Viva Los Regalos: Kat and Mouse Page 6

  Her cunt gushed with cream at the thought. And with it came another almost suffocating sense of doing this all before… these very thoughts, these very carnal reactions.

  Flynn… The name flittered through her head, and with it came the mocking hazel-green eyes, the self-deprecating, sardonic grin. This man consuming her now was nothing like Flynn Marsters. Nothing and yet everything… She had to know. Before she went insane. “Please!” she called out.

  The mouth on her breast jerked free with an audible pop and suddenly he towered over her, kneeling between her spread thighs, black stare intent. “Please what?”

  “Please tell me how I know you.”

  “Will not knowing stop you from coming?”

  She swallowed, and he nodded at her unspoken answer. “It is a dangerous game you have played, is it not, Katrina O’Brien? It is always dangerous to play with love so.”

  Dangerous. Love.

  The two words lashed at Katrina’s soul the very second the man sank his fingers into her inner thighs and shoved her legs farther apart.

  “Dangerous and yet so, so addictive,” he murmured, before lowering his head to her spread sex and plunging his tongue between its swollen, sodden lips.

  He lapped at her juices, flicked at her clit, his mouth growing more demanding with each second. She bucked into him, anger and pleasure and confusion burning each shallow breath she took. The tension building in her core felt like a living thing -- a being in itself of incandescent power and raw hunger. She gasped and shoved her hips forward, closing her eyes as the man yanked her ass from the bed and closed his teeth down on her clit.

  A memory crashed over her as her cunt flooded with cream: the man who’d destroyed her heart, taking her to heaven, making her feel more than she ever had, the man she’d known was dangerous but didn’t care. Flynn Marsters.

  She opened her eyes. Stared down her body at the man between her thighs. Was it Flynn? How could it be? As if feeling her looking at him, he lifted his head and gazed at her. Eyes tortured and haunted and confident all at once. Katrina sucked in a swift breath. “Flynn.” His name. A statement. Not a question.

  With slow, deliberate intent, he rose up on his knees, his stare locked with hers. His hands moved to his belt. Released the buckle. Lowered his fly.

  Katrina’s mouth went dry.

  And, as fast and fluid as he’d always been, he penetrated her, his cock stretching her to the limit, burning and stinging and filling her with raw pleasure. She arched her back, meeting his thrusts with her hips. Her cunt gripped his shaft, she could feel her muscles fold and contract on its turgid length.

  The way they had numerous times before.

  He pumped into her, his balls smashing her ass, his hands mauling her breasts, his mouth latching onto her neck. Her body thrummed with sexual response. She felt like a living charge of energy being consumed and fed at once. With each thrust of his cock, her blood grew hotter, with each squeeze of his fingers her breathing grew wilder.

  The mounting tension in her body, radiating from her core out to the very tip of her limbs -- fingers, toes -- turned into a torturous, tantalizing squirming pressure. Her lips tingled, the soles of her feet burned. She wanted to bury her hands in her lover’s soft, dark hair, but the cuffs kept her imprisoned and controlled, a fact that only fed the wanton lust consuming her. She moaned instead, rolling her head to the side to grant his lips, teeth and tongue greater access to the delicate sensitivity of her neck.

  Rough hands conquered her body. Took it and used it. Fingers pinched her nipples, followed by teeth equally as punishing. His tongue painted her breasts with hot strokes of wet hunger before plunging between her lips to demand hers. She gave it to him, the question of his identity a faint shadow flickering in her pleasure-clouded mind.

  And all the while his cock continued to own her sex. Long, fierce penetrating strokes. Frantic, rapid thrusts tormenting her clit until she cried out in delicious submission, “Christ, I’m going to come!”

  He lifted his head, his lips bruised from punishing her mouth and breasts, and stared down at her, thrusting into her cunt with brutal need. “God, I’ve missed hearing you scream that,” he growled, voice completely free of the ambiguous accent. “As much as I’ve missed being inside you.”

  Katrina’s eyes snapped wide -- the very moment her orgasm took her. Making her whole body shudder and quake and thrash. Her cunt constricted, her throat slammed shut and she arched, glaring up at the man pounding into her, the man whose every wild stroke told her he, too, was erupting, spurting wad after wad of thick, hot desire into her sex. The very man who’d plucked her fantasies from her shamed mind all those years ago and taken her to a place she didn’t know could exist. A place of rapture and bliss.

