The Shadows(Black Dagger Brotherhood, book 13)(52) by J.R.Ward
“I can’t wait to see what the view is like.” She turned back to Trez. “I’m so excited.”
When he didn’t reply, but just kept staring at her, she smiled even harder. The male hadn’t looked away from her since she’d come down the stairs, his eyes roaming, always roaming, over her lips, her breasts, her thighs and calves, back up to her hair, her face, her throat.
His arousal was straining the front of his black slacks. And even though he kept trying to put his jacket or his arm or a casual hand across his hips, she could sense his sex as clearly as if he were naked.
She leaned in, getting close. “Kiss me?”
“I don’t trust myself.”
“Sounds dire.” Stretching up, she nipped the lobe of his ear. “Dangerous…”
The groan that vibrated out of his chest was the most erotic sound she’d ever heard.
“Maybe we should take care of this?” As she put her hand on his sex, he jumped and cursed. “Is that a ‘yes’?”
While he braced himself against the seat and ground his hips into her hand, she glanced to the front of the car, which, due to the vehicle’s size, seemed to be in another zip code. Fritz was focused on the road, his old, lined face preoccupied. Maybe they could—
Without taking those dark eyes off of her, Trez flopped his hand around his door. A split second later, there was a whhhrrrrring sound and an opaque partition went up, closing them off from their kind chauffeur.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” she said as she pushed his arm out of the way.
“Not gonna need it.”
From out of a chest pocket, he pulled a white, folded handkerchief and, with a quick shake, freed it of its ironed rigor.
As she freed his erection.
She was of half a mind to lower her mouth to him, but he took her face between his bare palm and the one that was now covered with fine cloth and kissed her, his tongue shooting in deep, meeting her own.
He was hard and hot, velvety and thick, and she slid a grip around his shaft, pumping him. The more she stroked, the crazier the kiss got, until his pelvis was jerking up against her, and his chest was thrashing, and she was breathing as hard as he was.
When he orgasmed, he barked out her name and shoved the handkerchief onto himself—and she was so turned on, so giddy with the feel of his mouth on hers and the pump, pump, pump of her palm against his sex, that she felt a welling between her own thighs, an answer to what she was doing—which was so much less than what they both really wanted.
Her own release was a surprise, but she welcomed it, absorbing the sharp grabs of pleasure, making them stronger by squeezing her thighs together and rocking. Meanwhile, she continued her stroking rhythm, squeezing at his head, working his length.
When it was finally done, Trez fell back against the seat, his lids oh, so low, those lips of his parted, his head lolling to the side as if he didn’t have the strength to hold the thing up.
“Was that a quickie?” she whispered as she pressed her breasts against his chest and kissed him.
Before he could answer, she ran her tongue along his lower lip, then sucked the flesh in. Easing back, she said, “Hmm? Was it?”
“Be careful, female, I’m liable to fuck you out of that dress you’re wearing.”
“Would that be a bad thing?”
“If any other male sees you naked, yes.” He smiled and ran a fang over her lower lip. “I’m protective.”
“You’re still hard, too, aren’t you.”
With a quick grab of the back of her neck, he pulled her in tight and kissed the daylights out of her. Although she had been in control of the first part, now he took over, dominating her body, sweeping a hand between her knees and up, up, higher to her—
She orgasmed against his fingers as they sunk in deep, her core firing off round after round of pleasure.
“That’s my queen,” she heard him say from a vast distance. “Come for me…”
There was no knowing how many times he plied her with that talented touch of his, but eventually, she became aware of the car taking a fat turn that shifted her in the seat. Focusing her glazed eyes through the darkened window, she saw that they were getting off the highway, about to enter the complicated asphalt arteries that fed the countless skyscrapers.
“I ruined your lipstick,” he said with satisfaction as he tidied himself up. “Did you bring more?”
Now she was the one with the case of the huh-what’s? “Let me see if there’s some in here.” She fumbled with the slim black purse Marissa had given her. “Yup, they’ve got us covered.”
