Nauti Enchantress by Lora Leigh
While his fingertips played above the silk of her panties, tormenting the flesh beneath and drawing more of the slick, wet heat from her body, his other hand moved to her side, tugging at the material of the shirt and pulling it over her breasts.
“That’s it, baby,” he whispered at her ear. “Just lie back and enjoy it. Do you know how many nights I’ve jacked off imagining you just lying back, taking the pleasure I have to give you?”
“You didn’t have to imagine,” she whispered. “I was here.”
“And so sweet, so innocent.” He breathed against her ear a second before nipping it erotically, then placing a gentle kiss to the heated flesh. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to lose you in my life, Lyrica. I couldn’t imagine that.”
Lyrica closed her eyes, fighting back hope, pain, everything but the pleasure.
“Sweet Lyrica.” His lips trailed down her neck, his hand cupping the sensitive weight of her breast.
The feel of his finger and thumb gripping the nipple through the thin material of her bra with a firm, erotic pressure brought a cry from her lips. Arching into him, her hands clenched on the arms of the chair as pleasure suffused her. Her body tightened further when the hand caressing her thigh tugged at her panties until she helped him rid her of the material.
Dropping it to the floor, his fingers returned, parting the folds, stroking them before gently rimming the clenched entrance.
“Please . . .” she whispered, moving against the probing caressing. “Oh god, Graham. It feels so good.”
More of her heated dampness spilled to the fingers stroking the sensitive entrance to her inner depths.
“That’s my baby,” he groaned, two fingers spearing immediately inside the wet depths of her vagina as she arched back, crying hoarsely at the pleasure suddenly tearing through her. “Show me how wet and hot that pretty pussy gets for me.”
Scandalizing, wicked, the words sent a pulse of pleasure to clench at the inner muscles and the swollen bud of her clit. Her juices spilled from her, rushing over his fingers to saturate them with slick heat.
Each stroke worked inside her, used the natural lubrication to press deeper, to stretch her with his caresses. The pleasure-pain of each impalement had her body stretching, tightening around his incredibly satisfying stroking fingers.
His fingers pulled back, nearly releasing from her intimate depths and pulling a mewling cry of protest from her. He couldn’t stop yet. Waves of a nearing climax were building in her, pounding at her clit, making her crazy for the addictive pleasure of the release he could give her.
His lips settled at the bend of her neck and shoulder, the rasp of his short beard pulling a moan from her lips. His lips kissed the flesh there gently, taking a lazy, sensual taste of her as her breath caught in her chest.
Then a harsh, desperate cry tore from her lips.
His fingers thrust inside her, stretching her with wicked pleasure as his teeth gripped the surprisingly sensitive tendon beneath his lips and bit her with hungry demand.
She came.
That fast, wailing with the pleasure as her body tightened, jerked, then dissolved around his fingers in a rush of fiery heat.
Prolonging the excruciating pleasure with each fierce thrust inside the gripping tissue, he gave little mercy, holding her on the peak of release until she was shuddering with it. Ecstasy pummeled her in remorseless waves as sensual shudders clenched her muscles, locking her in place against him until he allowed the tremors to ease, allowed her to find her breath.
She was only barely aware of his movements. The release of his jeans, her awareness that he was quickly rolling a condom over the length of his cock.
Oh god, she couldn’t come again. She was wasted, her pussy weak from the spasms still echoing through it.
But as soon as the clenching, ecstatic pulses of release eased moments later, she was suddenly thrown into a catastrophic race back into the flames.
Lifting her, Graham impaled her on the iron-hard length of the erection he’d released from his jeans. The heavy, fiery penetration was a shock to the senses, a pleasure bordering on agony as the chaotic, sensual storm began swirling through her again.
“Oh god, Graham.” The inner flesh shuddered around the girth impaling her.
Her heated, slick response spilled around his flesh, easing his way as he pushed inside her in that one hard, fierce thrust.
Resting her head back on his shoulders, she dug the tips of her feet into the carpet beneath them and moved against him. Shifting, lifting, falling, following the hard grip of his hands, she rode him with sensual demand. With the feel of each throbbing inch burying itself inside her, stroking sensitive, greedy flesh, stretching her with a blaze of heat as she met each inward stroke, Lyrica knew this erotic dance would be one she would never forget.
“Open your eyes, baby,” he whispered as she felt the chair moving, turning to the side. “Look at me.”
Drowsy, heavy with pleasure, her lashes lifted, her gaze focusing on the mirror she hadn’t realized hung on the wall across from them.
A whimper escaped her parted lips as she watched.
The sight of herself sprawled back against him, her thighs parted over his, her body all but bare, was shocking. Her expression was unfamiliar. Flushed, drowsy, and sensual. She looked like a sacrifice to his hunger, lost in it, overwhelmed by the pleasure.
Graham lifted the edge of the skirt that had fallen over her thighs, pulling it to her hips with one hand as the other tugged one leg farther out, revealing more to the reflection across from them.
“Graham.” She didn’t know if she was turned on or too shocked to know what to feel.
