripping the hair at her nape, “and work it into your mouth.”

  Her thighs clenched, and she lowered her head, keeping her gaze locked with his. Then she stopped.

  She never gave blowjobs without a condom protecting her mouth from disease. But she didn’t want to taste the latex on him. She wanted his flavor on her tongue and the warmth of his skin sliding against her lips.

  He looked and smelled like the kind of man who kept himself clean and safe.

  Fuck it.

  She unrolled the condom, toss
ed it aside, and brought her face close, inhaling the salty, masculine scent of his cock. Her mouth watered.

  The first brush of the broad tip against her lips produced a tremble across his thighs and a rumbling groan in his chest.

  He adjusted the fist in her hair, tightening the hold to guide her mouth, closer, deeper, forcing her to swallow him. And she did, as much of him as she could, flattening her tongue and measuring her breaths.

  Jesus, he was long. And unbelievably hard and hot. If he kicked his hips, she’d feel the bruise in her throat for days.

  But he didn’t. He used his hand instead, guiding her head up and down at the pace and rhythm he wanted. She might’ve been the initiator, but she wasn’t the one in control.

  Dominance encapsulated every bone, muscle, and breath in his body, and he knew it. Owned it. It was right there—the glare of masculine confidence in those brilliant blue eyes. He stared her down as if to illustrate that very point, to make her squirm.

  She wasn’t the squirmy type, but he did affect her—the erratic pulse in her throat, the clenching heat between her legs, the impulse to submit to him on a fundamental level—if only for one night.

  Her instincts said he wouldn’t abuse the gift. He wasn’t Tiago. Wasn’t any of the other selfish, corrupt men she’d encountered over the past eleven years. He reminded her of Matias. Even as a young man, Camila’s boyfriend had that persuasive something in his bearing, in his eye contact, and in the way he handled her sister.

  Camila…

  Her heart gave a heavy pang, and she quickly shoved those thoughts away.

  Re-doubling her efforts, she tongued and sucked the beautiful cock in her mouth.

  Blood pulsed along the length, beating strong and hot beneath his velvety skin. He was close, his breathing labored and muscles taut.

  But she didn’t want him to come. Not until he was impaled deep inside her pussy.

  His cock slid from her mouth, and she crawled up his body, the welts on her ass pulsing deliciously with each movement. She kissed a path from his sternum to his neck and lingered on his whiskered jawline.

  Then she felt it—the excess of saliva in her mouth, the flare of nausea in her gut, and the sudden sweep of vertigo.

  No, please. Not now.

  She held still, blanking her expression to hide the stabbing pain.

  It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

  “Hey.”

  His lips moved, his voice raspy. She focused on that, on his mouth and how badly she wanted to feel it against hers.

  CHAPTER 8

  A strange look crossed Lucia’s face. It was such a fleeting twitch Tate wondered if he’d imagined it.

  “Are you okay?” He cupped her cheek, searching her beautiful brown eyes.

  She stared at him, stared at his lips. Then she attacked his mouth in a bruising kiss.

  Fuck, he was primed for it, had spent the last few minutes warring between blowing his load in her throat and pounding her into the filthy carpet.

  Either way, the onset of orgasm pushed against the edges of his tenuous control. He needed to calm the fuck down and remember why he was here.

  Hard to do with her sweet tongue working against his with diabolical skill. The tongue that had just ruined him for all other blowjobs.

  Commanding her to suck him had been gratuitous and narcissistic. He only needed to get her alone to tell her about Camila. But he couldn’t bring himself to regret the ungodly pleasure her mouth had given him.

  Just like he couldn’t stop his hands from learning every dip and curve of her shape. She was so damn small, all delicate bones and compact muscle. He could snap her in half. But it wasn’t just her fragile size that turned him on. It was the compliant way she responded to him, the ease in which she knelt and bent to his will.

  He let her lead the kiss as he stroked her from tits to ass and back again. Then he took over, chasing her tongue and setting the tempo. Her palms pressed against his chest, her fingers curling in as she met him bite for bite, opening as he deepened the kiss, and sighing as they unraveled into groping, rubbing, heedless hands and grinding hips.

  Heat panted through him as he lowered his touch to her cunt and stroked the soft flesh, sliding through the wetness and pressing inside. The clasp of her body sucked him, clenching and pulsing and scrambling his brain.

  Goddamn, she was tight. Swollen and slick and so fucking hot. He ached to be inside her. Felt rabid with the need to spear her with his cock. But he was too big. He’d hurt her if he didn’t start slow and gentle.

  When she reached between them and gripped his length, he nudged her arm away. She’d removed the condom, which he greatly appreciated during the blowjob, but he never had unprotected sex.

