She hissed when he pressed a third finger into the tightly stretched opening.
“You’re so damn tight.” He groaned when she clenched around his thrusting fingers. “And scorching hot.”
“Oh God . . .”
He pulled free of her clinging depths and filled his palm with lubrication. He stroked his c*ck from root to tip, squeezing the thick pulsing length, imagining how damn good it was going to feel once he got inside her. More than the raw physicality of the act, it was her surrender that turned him inside out. He ceded to her in many ways, couldn’t help himself from wanting to see to her happiness, found it almost impossible to say no to her, but in this one demand of his, she yielded completely.
If he’d needed proof that there was still an emotional wall between them, her token resistance was it. She’d never denied him anything, especially not in bed. But she was vulnerable now—weak from pleasure and falling for him all over again. After her expressionless face yesterday, he could finally read her tonight and he knew this was it—his chance to reach her, to make her feel his need and regret and pain. To feel the longing for her that was eating at him from the inside.
Brian gentled her quivering with a hand at her hip. Taking himself in hand, he ran the wide head of his c*ck up and down between her cheeks, teasing the flexing opening. With a sharp inhale, she pushed out, accepting him. He pressed forward, sliding into her, growling at the heat and damn near unbearable tightness.
Her exhale was shaky. “Brian . . .”
“I’m right here with you,” he said hoarsely, sliding deeper. “It’s tearing me up, too, baby. Killing me . . .”
Layla pushed back with her hips, taking him halfway. She was stretched tightly around him, clenching rhythmically. The pleasure was stealing his sanity. He could barely breathe through it. Sweat coursed down his chest and back, his hands trembled like a junky’s, his mouth was so dry he could hardly swallow.
Reaching around and beneath her, Brian cupped her cunt, groaning at how wet and swollen she was. He pushed deeper into her rear, his fingers penetrating her p**sy at the same time.
“Fuck,” he bit out, feeling himself through the thin membrane between his fingers and cock. He struggled against the need to come before he was fully inside her.
She clawed at the sheets. Cries spilled from her throat, soft sounds of desperate hunger. Her legs slid farther apart; her ass lifted to take him deeper.
“That’s it,” he praised. She opened, and his c*ck slid in to the root. “There, baby. Right there.”
“Bri . . .” Her voice broke.
Withdrawing his fingers, he yanked the pillow out from under her and tossed it aside. He caught her around the waist and rolled them as one, adjusting them so that he was spooned behind her, still deep inside her. His biceps cushioned her cheek, his other arm was slung over her waist. He linked his fingers with hers, holding their joined hands against her taut stomach, anchoring her in place as he began to thrust.
Layla felt herself unraveling ... falling to pieces ... and she couldn’t stop it. She shook uncontrollably, as nak*d as she would ever be, her arousal so fierce and wild it frightened her with its power. It writhed beneath her skin, fighting to be freed.
Brian was everywhere—behind her, around her, inside her body and her mind. His chest heaved against her back. His skin was feverishly hot and wet with sweat, sealing them together.
She needed him so much. Too much. Needed his ferocity and hunger, which made her feel how deeply he needed her in return.
His h*ps pulled back, dragging the furled underside of his cockhead across hypersensitive tissues. The sensation was agonizingly exquisite, coaxing her to arch her buttocks against him to reclaim more of the stretching fullness.
“Easy, baby.” His voice was made gruff by his raging lust. “Nice and easy.”
He pushed back into her. The slow, sure glide ensured she absorbed every nuance of the penetration. The feelings of possession and dominance.
Her head fell back against his shoulder. The slight pain of his entry was its own pleasure. She clenched around the invading hardness, her body desperate to hold him as he began to withdraw again.
“Fuck, yeah,” he growled, spurting a scorching wash of pr**um inside her. “Keep squeezing me like that. You feel so good, Layla. So good . . .”
She moaned, her hand sliding downward to her pulsing swollen clit. He moved with her, their fingers still linked together.
“Let me.” His index and middle fingers settled over her p**sy, parting her, touching her so gently she felt like weeping.
