Stay right there, honey.
There was pure sex and sin in Shylah’s voice as it skimmed along his mind, stroking caresses into his brain. Breath catching in his lungs, he obeyed just to see what she’d do.
She leaned down and removed her shoes and socks and then sashayed to the bar. There was no other word for it. As if she were a pro, and by now, he’d believe anything of her, she made two drinks. His was a straight whiskey. Hers was a mojito, with a lot of ice. She handed him his whiskey and took a long drink of the refreshing mint drink.
“I love this jet. We need one just to get around,” she said. Very carefully she set the drink in the holder and knelt between his legs. “I think you really need to get started. If we only have a few hours, we can’t waste time.” Her hands were already on his zipper. She didn’t waste time with his boots, or trying to take off his trousers, she simply opened the jeans and drew the hard length of his cock out.
He loved the way she was so eager for him. He leaned back, eyes half-closed, sipping the whiskey so that fire slid down his throat while she poured fire through his body with her mouth.
“Keep looking at me, baby. I love to watch you. Your eyes. The way your lips are stretched so wide around my cock. You’re gorgeous.” She was.
The way she worked him, tongue dancing and teasing, her mouth sliding and sucking—she was more than talented. And she did have a surprise up her sleeve, just as she’d promised. Her tongue massaged his cock, and then pressed and flicked just under the rim. The motion sent shivers of heat down his spine. He heard himself groan and he couldn’t help but catch at the back of her head, encouraging her to take him deeper.
She did immediately. She had to feel the way his cock was expanding, growing even harder and thicker in her talented mouth. He groaned again. “That’s it, sweetheart. Don’t stop.” He wasn’t going to be able to hold off.
Her hands stroked his balls and then slid behind them, pressing and caressing, and that was all it took. She sucked and swallowed and the pressure against her tonsils and throat muscles was all too much. His cock roared to life like a violent volcano. She didn’t look away, but kept her eyes on his, so he could see every effort to keep up with his explosion. Her eyes watered, but she devoured him as hungrily as he did her when he had the chance.
She finished slowly and gently, her tongue lapping at him tenderly. Only then, when his body finished shuddering, did he realize he had her hair bunched in his hand and he was holding her tightly over him. One by one he managed to release his fingers.
“Holy fuck, Shylah. I don’t think I’m going to survive if you keep that up.”
She sat up slowly and reached for her drink. “You’ll get so used to it you won’t even think about it.”
The thought that she intended to blow him that often made him happy. He gave her a silly grin and took a shaky sip of his whiskey. “I could be the luckiest son of a bitch in the world.” Because it was the truth.
She laughed. “You are. I’m very curious to see what your friends got for us.”
She turned to walk away and Draden quickly got to his feet, zipping his fly as he followed close behind. He reached out, caught the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head. She looked at him over her shoulder, her hair a sexy slide along her back, curling toward her bottom. From behind her, he could see the long line of her back. His breath caught in his throat. She was his wife. Sexy. Sassy. Playful. Willing to fulfill his fantasies and give him hers.
He stepped close and reached around her to catch at the front of her jeans. His mouth moved over her neck while his fingers unsnapped and unzipped so he could catch the waistband and pull the material down her long legs. He left the wisp of lacy thong but urged her forward with his body, so she stepped completely out of the jeans. Unhooking her bra next, he tossed it on the leather chair.
“You’re not going to need that for the next few hours.”
She turned to him, her hands coming up to cup her breasts, the pads of her fingers sliding over her very erect nipples. “You don’t think so?”
“No, I like you just like this. The panties are optional.”
She laughed, just like he knew she would. “It’s a little cool in here.”
Draden reached out and stroked her nipple, watching the dark haze rise in her eyes. “Cool looks good on you.”
She looked down at his hand, his fingers rolling and tugging her nipple, a little rougher than he’d ever done as she arched her back to give him even better access.
“That feels so good, Draden. When you touch me like that, the burn goes straight through me. Like fire in my veins.”
“I want fire rushing through your body every second of these hours we have.”
“Aren’t you getting undressed?”
He pulled his shirt over his head and bunched the material in his hand. “Dressed, or rather partially dressed, I can feel like you’re my little sex toy. All about me. I’m just going to order you around and reap the benefits.”