  The very man who’d promised her nothing, but shattered her heart when, without word, he disappeared from her life. The very man she’d fallen in love with and would always love, no matter how much she hated him and herself.

  Flynn Marsters.

  She stared up at him, her cunt contracting on his thrusting, pummeling shaft, her climax scorching through her like a raging, ravenous bushfire, and cried out, “Flynn Marsters, you fucking bastard!”

  * * *

  Abaddon walked through The Wicked Lynx’s main gaming area, watching human and paranormals alike with detached interest. Everything was coming to plan. Flynn Marsters was under his control, albeit reluctantly, and tomorrow night, the Daemon Moon would be in his -- Abaddon’s -- possession, not Da Boss’s.

  He pictured the flawless stone, its clear diamond composition, its iridescent heart; within which lay his freedom. Da Boss might have thought he’d won, but Abaddon rarely played by the rules, a fact more than one human or demon could attest to.

  He curled his lip, letting the inferno of his core radiate from his being, uncaring of the hisses of surprised pain from those around him. Losing a game of poker to the head of the paranormal mafia had been foolish, especially when the stakes had been so high: his unquestioning service and obedience.

  Not even the Fallen Angel, Lucifer Himself, owned Abaddon. Not until that stupid poker game, and then, bam! What should have been a winning hand became the lock on his imprisonment and servitude. Twenty human years. Who would have thought someone so obsessed with the disgusting human concoction of peanut butter could bluff so well?

  Well, fuck that. He wasn’t anyone’s lapdog, least of all Da Boss’s.

  The second he crushed the Daemon Moon in his fist, his contract was destroyed and his smiodan -- his will -- returned. Then nothing would stop him from having what he wanted. Power. Dominion. The souls of sinners and the blood of innocents. Oh, and the complete submission of Da Boss himself.

  He smiled at the heady thought and an image came -- rather unexpectedly -- to his mind. Katrina O’Brien. The very delicious, very intoxicating Katrina O’Brien. A woman who longed to submit, but fought the longing with every fiber of her being. Perhaps, when his true power had returned, he would take her after all. The Mouse would not be able to stop him doing so.

  Striding through the crowd, he tuned his mind into her psyche, tasting her, smelling her, hearing her…

  Christ! I’m going to come!

  A wave of unadulterated pleasure stormed through Abaddon’s being -- Katrina’s pleasure.

  God, I’ve missed hearing you scream that. As much as I’ve missed being inside you.

  The words -- like those of a ghost -- lashed at Abaddon’s pride and in blur of senses he saw Flynn Marsters through Katrina’s eyes. Saw him moving over her body as though it were his. Felt him in her body, felt his cock swell, rupture and flood her cunt with his seed. Flynn’s seed.

  Hands curling into fists, nails puncturing his flesh, blood seeping from the wounds, Abaddon let out a low, savage growl. And, regardless of Los Regalos law, he dematerialized from The Wicked Lynx. Fury devouring him as he did so. Fury and unending rage.

  Chapter Six

  “How dare you?”

 
Flynn stared down at Katrina, his cock, still stiff and throbbing despite being drained by his climax, buried in her tight, wet sex. His heart told him to wrap his arms around her, hold her close and apologize for everything. But he couldn’t. His heart had no idea what was to come. “It was your bet, Kat, and you lost.” He traced a line down her profile, from forehead to nose, to lips to chin. “You’ve come a long way since the up-tight, upper-class repressed teenager I knew ten years ago.”

  “And you’ve stayed the arrogant bastard you always were. At least I’ve matured.”

  He let a sly grin play with his lips. “So I can see.”

  Her sex clamped tight around his shaft, her pale green eyes igniting with contempt. “Get off me.”

  He settled himself deeper between her thighs. “No.”

  “Get. Off. Me.”

  “No.”

  Her jaw clenched and he knew she was picturing smashing her fist against his face. Thank bloody God he’d cuffed her. “What are you doing here, Flynn?”