His c*ck slid free until only the wide crest remained inside her, then he thrust home fast and deep. His serrated groan vibrated against her back. Two long, thick fingers pushed gently into her spasming p**sy. His palm massaged her throbbing clitoris.
“I need . . .” Her words came slurred with pleasure. “Oh God . . . Fuck me. Please. Now.”
Cupping her between the legs, Brian began to shaft her tender rear with smooth measured strokes. His h*ps worked like a welloiled machine, pounding against the curve of her buttocks, his steelhard c*ck caressing nerve endings only he’d ever touched.
Layla sobbed, her blood raging. The sounds he made spurred her dark hunger—the rough growls and muttered curses, the desperate groans of pleasure. The heel of his palm nudged her cl*t with every thrust, pushing her closer and closer to an orgasm she knew would destroy her. She’d have no defenses left against him by the time he was done with her, nothing to shield her from the pain of losing him all over again.
“I love you, Layla.” His voice was a harsh rasp in her ear. “So damn much.”
He pushed her forward slightly, gaining purchase with his knees. His strokes came faster, deeper ... his fingers sliding in and out with the same perfect tempo.
“Love you.” She gasped the agonizing truth, coming in a brutal rush. Her body seized, clamping down on his shuttling cock, tightening as he cli**xed with heated spurts deep inside her.
Brian gripped her tightly. Holding her together. Holding her to him. For a moment the desperation melted away, leaving them alone with each other. The closest they’d ever been, while also the furthest away.
Layla awoke before Brian. She roused from sleep to the feel of his heavy arm draped over her and his leg tangled between hers. His face was buried against her nape, his rhythmic exhales soft against her skin.
Tomorrow she’d be in San Diego and Brian would go his own way. Again. It was a small comfort that he regretted allowing her to leave him that long-ago day. If they had a second chance, she knew they’d both do things differently.
She’d been so young when she left him. Barely nineteen. For all intents and purposes, Brian had been her first relationship. How childish she must have seemed to a mature twenty-five-year-old man, demanding he choose between her and the livelihood he’d worked so hard for. He’d chosen not to reenlist in the Navy because of her need to keep him close to home.
What had she sacrificed for him? Not enough. She’d been dizzy with adolescent yearning and seeking a Grand Gesture to prove his love for her. She had lacked confidence in her ability to keep Brian’s interest and to satisfy his sometimes-dark, often-demanding appetites. And she’d mistaken his care and consideration as babying, feeling as if he was treating her like a child instead of the truth—he indulged her because he loved her and wanted her to be happy.
Now, it was too late.
She sighed. Brian tugged her closer.
“Don’t think about it,” he said gruffly, pressing his lips to her shoulder.
“I’m trying not to.” She started thinking about running away instead, thinking about the viability of leaving the country and being on the lam together, and never letting him go. But neither of them could do that. Agent Sandoval had died saving her life; it was her responsibility to help bring to justice the men who’d killed him and Steph.
Lifting his hand to her lips, Layla kissed his knuckles, then rubbed her cheek against them. She felt his breath catch, then quicken. His embrace tightened.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry.”
“No, sweetheart. I f**ked it up. I was the one who should have known better. You needed reassurance and I didn’t give it to you.”
She turned in his arms and snuggled into his hard chest. “I was worried that I was too inexperienced and undereducated to keep you from getting bored.”
His smile made her chest tight. “You’ve always been a handful. Boredom has never been a concern.”
“I was sick with jealousy whenever a woman nearer to your age flirted with you or gave you a please-fuck-me look. I felt inadequate every time I met one of your friends’ wives or girlfriends and saw how mature and confident they were.”
“While I was thinking I was the luckiest man in the room to have you.”
Her tears wet his chest. “I kept thinking I’d blackmailed you into being with me. I knew you weren’t ready, but I also knew you couldn’t stand the thought of me with someone else. I put you in the position of being the lesser evil, but I never felt like you were really comfortable with it.”
Brian’s callused hands cradled her back. “I wasn’t.”
