Combustible Page 7

  The cool air of the hotel room wrapped his exposed cock a split second before the wet warmth of Jess’s mouth. He hissed in a breath, spine arching, toes curling into the carpet. “Oh yeah,” he ground out.

  Like hands on his body, he was not used to a mouth on his cock without his permission. Jess had sought no such permission—and yet it was the most incredible sensation, a sublime combination of base pleasure and freedom.

  “Oh yeah,” he repeated, incapable of anything but the inarticulate exclamation. Another first. The power to form words of sophisticated appreciation and approval was lost to him, in the same way he was lost to the pleasure of Jess’s mouth on his eager flesh.

  She inched up and down his length, her tongue a wicked friction that sent hot ribbons of tension into the pit of his stomach.

  Desmond closed his eyes and fisted his hands in her hair. The urge to watch her mouth envelope his erection throbbed through him but he refused it. There wasn’t a hope in hell he’d survive such a sight. He may have already surrendered to the passion she ignited in him, but he wasn’t ready for the moment to end thanks to him blowing his load, no matter how goddamn explosive it might be.

  And it was going to be explosive. Of that he had no doubt.

  With the way his body was on fire, with the way his gut was clenching and his muscles thrumming and his balls throbbing, it was going to tear him apart, undo him, incinerate him.

  “Jess…” He moaned, unable to stop himself picturing her beautiful head moving before his groin even as he squeezed his eyes tighter shut. He should warn her, should prepare her…

  She sucked up his length to the distended rim of his cock and then plunged back down to his scrotum again.

  He balled his fists tighter in her hair, hissed in a breath and arched his spine again, thrusting his hips forward. His dick sank deeper into her mouth. His head swam. His blood seared through his veins.

  Jess hummed, the vibrations of the sound flooding his body with fresh pleasure.

  His knees trembled.

  With another hum, Jess smoothed her hands up his thighs, around to his butt cheeks, and squeezed each one. Kneaded them, inching her fingers closer to the puckered hole of his anus each time.

  He opened his eyes, staring with blank wonder at the ceiling, his brain shutting down, his body taking over his existence.

  “Christ, Jess, I don’t think—”

  Jess plunged down his length once more, farther this time, taking him so deep inside her mouth he felt the tip of his cock press the back of her throat.

  “Jesus…that feels…that feels…”

  She drew the tight seal of her lips up to his crown, slipping her fingers into the crevice of his backside as she did so, and then, with a gentle tug on his balls, sucked him into her mouth once again.

  “Fuck.” The expletive burst from him on a fierce breath. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh—”

  She pressed a firm finger to his anus and Desmond forgot how to breathe.

  A rush of liquid heat surged through him. A wave of pleasure crashed over him.

  He gritted his teeth, his orgasm a heartbeat away.

  All it would take was one more—

  With a growl, he pulled her head from his groin and staggered back a step, sucking in lungful after lungful of air.

  Jess gazed up at him, her eyes clouded with desire, her lips glistening with moisture.

  She smiled, the action slow. “Not ready to come?”

  Desmond shook his head. “Not…not yet.”

  Eyelids fluttering closed a little, she trailed her fingers up her belly, her rib cage, to brush against her nipples. “Not even if you’re buried deep inside my cunt?”

  He moved before he realised was he was doing. Snared her wrists in his hands, yanked her from the floor and slammed her onto the bed.

  Pinned her there with his hips, spreading her thighs with his, his stare locked on hers.

  And in one powerful thrust, buried himself to the hilt inside her sweet, tight sex.

  “Fuck me, yes!” Jess screamed, bowing on the mattress beneath him.

  He thrust into her again, driving his cock deeper still into her wetness. She clawed at his shoulders, her blunt nails scoring across his flesh in a primitive branding of absolute pleasure.

  He hissed, the painful lines detonating a wild frenzy inside him.

  Grabbing at her wrists, he jerked her hands above her head, using his shift in position to penetrate her tight pussy harder.