As if the females had known exactly what kind of trouble she was likely to get into, there was a tiny packet of tissues, the lip liner they had taught her how to use, and the fabulous red lipstick they’d put on her.
“There’s a mirror up there.” Trez stretched out his long arm and popped something down from the ceiling. “And it’s lighted.”
She checked herself out and had to laugh. “Yup, I think you cleaned it all off.”
A tissue took care of the smudging and then it was a case of carefully making a line around her mouth—while the car bumped over a road that was mostly, but not completely, even.
“Shoot,” she said, going for another tissue as she ended up with a rose-colored streak headed into her nose. “Let me try—”
Trez took her hand and brought it down. As she looked over at him, his eyes, his soul-shattering, deep black eyes, seemed to be memorizing everything about her.
“You don’t need it,” he told her. “I like you better without it.”
Selena smiled shyly. “Yes?”
“Yeah.” His stare went down her body. And came back up. “This is wonderful. You look amazing. You’re the most beautiful female in the city tonight, and when we get to that restaurant, waiters are going to be dropping their trays. But you need to know, my very favorite look on you?”
When he paused, she found herself having to swallow hard. “What?” she whispered.
“Your very best look, my queen, is the one you were born with. As far as I’m concerned, perfection can’t be improved upon by either man nor God.” Leaning in, he kissed her softly. “Just thought you’d want to know what your male’s been thinking as I’ve been staring at you.”
Selena started to smile, especially as she realized that sometimes “I love you” could be said without those particular three words lined up in a row.
“See?” she said softly. “I told you this was going to be the best night of my life.”
Riding shotgun in Manny’s RV ambulance, Rhage was eating Doritos out of the bag—and totally disagreeing with the doctor. “Nah, I’m not a Cool Ranch guy. Original only for me.”
“You are missing out.” Manny hit the directional signal to get off the highway. “I can’t believe you, of all people, are so closed-minded when it comes to a snack food staple.”
“But that’s my point. Why improve on a gift from God?”
Tilting the bag, he looked inside and wanted to curse. He was coming to the end of the big chips, nothing but the broken parts and cosmic orange dust left. Which was not to say he wouldn’t eat it all, and cap things off with a tip-up of the bottom above his gaping maw. But this was the unfun finger-dexterity part of the experience.
Munching along, he refocused on the ass of Fritz’s third-world-dictator car. That Mercedes was so big, so black, and so completely tinted, it tended to get more attention as it drove by rather than less. And for shits and giggles, Rhage imagined what the humans would think if they knew there were vampires in the back.
And that the thing was being driven by a centuries-old butler with a foot that would make Jeff Gordon get a case of the jels.
“Do we turn right up here?” Rhage asked as they approached an intersection.
“That’s a one-way.”
“Like I said, do we turn?”
Manny looked over. “Not if we don’t want to get arrested.”
“We’re in an ambulance.”
“Yeah, but they’re not.”
Oh, right. Bummer. “You know, I really just want to hit the lights on this bitch.”
Although the instant he said that, his rib cage shrunk around his lungs, and he ended up having to put the window down a little so he could get some air.
“Did you just leave nacho all over my door.”
Rhage rubbed the bright orange spot away with his forearm. “Nope.”
They kept to Fritz’s bumper tight as a stamp on an envelope, turning left, heading away from the river, going right so they were in the heart of the financial district. No dirty alleys. No Dumpsters. No slush even during the wet months. And no nasty smells from the rotting remains of cheap restaurants.
This was the fancy part of town, where people wore suits and rushed around, channeled like cattle in chutes to their places of Urgent, Important Work.
The skyscraper that housed the restaurant they were gunning for had been completed only a couple of years before, its developers touting the enormous vertical rise as the tallest building in Caldwell. Jam-packed with the headquarters of big businesses, to him, it was nothing more than a filing cabinet for humans, each of them locked into their little slots.
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