The Shadows(Black Dagger Brotherhood, book 13)(77) by J.R.Ward
She would go. Heaven help her … she was going to go.
And deal with the consequences, whatever they may be, later.
Trez just needed to cop to shit: When it came to Storytown, he was only good at the kiddie rides. Stuff like the Teacups, and the Dragon Tail—which was a swoosh that didn’t leave the ground and barely gave you a breeze in the face—and the f-in’ carousel with its elevator Muzak and those hard-seated, impaled horses and unicorns going up and down.
Speaking of poles and up and down …
“You ready to go home?” he asked.
Selena looked up at him. “I am. This has been so much fun.”
“I know, right? Best night of my life.”
She leaned into his body, giving him a squeeze. “That’s not totally true, though. I thought you were going to lose it on the roller-coaster.”
He stopped. Pivoted her around. Swept her hair back from her face. “I was with you. So it was perfect.”
The kiss was supposed to be one of those I’m-making-a-point ones, a quick affirmation that he meant what he’d said. But he’d been wanting to get it on with her all night, and before he knew it, he had her flush against him, her breasts pushing into his chest, her hips locked in his palms, his tongue stroking hers.
“You wanna get out of here,” he growled again.
“Yes,” she said against his mouth.
It was probably time anyway, he thought with a quick glance at his watch—yup, eleven fifteen.
Even though his cock was in a hurry to get gone, he didn’t want to miss the stroll back to where the car was parked. With his arm around her shoulders, and their left-rights in step, they walked the paths that took them by all the rides they’d gone on, past the blue picnic table where they’d done the dog and burger, around the cotton-candy concession where they’d gotten a big cone of Marge Simpson hair and torn off pieces to feed each other.
“I didn’t get you a stuffed animal,” he said.
“Buy me one? Oh, I don’t need—”
“No, win you one. At like a six-gun shooting range.”
She sent him a look from under her lids. “I know how you can make it up to me. Remember eating that cotton candy?”
“Your tongue was very good at it.”
As all kinds of hallelujah images of her naked with her thighs wide hit him, he had to wonder if there wasn’t a hotel on the way home.
“God, I wish this were summer,” he groaned.
“I could push you into a dark corner and take those pants down.”
“You could do that now, you know.”
He stopped. “It’s too cold.”
“Is it?” She took his hands and pulled on them. “Look over here. There are no lights. It’s sheltered.”
Sure enough, the visitors’ center, which was lights-out closed because it was just them, was a star-shaped facility, multiple entrances jutting out from its central body, creating pockets of dense, private darkness.
“No one will see,” she whispered against his throat.
Without any exterior lights, the juncture she drew him into was pitch-black, and his sex hit the go button before his brain did. Turning her to face him, he kissed her hard and pressed her back against the painted siding, his hands sneaking into her parka and finding her breasts. Her nipples were tight and he pinched at them through her bra and blouse, tweaking and then thumbing them as he eased his thigh in between her legs.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he said before taking her lips again.
She was hot and fluid under his hands and against his body, ready, so fucking ready, so with him. He wanted to get her totally naked—there was something really frickin’ hot about the idea of her like that and him fully clothed; plus then he’d be able to get to her nipples with his mouth. It was way too cold for that action, however, and besides, he was down for a quickie in this hidden place, but he was not feeling the idea that anyone would see her in that state, all gloriously undone and hot as hell.
The bonded male in him was liable to tear some poor Good Samaritan human apart with his fangs.
Not the romantic end to the evening he was looking for.
His hands went down to the waistband of her slacks and it was a case of unclip, unzip, and down-you-go. They were boot-cut, thank fuck, and one side slid off from her shoe just like a dream.
“Do you want my panties off?” she asked between heaving breaths.
“No, I’m going to fuck you with them on.”
And he did. He grabbed her perfect ass and hopped her off the ground and around his waist. Reaching in from behind, he stroked at her, feeling how ready she was, how hot she was, how desperate she was.
He wanted to spend all night there. Instead, he shoved the silk aside, and—
“Oh, God, Selena,” he hissed.
Slick and hot, tight and vital, the penetration rocked him and kept him standing at the same time. As he began to move, he held on to her ass and rocked her back and forth. Her hair was in his face; her scent was in his nose; she was an overwhelming tide that made him want to drown.
She came first and he loved that, her rhythmic grips juicing him even further. And then he jumped on the one roller-coaster he was willing to ride for infinity, his cock kicking inside of her, the orgasm bringing them soul-close.
When it was over, he panted against her until he worried he was crushing her. “I’m sorry—”
“Mmmm.” She went for his mouth, sucking his lower lip in and nipping at it. “More.”
Instantly, he was ready to go again, but even as his hips started to pump, he had to stop. “Home,” he grunted. “We need to do this at home.”
“Still concerned about the cold?” she drawled, running a fang down his jaw to his jugular. “And here I am, feeling so hot.”
Trez moaned and wobbled in his boots. “I’m greedy. I want more access to you than I can get here.”
Her laugh was like a caress over his bare flesh. “Then by all means, take me to your bed.”
It was treacherous getting her fully back into those slacks. Particularly as he bent down to the ground and went eye-to-eye with her sex.
Gritting his teeth, he somehow managed to get her dressed and have him restuffed into his fly without going caveman on her. And then it was a case of nonchalantly strolling out of the shadows, all nothing-doing as he pulled her back in close to his side.
“That was so amazing,” she whispered. “I can still feel you inside of me.”
Trez started to walk funny. It was either that or break something you couldn’t put a cast on.
By the time they made it to the car, he was calculating the exact ETA for his bedroom—assuming he was going a hundred and fifty miles an hour.
Hey, it was a Porsche, right?
Opening her door for her, he sat her down and closed her in, and then all but wide-receivered it around to the driver’s side. The second his ass hit that bucket seat, he fired up the engine.
“Oh! Cold!” she shouted.
The heater had been going when he’d shut things down, and now that powerful blower was kicking out arctic everything. They both reached forward, slapping at various buttons and knobs—
Music exploded out of the Burmester sound system, thanks to the Sirius dial, and before he could turn the stuff off, DJ Khaled’s “Hold You Down” came on.
“Wait,” he said. “No, leave it on.”
Getting out, he hopped around to her side again, opened the door, and offered her his hand. “Dance with me.”
“Dance with me, my queen.”
Sweeping her out of her seat, he led her to the front of the Porsche, into the headlights, pulling her close. Together they moved, bodies shifting, fingers intertwining, the beat transforming the parking place and the wide-open amusement park into a private dance hall.
“Forever…” he murmured against her. “I’ll hold you down…”
Trez curled his head onto her shoulder so that his much larger body was all around her, encompassing her, protecting and loving her.
Together, they danced in and out of the headlights.
Up in the security tower, iAm watched his brother take Selena back out of the car and bring her around to the front grille. There was no knowing what song was playing, and it wasn’t like it mattered. Just watching the two of them come together and move as one, shifting to the music, holding each other close, was enough.
iAm found himself having to brush at both of his eyes to clear them.
It was too damned hard to look at.
Turning away, he paced around the tight space and thought of how much Trez would hate being so high up in the air, nothing but the wide-angle view and the drop to the ground to focus on. The male had always hated heights, to the point where it had been a miracle to get him to agree to a place on the eighteenth floor of the Commodore.
He was staring at the roller-coaster when, a few minutes later, his phone let off a wiggle in the pocket of his leather jacket. He took the thing out.
Time to go, was all the text said.
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