  He cocked an eyebrow, enjoying more than he wanted to admit the feel of her body against his. “I think it’s fairly obvious, isn’t it? Or didn’t the earth move for you too?”

  Incredulous rage erupted in her stare and she bucked, thrashing under him in wild jerks. “God! What did I ever see in you?”

  A tightness wrapped around Flynn’s chest. “I was dangerous, remember? Forbidden. And every time you left my arms you looked like the cat that’d swallowed the canary.” He stared down at her, his body coiling at the sight of her where he so desperately wanted her to always be -- with him. In his arms. “Much the same way you looked a few moments ago.” He gave her nose a playful flip with his forefinger. “You’ve missed me, I think.”

  She shifted, her arms flexing as she tugged on the cuffs locking her to the bed. “I haven’t thought of you for ten years.”

  Flynn chuckled. “Liar.” Katrina’s face flooded with pink heat and he laughed. “You could never pretend with me, Kat.”

  Green eyes narrowed. “You’re right. I couldn’t. But I could always surprise you.” And, before he knew what she was doing, the sound of her cuffs releasing filled the room and she grabbed two fistfuls of his hair, pulling his head down to hers until their noses almost touched. “Never cuff a cop, Flynn. It pisses us off.” Her glare turned thunderous. “Now, tell me why you disappeared, you arrogant bastard, or I’ll cuff you to this bed and leave you here.” A look of infinite confusion cut through the anger on her face. “You just vanished. Without a word.”

  A beat -- heavy and painful -- thumped in Flynn’s chest. Their bodies still remained locked together, the intimate connection a bitter irony considering what he was about to say. “I was dangerous, Katrina. A man barely twenty with a criminal record longer than my arm, a drug-dealing father and a mother God-knows-where. My world and your world were so far removed from each other not even a doctor of astrophysics could align them. I was wanted by the cops, by more than one gang, headed for trouble -- shit, I was trouble -- and I didn’t want to take you with me.”

  Katrina fixed him with a level stare, her fists in his hair curling tighter. “Wasn’t that my decision to make?”

  Flynn shook his head. “You were nineteen, Kat. The most difficult decision you’d ever made was whether to take the Porsche or the Jag to the mall.”

  “That’s unfair.”

  “But true. Which is why I turned you on so much.”

  Thick silence followed the blunt statement. And then: “So, if you know all the answers, Flynn, why did I turn you on?”

  His throat clamped shut and he stared at her, unable to respond.

  She gazed up at him, warm and soft and smelling of their sex. Yet hurt all the same. “I see.”

  Anger rolled through Flynn. “No, Kat. You don’t. You showed me the life I could never have -- happy, full of love and contentment. When I was with you, I let myself believe it was my life. Not the brutal life of an unwanted petty crook with no prospects.”

  The fists in his hair relaxed. A little. “And yet you still disappeared. Why?”

  Why. The question he didn’t want to answer.

  “Why, Flynn? I have to know.”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, picturing a future he’d always wanted. “Because you were falling in love with me,” he said, looking at her again, feeling her sex holding him like a glove. Feeling her heart hammer in her chest, a rhythm in perfect harmony with his own rapid beat. “And I was already in love with you. Irretrievably and completely.”

  Her lips parted. Her fingers knotted in his hair again and with gentle, almost hesitant care she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him.

  Warmth flooded through Flynn like a tidal wave. A growl rumbled in his throat. He curled his arms under her shoulders and pulled her deeper into the kiss, his tongue meeting hers with fierce hunger. He’d spent what felt like a lifetime stealing precious diamonds from those who never appreciated them, invaluable jewels of flawless structure, when what he’d really wanted, the only thing he’d wanted, was the precious, flawed jewel beneath him.

  Her hands scored two slow, burning paths down his back, over his hips and up to his hair again, as if she needed to make certain he really was there.

  I’m here, Katrina, he thought, flicking at her teeth with his tongue as he drew in a long, slow breath, taking her into his very being. I’m here with you.

  Molten heat surged through him and his cock, still buried deep within her sex, thickened. Grew long, hard and rigid. She whimpered into his kiss and arched her back, bending her knees and lifting her legs until he could penetrate her no deeper. She knotted her fists in his hair and pulled his head from hers, staring up at him with smoldering eyes. “I want to feel your flesh on mine,” she stated, voice husky.