  She moaned, arching her back as she wrapped her thighs around his hips, taking him deeper. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, her nipples a velvet caress over his skin. “Fuck me harder, Desmond,” she groaned. “Harder.”

  He grabbed her hip with his free hand, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, and pumped into her again. The gripping glove of her inner muscles robbed his head of blood and he gritted his teeth, giddy and euphoric at once.

  He was inside her, skin on skin.

  Christ, he was inside her, without a condom, without her permission.

  Without her permission, man. Without her—

  Guilt smashed into him. He flattened his palms to the mattress and pushed off her. The sensation of his cock slipping from her exquisite channel cut through his guilt. His body cried out, already addicted to hers. “Jess.” He levered off the bed and staggered back a step, his pants bunched around his ankles hobbling him. “I’m not wearing a condom.”

  Tormented pain and denied pleasure shone in her hazel eyes. “I…don’t…” She licked her lips, a frown etching her forehead. “I’m on the Pill,” she said, her voice hoarse, her breasts heaving. “I’m on the Pill and I trust you to—”

  Trust. She trusts you. His head swam, this time not just with lust but with elation. And you trust her.

  In one fluid move, he pressed his knee between her thighs, shoved her legs apart and sank into her sweet pussy.

  Her ankles immediately locked behind his back, her hands clawed at his shoulders. “Don’t fucking do that again,” she commanded, the words a sublime mix of fury, indignation and raw pleasure. Her sex contracted around his length, emphasizing the instruction. “Don’t you fucking stop fucking me before we both…”

  She arched beneath him as he closed his lips over her nipple and sucked it with brutal hunger.

  “Oh fuck, oh fuck, that feels so good!” She raked her blunt nails over his back, up into his hair.

  He feasted on her nipple, drew its beaded form into his mouth, flicked its tip with his tongue, pumping into her over and over, his rhythm growing faster, faster.

  She whimpered. Writhed beneath him. Threw back her head and begged him to never stop, to never stop, oh god, please please never fucking stop.

  The carnal urgency in the order scraped at Desmond, driving him closer to the precipice. His balls slapped her butt cheeks; her breaths panted in his ear.

  “Oh yeah, oh yeah…” She dug her heels into the base of his spine, urging him to slam into her harder, faster still. “I’m going to come, Desmond. I’m going to come.”

  Whether it was her use of his name, the mind-blowing pressure of her pussy contracting around his cock, or something else much more profound, the tingle of his approaching orgasm was turning into a searing heat at the base of Desmond’s spine.

  He pulled away from her nipple, the seal of his lips around her flesh breaking with a pop, and captured her mouth.

  Kissed her.

  Poured his unexpected desire for her—her feistiness, her filthy mouth, her sexy-as-sin body, her drive, her challenge and her submission—into the kiss.

  Took possession of her lips as he claimed her body as his.

  Made love to her mouth as he made love to her.

  His rhythm slowed down for a heartbeat. His strokes grew more powerful, deeper.

  His stomach slid against hers, sweat-slicked skin on sweat-slicked skin. He found her wrist, pulled her hand from his shoulder and threaded his fingers through hers. Held her hand beside her head, palm-to-pal
m, and drove into her harder.

  Dragged his other hand over her rib cage, the side swell of her breast—crushed beneath his chest—her throat, her breast again and down to her hip, her arse, the back of her thigh.

  Penetrating her over and over.

  Making her utterly his.

  As a shudder rocked through her, as her sex constricted, and the moans in her throat turned to keening whimpers of impending release, he tore his lips from hers and gazed down into her face.

  Fuck, he could burn in the power of her pleasure every night of his life.

  “Come for me, Captain,” he ordered on a panted moan, pumping faster into her, giving himself completely and undeniably to her power over his pleasure. “Come for me now.”

  She did. Eyes squeezed shut, thighs clamping his hips in a glorious vise, pussy pulsing around his cock, she came.

  Cried out his name, cried out Desmond, and came.