With her skirt out of the way, he lowered both hands to her thighs and tugged, pulling her legs farther apart to reveal the sight of her impalement.
Stretched, the folds of her intimate lips parted, his dark flesh penetrated her as her juices clung to the base with a loving caress.
“Watch, baby,” he whispered at her ear again as his hands moved to her hips once again.
He lifted her slowly, so slowly. Lyrica’s eyes widened as he began pulling free of her, watching as slick moisture coated his cock, watching as it pulled from her body even as her pussy clenched, tightening around the departure.
Graham pulled back until only the very tip of his cock lingered at her entrance and she could see the dark crest throbbing, the heavy veins pounding with the fierce beat of his heart. He looked too large, the bulging crest throbbing and dark, almost angry-looking as it remained tucked against her entrance.
Then he was lowering her and Lyrica couldn’t help but watch the intimate invasion. Watch as her flesh flowed around him, stretching for him, taking him as a whimpering cry fell from her lips and she felt herself spilling around him again. Exploding around his cock, the pleasure pulsing through her with such force that her body jerked with every internal explosion. Moisture eased from her as he thrust in and out of her, the hard flesh gleaming thicker, richer until she was forced to close her eyes against the rocking pleasure.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “That’s it, baby. Suck my dick with that pretty little pussy. Fuck. Yes. Ah hell, Lyrica . . .”
His hips were moving beneath her, thrusting hard, spearing inside her with desperate lunges as his fingers found her clit and sent her rolling into another explosive orgasm.
She felt him coming as her clit exploded beneath his fingers. He erupted with a hard flex of the shaft buried inside her, heat suddenly jetting against the too sensitive tissue, moist and so sensual, so erotic, that her womb clenched and spasmed again, throwing her relentlessly into another explosion that tightened her vagina around the already pulsing length of his cock.
She shouldn’t feel it like that, she thought distantly. Not with the condom she’d glimpsed between his flesh and hers. She shouldn’t feel his release like fiery caresses filling her.
She shouldn’t . . . but it was so good. The pleasure was so exacting, so deep that the flu
Exhausted, completely unraveled and boneless, she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Nothing else mattered, to the point that she closed her eyes. Just for a minute, she promised herself. Just a little nap until she caught her breath. Darkness whispered over her and stole her into a warm, sheltering place of utter peace and dreamless rest.
Lifting her, Graham turned her in his arms, sheltering her against his chest as he managed to restore his clothes enough to get her to the bedroom. Lifting her in his arms, he carried her upstairs, wondering if his knees had the strength to make it to the bedroom.
He laid her on the bed, pulled the remnants of the pretty skirt from her hips, and for the second time that day collected a damp cloth to dry the perspiration from her body. Between her thighs he cleaned the mix of her silky response and his semen from her, feeling none of the overwhelming panic he would have felt with any other woman.
He knew the moment the condom burst. Hell, he’d felt the release boiling in his balls, had known despite the release he’d had that morning, he was going to explode inside her so damned hard it would steal his mind.
And he’d been right.
His senses had completely overloaded as he watched himself fuck her, watched his cock stretch her until he was certain he had to be hurting her. Instead she’d cried out for more, coming around him with such snug inner spasms it had stolen his control completely.
Finishing cleaning her off, he shed his clothes and removed the ruined condom before pulling a pair of cotton pants on and returning to the office.
He’d left the file on the desk and the office open. Instead of storing it in the drawer now, though, he gathered it together and left the office with it. Locking the door behind him, Graham pulled the phone from the pocket of his pants at the vibration of a call coming through.
Checking the caller ID, he answered it quickly.
“Everything okay?” he asked Elijah as he moved up the stairs.
“Everything’s clear.” There was still a thread of anger in the other man’s voice. “I wanted to check before returning Doogan’s call, though. He’s demanding a report.”
Of course he was, Graham thought with a heavy sigh. “This isn’t something I want to hide from him, Elijah,” he answered. “She’s too important to risk simply because her family and Doogan clash.”
“Natches has his moments. They’re either dumb ones or smart ones, no in between, and the dumb ones seem more prevalent,” the other man stated harshly. “He hasn’t changed much over the years, from what I understand.”
“Not a whole lot,” Graham admitted. “The dumb moments aren’t nearly as numerous as they were before Rowdy and Kelly married, though, from what Dad said before he died. Rowdy and his cousins used to be some hell-raisers.”
“Yeah, now they’re just hell to be around,” the agent grunted.
“There is that.” Graham almost chuckled at the thought. “By the way, when reporting to Doogan, don’t give him the name of the contact that brought the information in.” He refrained from mentioning Tracker’s name. “Doogan doesn’t need to worry himself over some things. That contact is one of those things.”
“No kidding.” Graham could almost see Elijah pushing his fingers through his hair and rubbing at his neck. “Okay, I’ll call the bastard back. I put a few more cameras up while I was out and tied the entire program into this number. If you hear it ping, check it. Your number’s secondary and it might mean I’ve somehow been compromised and you’re in deep shit.”