  Planting his hands on either side of her head he smiled down at her, struggling to control his breaths. “Then you best undress me. Quickly.”

  Her fingers moved to his back, curled around the hem of his shirt and, with vicious strength, she yanked it up his torso and over his head. Shuffling his weight, he grabbed the garment in one hand and threw it to the floor, staring at her the whole time. He never wanted to lose sight of her. Never again.

  “Make love to me, Flynn,” she murmured.

  “Gladly,” he answered, and lowered himself down to her body again.

  Her warm, smooth flesh pressed to his, her puckered nipples razing his chest, sending jolts of liquid electricity into his already straining balls. His cock throbbed. Fuck, he was so close to coming already. The faintest whisper of her body moving with his and he would be --

  Her hands slid over his ass, around his hips and between their legs and all rational thought deserted him. “There’ll be time for slow later, Flynn.” Her raw whisper stole his breath, just as her hands found his balls and stole his control.

  He rammed into her, punching his shaft again and again and again, into the tight, wet, hot channel of her pussy. He fisted the quilt beneath her, needing an anchor. Not to hold him to her, but to stop himself exploding in a rupture of sensations. He was going to come and he couldn’t stop himself. He was going to… he was going to…

  Katrina bucked, locking her heels behind his ass, squeezing his balls with one hand the exact moment she pressed a finger to his anus. “Jesus, Flynn! I’m going to come!”

  Rhythm deserted him. Time forgot him. He sank his cock into her wetness and lost himself to his release, crying her name out with every spurt of his seed pumping into her sex.

  God! She was the jewel he’d hungered for his whole life. The unobtainable jewel he’d never been able to forget. And as soon as he stole the Daemon Moon they would be free. One last job and then she’d be…

  Safe? His climax wracked his body in violent shudders, even as the word stilled his heart. Safe. She’d never be safe with him. He was a thief and she was a cop. Two different worlds. As it always had been. Too different, too dangerous for their love to survive.

  “Flynn! Flynn! Oh
, fuck me, Flynn! I love you!”

  Katrina’s cries rent the air. Her cunt constricted on his pumping, spurting shaft. She bucked and moaned and milked his cock of every last drop, and he gave it -- willingly, desperately. Because in his head two words threaded through the absolute rapture consuming him: dangerous, love.

  His body afire, his blood ice, he cried out one more time and then slumped onto her body. Holding her, wanting to imprint this very moment on his psyche forever.

  “Oh, God, I love you, Flynn,” Katrina murmured, tracing her nails up and down his back in languid, lazy patterns, a smile of wonderment in her voice.

  Flynn held her close. This moment. This moment. He brushed his lips over her temple. “I love you too,” he whispered in her ear, pulling her closer.

  Knowing exactly what he had to do.

  * * *

  Katrina opened her eyes and smiled at the ceiling. She felt aglow. Clichéd, she knew, but aglow all the same. Aglow and warm and completely, wonderfully sated. Stretching slightly, she turned her head.

  And found the space beside her empty.

  A chill stabbed at her euphoria. Surely he wouldn’t do it to her again? Surely… She sat up, looking around the room. Not a sign Flynn Marsters had ever been there. Except for the dampness between my thighs. A tingling sensation began to grow in the pit of her stomach -- the “cop” part of her stomach. She swallowed. “Flynn?”

  Silence.

  “Flynn?”

  How many times do you have to call his name to know he’s not here, O’Brien?

  Icy numbness rolled over her. Embarrassed disgust devoured her. She rubbed at her face with trembling hands. “Oh, you bloody idiot, O’Brien.”

  She didn’t move for a long moment, part of her pretending she only waited for Flynn to come back from dashing to the ice machine. The fact her suite had a mini-bar didn’t matter. Where else would he be, if not at the ice machine?

  Dragging her fingers through her hair, she looked up, staring blankly at the suite’s door, framed by the ornate archway separating the bedroom from the “living” section of the suite. Her gut clenched, almost as tight as her fists. She deserved this. For being an idiot. For not learning a lesson. Self-contempt churned through her, and with it came anger.