Her little laugh was just as arousing as the touch of her fingers. The sound of her, the joy in her, the way she entered into fun with confidence and equal enjoyment, was a huge turn-on for him. Her gaze drifted over him speculatively.
“I think you’re my sex toy,” she countered and swung around, sashaying into the master cabin, her hips swaying invitingly.
“Probably the absolute truth,” he conceded. “I’d follow you straight into hell.”
“I was hoping for something a little nicer than that, maybe paradise, but we’ll see.” She tossed her response over her shoulder as she entered the bedroom and then stopped, hands on hips as she surveyed the cabin. “Trap didn’t strike me as a gold and white kind of man.” She bent over and removed her panties, leaving her body completely bare to him.
“Trap is all about sex with Cayenne. Indoors, outdoors, middle of the swamp, a movie theater, hell, he doesn’t even see his surroundings. He only sees her.” Draden was certain he was just as obsessed with Shylah as Trap was with Cayenne. And yeah, the sex was a good part of that, but sex was interwoven very tightly with his love for her. “This is probably standard décor, or someone did it for him. I guarantee it wasn’t him, although he would go to the ends of the earth to make certain she was comfortable.”
She moved across the room to the bank of drawers, her toes sinking into the white carpet. No way had Trap ordered a white carpet, but Draden was already thinking about laying his woman down right in the middle of it and seeing how much give there was in the floor of a jet.
He sank down onto the top of the low cabinets on the opposite side, just drinking her in. He’d spent a lifetime never feeling as if he belonged anywhere until he’d joined the GhostWalkers. Even then, he didn’t feel as if he were a fit with anyone and he never expected to find a woman he wanted the way he did Shylah.
“After we find Whitney’s scientists, are you coming home with me to stay?” He found himself holding his breath. Waiting. His birth mother had thrown him away. His foster mother had died. Living on the street had been a nightmare. As a teen, it had been difficult to trust anyone, especially when so many’d had their own agenda. If she left him …
Shylah turned slowly to face him. She was bare skin, her curves fully on display for him, those full breasts and rounded hips. Her sex. Her long legs. He only saw her eyes. Vivid. Alive. Filled with love. “If you’re going to the swamp, Draden, then I’m right there with you. You want to go somewhere else, we go. I don’t much mind where we live, as long as you’re there with me.”
She didn’t ask for an explanation of why he was suddenly insecure. She didn’t laugh at him or make him feel humiliated, she simp
ly reassured him. Straightforward. Without hesitation. She gave that to him.
Draden found that love could be an overwhelming emotion at the most unexpected times. He crossed his ankles and kept holding her gaze. “That time at the private fashion gig, where I killed those men. It wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the second time.”
She didn’t demand to know what he was talking about, she simply stood there, watching him intently in silence. He could tell her or let it go. He knew if he didn’t give her anything more than what he’d just said, she’d never bring it up again. That was Shylah. His woman.
“I was twelve, hungry and scared. A man offered to help me. He was living on the streets too and I thought maybe he could show me how to survive there. He took me to an alley where one of his friends was staying as well. They shared some bread with me and clean water, and then laid out their spare blanket between them saying I could sleep there for protection. I hadn’t slept in days and I was exhausted.”
Shylah sat on the other side of the room, perching on the opposite expanse of white drawers. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes never once left his face.
“I was naïve and didn’t once think I could be in trouble. I didn’t have anything to steal, so I went to sleep grateful to have found them.” He shook his head. “I was old enough to know better. I still had some memories of my birth mother and the life we lived, but I wanted them to take care of me. It was cold, and I was hungry and scared. Still, on some level, I knew better.”
He didn’t look away from Shylah. From her face. Her eyes. There was no judgment, no condemnation, and he knew there never would be. She waited, listening. Hearing him telling her more than the words he was saying. He was giving her complete trust. Telling her what he’d never told another human being.
“I woke when they attacked me, one holding my hair in a death grip, dragging at my clothes. The other punched me in the ribs twice, saying I was their bitch. He had a knife in one hand and told me he was going to cut me into little pieces if I didn’t cooperate.”