“T-Zone took you in when the CIA wrote you off,” Blaize scathed.
“And y’all think you were the ones doing me the favor? Baby, you’d need an extra hand to count the number of successful missions I’ve carried out for T-Z, and you goddamn know it.” I pushed her back with my huge muscled body pressing against her.
I watched her swallow, but some seriously angry heat came off her.
It only made her sexier to me.
“You got no excuses for that off-op shit you pulled tonight, and you know it. And you do not want to play this game with me tonight.” I began undressing.
Shirt tossed. Boots thrown. Belt whipped out. Pants tugged down.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I stood in front of her—a foreboding, tall, dark shadow of fully fit and ready-to-fuck man. “Lose the clothes, Blaize, before I slice and dice them with my knife.”
She sucked in a breath.
“You and I both know it’s been building to this.” With my hand curled beneath her chin, I lifted her mouth until it brushed against mine. “If you don’t want to get fucked and fucked hard by me right now you better leave this room and run tail back to DC.”
“I don’t back down from a challenge.”
I laughed. “This ain’t a challenge. It’s sex. You and me. Clothes. Off. Now.”
She undressed while I stood right up against her. Her breath hit me, her soft panting gusts of air. My eyes dipped lower when she skimmed the shirt from her shoulders. Her bra—lacy and creamy white—almost overflowed with her tits. I didn’t help her unclasp it but watched with hungry intensity when she hit the hook and it popped free.
The straps dripped off her arms, and her puffy pink nipples rasped against the hair on my chest.
I chugged in a lungful of air, balling my hands at my sides. My cock, thick and hard, wet the bare skin of her belly with a skein of pre-come.
“The jeans now.” My voice was low, thunderous, chest-deep.
She wiggled free, her breasts connecting with my abdomen, which clamped like I’d been hit by a hammer blow. Those soft swinging tits colliding against me made my head ratchet back. But I kept focus. Kept my gaze on her when she stood up.
No Fucking Panties.
Nude. Blaize. She was all golden skin and incredible eyes and glowing hair.
And heat poured off her, firing through my veins.
I stepped away, rubbing a hand across the thick black stubble on my chin. Taking her in. Filling my sights. Memorizing her.
And that little pink pout of her pussy lips—shiny and slick already—below the narrow tangle of bronze-red curls.
“Fuck, Blaize.”
She held her shoulders back, placed her hands on her hips, and asked, “Do I pass muster, sir?”
“Get on the bed. All fours.” A muscle at the back of my jaw ticked.
Her nipples hardened with my harsh words, and I watched a trail of wetness weep between her legs.
Fuuuuck me.
I didn’t touch her. Not yet. But it was damn hard not to.
I watched as her ass swayed, her hips switched back and forth, and she got into position in the middles of the bed.
I was hugely hung, hugely hard, and really fucking angry. Blaize knew it, and she was ready for me.
This mating dance was nearly over.
But I didn’t let myself get close to her yet.
Couldn’t.
She needed to understand the new rules first.
I almost trembled in my skin, walking around the bed, viewing her lush bod from every angle.
My voice thickened from my throat and came out hoarse and husky as hell. “Fair warning. You’ll be screaming tonight. Not because I took a strap to your ass like everyone downstairs expects. But because I’m about to fuck you so good. And when you have a hard time walking and sitting down tomorrow? Won’t be because I punished you. But because I screwed you all night long, cher.” I prowled onto the bed behind her. “Understand?”
In answer, Blaize drew herself up and cupped her tits. I straddled right behind her. For a moment. Running my hands over her body. Touching between her legs and pulling her back to me when her pelvis kicked forward. Sliding my palms up over the indent of her waist and holding her hands down to her sides. Lifting her breasts, massaging them, palming both mounds and thumbing across her nipples.
With my hand at the back of her neck, I slowly laid her down. Laid her out.
Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun, hot, and southern-sexy series.
A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around.
You can connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website https://www.riewarren.com. She is represented by Saritza Hernandez, Corvisiero Literary Agency. http://www.corvisieroagency.com/Saritza_Hernandez.html
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