  Quickly rolling on another rubber, he positioned himself. His other hand caught her waist, stilling her, making her wait for it.

  The elegant column of her neck filled his view, the vein in her throat pulsing wildly. The tips of her stick-straight black hair brushed against the sharp lines of her shoulders. As her greedy hands prowled his body, her thick lashes lowered, partially concealing the lust in her eyes.

  She was, without question, the sexiest, most striking woman he’d ever seen. But it changed nothing. She was still a gang member, and he still loved her sister.

  This was just sex. An exchange of pleasure and, by the end of the night, information.

  She squeezed her thighs around his hips, leaking honey all over his shaft.

  “Your impatience only makes me hungrier, sweetheart.” He licked the seam of her lips.

  “Take what you need, American.” She licked him back.

  Christ, she couldn’t say shit like that to him. As it was, he struggled to keep himself from tearing into her with unrestrained barbarity. And she would let him. Maybe she was masking her expressions, but her body’s responses were honest and real. She’d let him use her savagely and selfishly, let him bite her nipples, bruise her skin, and welt her ass. It was incredibly erotic to know he could fuck this woman any way he desired, and she would allow it.

  Because it pleased him.

  Because she was submissive to her core.

  She’s also Camila’s sister.

  The inconvenient reminder gave him pause.

  When the time came to talk to Camila, he wouldn’t provide details of this encounter. Wouldn’t tell her how fucking perfect her sister’s pussy felt sliding against his dick, pulsing and dripping and begging to be stuffed.

  Fingernails bit into his arms, narrowing his focus on the sexy woman on his lap. She’d waited long enough.

  Clutching her waist with both hands, he sank her onto his cock with excruciating slowness. As the suction of her body stretched and clamped around him, he released a low, long groan.

  His cock strained so hard and full inside her it was agonizing. He wasn’t even buried yet. Could she take him to the hilt?

  The question was answered as she slammed downward and ground her clit against his pelvis. He grunted, and she moaned, scratching her nails down his chest.

  Then he fucked her, lifting her up and down, pushing into her, and riding the intoxicating waves of bliss. There were no traces of pain in her body’s reactions, nothing to dissuade him from deepening his thrusts. His balls tightened, and his hips flexed as he devoured the view of her bouncing, perky tits.

  He wasn’t a fan of this position, preferred to be on top, but he allowed it for a moment because it gave him unrestricted access to her body. And he took advantage, gliding his hands from her waist to roam her feminine peaks and valleys, plucking at her nipples, and caressing the velvety smoothness of her neck.

  The fissured scar across her midsection glowed white against her caramel skin. He traced it, just a steady slide of reverent fingers, but didn’t linger. He would demand the full story from her…later.

  It was remarkable how well they moved together—the synchronization of their rolling grinds, the give of her body with the force of his thrusts, and the stretch of her pussy as h
e pounded her inner muscles. It felt as though they’d been lovers for years, like there was a familiarity between them, a uniquely matched closeness he’d never experienced with another woman.

  The reason was simple. She yielded to him in a way no one ever had, craved the freedom in relinquishing control. And it was in his nature to take the reins.

  With his hands on her hips, he drove inside her, feeding her every ruthless inch and unleashing the last of his restraint. The tip of him hit her so deeply he felt the back of her narrow cunt, groaned, and hammered her again.

  Driven by primal instinct and the urge to punish her for making him want her so goddamn badly, he fucked her viciously, mercilessly, gasping and plunging, his fingers digging into bone.

  With a whimper, she fell against his chest, pressing her mouth into the bend of his neck, kissing, licking, and panting noisily. Then she leaned up and nibbled his earlobe.

  “You feel incredible, American.” She nipped and teased the sensitive skin beneath his ear before whispering again, “Are you a doctor?”

  “What?” He slowed his thrusts and nudged her back to see her face. “No. Why?”

  “Oh, I…” She returned to his neck, distracting him with those soft, hot lips. “I thought I saw you at the hospital.”

  She was lying. The hospital was miles away, outside of a neighborhood she never left.

  “Why are you looking for a doctor?” In a sex club of all places? He clutched her shoulder and pushed her up, studying the vastness of her deep brown eyes.

  “I’m not—”

  He gripped her throat to silence another lie. But something else happened. She didn’t struggle, didn’t claw at the collar of his unyielding fist, didn’t show any of the fight-or-flight responses expected from a woman being choked by a stranger.

  Instead, she melted into the restraint. Lips parted, eyes dilated, she squeezed her pussy so tightly around him he saw stars. Shudders exploded through his body, and his dick throbbed and swelled so hard it was the only heartbeat he felt.

  He couldn’t hold back. The robe came off in a frenzy, tossed on the couch at the last second to protect her from the cushion, before he flipped her onto her back and plowed his way inside her.