Reentering his bedroom, Graham moved into the huge walk-in closet just inside the doorway, where he’d installed the monitors and controls to his own hidden camera system.
“Got it,” he murmured. “Check in on schedule and keep your eyes open.”
“Always,” Elijah promised.
Disconnecting the call, Graham closed the closet door, moved to the wall behind it, and depressed the hidden release there. The wall slid down soundlessly, revealing a large security monitor and a dozen different views of the property surrounding the house.
Elijah was stationed on the hill across from the house, looking down on an angle that afforded him a view of the back gardens and pool area as well as the side of the house and front drive. The other views were clear of human intrusion, and that was all that mattered at the moment.
He depressed the control once again and the wall slid back into place but the restless feeling inside him still plagued him.
Something wasn’t right. It was nagging at him, refusing to come together. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Something he had a feeling could very well end up tipping the scales out of his favor and into his enemy’s if he didn’t figure it out quickly. If he didn’t figure it out before he lost Lyrica forever.
NINETEEN
Emerging from the bathroom several mornings later, her only covering the lacy black panties with a tiny, vividly pink bow just above the cleft of her rear and a matching bra sporting a bow between her breasts, Lyrica came to a stop at the sight of Graham stepping into the bedroom wearing nothing but loose black cotton pajama bottoms. Carrying a large tray in his hands with several covered dishes, he was obviously surprised to see her awake and showered.
“Breakfast?” A flush washed through her at the gleam of interest reflected in the glitter of gold in his eyes.
“Breakfast works.” Clearing her throat, she moved for the silky robe she’d left lying on the bottom of the bed.
“Please don’t.” The rasp of command that filled his tone was tempered only by the hunger that filled his gaze. “You look perfect the way you are.”
Perfect the way she was? Oh Lord, she was barely dressed. The lacy lingerie was no more than a tease, covering only what it had to.
Moving to the bed, Graham set the large tray in the middle of it before carefully removing the covers he’d placed over the food.
Fluffy scrambled eggs, perfectly fried bacon, diced fresh tomatoes, and golden brown toast.
“Come on.” Motioning to the bed with a jerk of his head, he climbed into the center and waited.
She didn’t make him wait long.
This was another memory for her to tuck away and take out when it was over and she was forced to return to reality once again.
“No sandwiches this morning?” She grinned, secretly hoping she’d never see another sandwich in her life.
“Kye and I eat out a lot.” He chuckled as she tasted the eggs and bacon and almost moaned at the taste of home-cooked food.
She could see why, she admitted, as the taste of the fresh tomato exploded against her tongue. For something so simple, the meal was exquisite.
For the next few minutes they were silent, the food consuming their attention until finally Lyrica sat back, replete, and eyed the amount still left on the plates.
He must have scrambled a whole carton of eggs, she thought in amusement.
Lifting the coffee cup nearest her to her lips, she sipped and hummed a sound of appreciation. Just the way she liked it. A little coffee with her cream and sugar.
“How do you drink it like that?” He chuckled, lifting his own and bringing it to his lips.
No sugar, no cream, just straight, rich coffee.
Lyrica suppressed a shudder, but not the doubtful look she gave him. “It’s a little strong for me,” she admitted, holding back what she was sure would have been an embarrassing giggle.
Setting the cup on the bedside table, Graham moved the tray to the dresser before returning to the bed, propping himself against the headboard as he retrieved the coffee and watched her closely.
“You surprise me,” he said then. “I expected you to become bored while you were here. I didn’t expect you’d find so many ways to entertain yourself while we were trying to track down whoever’s responsible for the attempts against you.”
The night
“I keep a lot of little projects for downtime,” she admitted, curling her legs to her side as she leaned on the pillows propped against the headboard and faced him. “Between the four main businesses Mackay Enterprises began with, and the two apartment buildings Dawg, Natches, and Rowdy bought, a pawn shop Janey had to have, and a convenience store Eve and Brogan just added, there’s always a new program needed, a shopping cart to set up, or an inventory system to improve.”
Tilting his head, the dark blond and light brown strands of hair falling over his forehead, he watched her curiously now. The short length of his beard and mustache, his bare chest.
He was the image of a rakish pirate, scars and all.
Reaching out, she touched a circular scar at his shoulder, a whisper-caress over flesh that seemed not long healed. Below it was a long, thin scar that the light mat of curls covering his chest didn’t hide near as well as one might think they would.
“That one was a long time ago.” Remaining still, one broad palm resting on her ankle, the other resting over his bent knee, he watched her with a faint smile. “Dad and I were hiking above the house. I was fourteen, bouncing around, showing the old man up.” Fondness touched his expression for a moment. “I tripped on something, damned if I remember what it was, and went head over heels back down the damned incline. When I came to a stop, my shirt was sliced open and my chest along with it. The first time I ever saw Dad scared.”
There was a warmth to his voice as he spoke of his father.
“Kye rarely mentions your parents,” she said softly. “And there are no pictures in the house of them except the one in the living room.”
A single five-by-seven that sat next to the formal couch on a cherry side table.