  And as the first amazing contraction of her sex on his shaft registered in Desmond’s brain, his own release detonated. Surged through him.

  Pumped through his length to flood her sex.

  Filling her in the most primitive, intimate way of all.

  Desmond’s rhythm deserted him. His thrusts grew wild. Jess cried out with each one, squeezing his hand as she bucked into his penetration, her own moves echoing his. Perfect harmony of elemental frenzy.

  He continued to slam into her, watching her face contort with pleasure every time her pussy contracted around his dick, milking him of his seed.

  “Oh god, Desmond,” she moaned, the pulses of her climax growing faster. She opened her eyes and gazed up at him, gazed into him.

  For the first time in many years, since the night he acknowledged he got off on being completely in control of a sexual situation, Desmond looked into the eyes of his partner. Looked into Jess’s eyes.

  And the connection engulfed him. Tore him apart and remade him.

  As hers.

  Chapter Seven

  Jess woke to the distinct rapping sound of laptop keys being struck. Where was she?

  Squinting at the light streaming through an unfamiliar window, she rolled onto her side and studied the equally unfamiliar surroundings. Where was she? What was she—

  Desmond.

  The man’s name whispered through her sleep-fogged brain, accompanied by a thoroughly delicious and thoroughly eager throb between her thighs and a tightening of her nipples.

  Desmond. She and Desmond had gone at it like rabbits. Not just once or twice, but over and over again through the night. He’d taken her, pleasured her, worshipped her with a heady mix of dominating force and tender wonder. He’d made her come so many times she’d lost count.

  Fucked you senseless more like it, given you had no clue where you were just now.

  Shifting on the bed, she scrubbed at her face, scratched at her head and squirmed about in a whole-body stretch that reminded her with subtle twinges she’d spent quite a bit of the last few hours tied in various positions by Desmond’s vast collection of ties.

  Her pussy throbbed again, more than happy to continue where they’d left off before exhaustion had claimed them.

  She hadn’t planned on spending the night in his hotel room, but she had to admit, she liked the idea of waking up to him.

  Fuck, he really knew how to make her feel good.

  “Good morning.”

  At the deep, smooth timbre of his voice, she twisted on the bed to look at him.

  He sat at the room’s desk, laptop open in front of him, naked from the waist up. His lips were curled in a warm smile, a smile that shared with her everything they’d done through the night.

  “Morning,” she husked back, feeling a delicious heat bloom in the junction of her thighs and begin to spread throughout her core.

  Yep, she truly did like waking up to him. Very much so.

  With one more scratch—this time of her belly—she shuffled to the edge of the bed, planted her feet on the floor and stood.

  Every muscle in her body reminded her with wicked protest just how…active she’d been last night. She chuckled. What were the odds she could convince Desmond to move to the Ridge? She wouldn’t need the treadmill in her living room anymore, that was for certain. Nor the dumbbell set. Hell, she’d even give up her skipping rope if sex with Desmond every night was on the table.

  Even more so if sex was literally on the table.

  Another chuckle slipped from her as she turned to the man who’d taken her to sexual heaven and back so many times it was a wonder she could now stand…or sit. Hmmm…who would have thought being spanked could turn her on so much? Maybe Desmond might agree to spank her again this morning, so she could be certain it wasn’t a one-off.

  In fact, what would he do if she wandered on over to where he sat now, his fingers resting on the keys of his laptop, his gaze roaming over her naked body, and parted his knees with her hands, kneeled between his feet and took his amazing cock in her mouth?

  What would he do if she brought him to the brink of an orgasm and then let that amazing cock slip free of her lips?

  Would he spank her then?

  Pulse quickening, she closed the short distance between them, reveling in the way his nostrils flared as he watched her approach.

  He’d explored every inch of her body last night. Every. Inch. And yet, the hunger and desire in his eyes now was undeniable.

  They might have fucked until they could no longer move, but it seemed neither were sated. Would they ever be? It didn’t seem likely.