Layla looked up at him. His short hair was mussed and his eyes bloodshot. She thought he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. “I knew it.”
“I was worried I was too settled for you. I’d already had my fair share of late nights and too much to drink. When I was home, all I wanted was to be alone with you.”
“I wanted that, too.”
He exhaled harshly. “I felt old. I figured you’d get over your crush on me soon enough and it would gut me to lose you. The moment you broke it off was the last possible moment you could have done it and not killed me. I survived it only because I still hoped you’d come back. That when you were ready to settle down, I’d be the guy you would want to settle with.”
“That’s why you let me go? Because you still could?”
“Partly. And partly because I thought you needed to live a little. See what else was out there. You weren’t the only one who was insecure. I wanted to be sure you didn’t look back and wonder if there might have been someone better for you, if you’d just taken the time to look around.”
Layla closed her eyes, sinking into an exhaustion that was more than physical. “I’m glad we had these few days together,” she said softly. “Anytime I was set to meet a new deputy, I’d hold my breath and hope it would be you. I’d always feel this strange mix of relief and disappointment when it wasn’t. It’s good to have some closure. At least I know we saved some of the good—”
“Shh.” He pressed his lips to hers. It was a reverent kiss. Full of tenderness and sorrow.
Layla pressed herself against him, wishing she could crawl inside him. Cherish him. Keep him.
God knew she loved him and had no idea how she was ever going to live without him. Knowing he was out there somewhere, still loving her ...
“Don’t think about it,” he repeated.
Easier said than done when her heart was breaking all over again.
Chapter 8
They drove straight through to Albuquerque with only a few quick stops for food and gas.
Pulling off I-40, Brian headed into the suburbs. Layla was quiet beside him, as she’d been most of the day. Her gaze was trained out the passenger window. He could feel the sadness radiating off her even though her face was hidden from him by the brim of a baseball cap. His own gut was tight with grief and frustration, his hands flexing restlessly on the wheel while he damned himself for not preventing this.
If he’d just talked to her when she needed reassurance, if he had given her a say in his plans, they would be in a totally different place in their lives now. She’d be safe, he would be with her, and they’d both be happy.
He pulled into a quiet residential neighborhood and she stirred, turning her head to look at him with her brows raised in inquiry.
“I’ve got a buddy out here,” he explained, slowing down in front of a one-story ranch house with a Chevy Silverado in the driveway and a Sea-Doo trailer in the space beside it.
Parking, he left the keys in the ignition and said, “Let me see if he’s home.”
Before he could step out, the front door opened and Jack Killigrew appeared. Tall and dark in appearance and demeanor, the man was an SOG deputy like Brian, a Shadow Stalker Brian could trust with someone as precious as Layla.
“Sit tight,” he murmured, getting out of the Bronco. Rounding the hood, he called out, “Hey, Killigrew. I’m in a bit of a bind.”
“Understatement of the year.” The other deputy held out his hand and they clasped forearms, pulling each other close for quick slaps to the back. “You’re hotter than a bitch in heat. It’s her, isn’t it? Your Layla?”
“Of course.”
A pretty blonde in a wisp of a summer dress stepped out of the house and offered him a tentative smile.
“Ah, shit,” Brian muttered. “I didn’t think about Rachel and Riley being here. We’ll head out.”
Jack had recently been in a similar position to Brian’s—in love with a woman he couldn’t have. But Jack had worked things out. He’d gotten the girl and the future he had once only dreamed of. Brian would be damned if he’d f**k that up.
“Riley’s with his grandmother,” Rachel interjected. “In California.”
Brian extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rachel. Brian Simmons.”
“Hi, Brian.” She smiled. “We’re getting ready to grill up some steaks. Jack bought enough for an army, as usual. I hope you’re planning on staying for dinner.”
He looked at Jack with a rueful smile. “I appreciate the offer, but I just stopped by for a moment.”
“Bullshit,” Jack said. “Your timing is perfect. I told everyone I was going to be at Rachel’s in Monterey so they’d leave us alone. No one knows we’re here.”