  A disquieting regret threaded through Jess’s eager desire. Desmond wasn’t going to be in Wallaby Ridge forever. Who knew how much longer he was staying?

  Then make the fucking most of it, woman.

  Her pussy contracted, even as the sense of regret grew stronger. Holding his stare, refusing to acknowledge the loss she already felt at his impending departure, she came to a halt at his side.

  “Captain,” he murmured, studying her from the seat.

  Without a word, she grabbed the armrest of his chair, slowly spun him to face her and positioned herself between his thighs.

  His nostrils flared again. His Adam’s apple slid up and down the column of his throat. Hot hunger flared in his eyes. “And just what are you planning to do?”

  Bending slightly forward, close enough her nipple brushed his cheek, she reached for the lip of his laptop. “Stop you from work—”

  She froze, her brain finally processing what was on his laptop’s screen.

  Unable to move, she stared at the words, the images there. “Why are you…”

  She stopped again, her mouth dry. A dull pressure wrapped her temples. Her heart punched in her chest, a brutal tattoo of confused disbelief.

  Straightening away from him, she frowned at his laptop. Something cold licked through her. Unable to stop herself, she looked at the image of Kenny’s fire-destroyed bedroom. And the second she did, the memory of a charred lump of blackened flesh and muscle and bone on the floor beside the bed assaulted her.

  Her brother.

  She’d arrived at the fire too late to save the house…but not too late to find Kenny like that. She’d found him, stared at him for a heartbeat and then screamed his name so often she couldn’t speak for days.

  The pressure around her temples turned to a painful vice.

  “Jess.”

  Desmond’s voice scraped at her, worried, just as the words CAUSE OF FIRE: ACCIDENTAL beneath the image caught her attention.

  CAUSE OF FIRE: ACCIDENTAL.

  Cold anger speared into her soul. She remembered the report. The incompetence. The shoddy investigation.

  Emotions never far from the surface roared to life. Cold anger and hate and grief. She slid her stare to him and kept iron control over her voice. “Why are you reading the reports of my brother’s fire?”

  “There’s a link, Jess,” he said, turning to his laptop and tapping on the trackpad. The window changed, the report—written by his father
, a report she had read many, many times—and the image of her brother’s body replaced with another. Words and notes she’d never seen before, but images she had—the Broken Downs fire scene, the destroyed living room. “Between your brother’s fire and the Deputy PM’s. Not just in technique but, I think, in motive. When you told me it was your brother, I searched my father’s files, and…”

  His voice faded away, drowned out by the roaring of her blood in her ears. She stared at the screen, jumping from image to image, words and phrases jumping out at her, slapping at her. Words and phrases she’d heard Desmond dictate into his smartphone the previous day at the scene.

  Shame ate at her. She’d spent every night for the last six months going over her notes and photos of the fire that took Kenny’s life. She’d written letters to politicians, high court judges, the Fire Commissioner, the Police Commissioner outlining Darius Russell’s dismissive report and his denial of evidence of arson. No one had dogged her brother’s murder longer than she had. With ragged guilt, she realised while she’d been sleeping, he’d been working. While she’d been in the deep slumber of sexual exhaustion, he’d been researching her brother’s fire and writing notes on the Broken Downs fire. He’d been doing not only her job, but revisiting his father’s incompetent but official reports.

  He’d found the connection she’d missed, the one so obvious she should have seen it herself. The one staring her in the face the moment she’d walked onto the Broken Downs fire scene. God, how could she have missed such an obvious connection? How? Was she truly that inept?

  She should have connected the suspicious wax residue at the homestead to the same wax residue at her brother’s house. After six months obsessively focusing on her brother’s fire, she should have identified the arsonist’s same MO immediately.

  But Desmond had found that. And all she had done was let her mind be clouded into a lustful stupor when he was near her.

  Her heart punched harder, faster at her breastbone.

  A shiver rippled over her, reminding her she was naked.

  Naked. Because she’d spent the last six hours fucking him when she should have spent them fucking doing her fucking job.