Back in Black (15 page)

ANOTHER furtive search amplified frustration; Drew Black was nowhere in the crowd. Why hadn’t he been at the bar tonight? And where was he anyway? Off fucking with someone else’s life?

His plans changed so often, and he was so unpredictable, sabotaging him wasn’t easy.

That just meant the challenge of destroying him would be more fun. And in the end the world would be a better place.

 

 

A sound disturbed Gillian, but after being utterly sated from hours of rigorous, mind-blowing sex, lethargy made it impossible to focus. Drew slept wrapped around her with one large hand cupping her breast and his chest hair tickling her back. The heat from his big body added to her lassitude.

Heavenly. Unexpected. And probably foolhardy.

But she didn’t care. How could she after what they’d just shared? She’d read about superhot sex, and she’d seen made-up examples in the movies. She’d never thought to experience it firsthand.

The sound came again, nudging at her tired brain until she realized it was a cell phone. Not her ring, so it must be Drew’s.

She stirred enough to lift her head, and before she could speak Drew snuggled closer and said, “Ignore it.”

A glance at his bedside clock showed it wasn’t late. Only about eleven P.M. Gillian smiled. They’d started their sexual marathon before dinner, and though neither of them were used to early nights, they’d both been sleeping soundly.

“It could be important.”

He shifted, and his mouth touched her shoulder at the same time she felt him press his erection against her bottom.

“
This
is important.” The hand at her breast got busy, cuddling, stroking, exploring as if he hadn’t already gotten acquainted with her each and every curve.

Crazy as it seemed, desire started a slow burn inside her. “What if it’s Dickey?”

“I’ll kill him.” Opening his mouth on her nape, Drew sent tingles down her spine. His thumb circled around her nipple, then over it, and the already sensitive peak grew taut.

“Drew . . .” Breathless, she caught his wrist. “Wait.”

“I hope that’s a joke.” With her trying to slow him down, he slid his hand relentlessly along her body until he could press his strong fingers between her legs. “Yeah,” he said when he felt her heat and the way she tensed in pleasure. “Definitely a joke.”

The phone went silent. With that issue resolved, Gillian tried to move to her back to accept more of Drew’s attention, but he forestalled that plan.

“No, I like you like this.” And then lower, his voice a growl: “I love your ass.” He moved against her until his erection slid along her cleft.

“Drew . . .” He was by far the most sexual man she’d ever met. For him, nothing seemed forbidden as long as she enjoyed it, too.

“You like it doggy style, Gillian? Because I do.”

“I don’t know.” She was far from inexperienced, but her bedroom pleasures had always been less than adventurous. Missionary style with the lights low; never with so much chitchat.

“Yeah? Let’s find out.” He leaned up to look at her. “Stay put while I get a condom.” Hastily he rolled to his side of the bed. Lying on her left side, away from him, Gillian let her mind imagine all sorts of things, like how Drew would look as he handled himself, rolling on the condom. She closed her eyes and resisted the urge to turn and watch him.

In seconds, she heard the nightstand drawer open, the crinkling of a condom packet, and then Drew was back.

Arranging her as he pleased, he wedged one arm under her neck and across to her chest to give his hand access to her breasts. Cupping her knee with his other hand, he urged her right leg higher—and then she felt the head of his penis at her sex.

He didn’t enter her right away; instead he slid back and forth, each time making her wetter, more aroused. With every glide she wondered if he’d thrust into her.

He didn’t.

“Drew . . . ,” she warned.

“In this position,” he said, his voice rough, “I can get to your nipples and your clit.” As he said it, he did it, tugging on a nipple at the same time he found, and lightly pinched, her clitoris.

“I like how you say my name, Gillian.” In one long, strong move, he thrust into her.

The shock of so much sensation all at once overwhelmed her and she moaned. But now that he was in her, he didn’t start the friction that they’d both need to come. Instead, he just pressed hard into her—and stayed there.

“Now, isn’t this nice?”

It was, but . . . “I need you to—”

“Move? Not yet.” He kissed her throat, the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, up to her ear. Sounding gravelly and aroused despite his control, he said, “You wrung me out already, so guess what? I can last for hours now.” He rolled her nipple, worked her clit with his thumb, and whispered,
“Hours.”

Oh, God, she’d never be able to take it.

His phone rang again, and again he chose to ignore it. But even in a maelstrom of lust, it worried Gillian. “Do you always get this many evening calls?”

He ignored the question and slid out of her, only to drive back in. Hard.

The bed rocked. Gillian gasped. She forgot about the phone.

He did it again. And again. Each thrust was slow and solid as he almost pulled out of her and then buried himself deep. And with each thrust, he held on to her nipple, her clitoris.

Far too quickly, Gillian felt herself on the brink. When Drew’s phone finally stopped ringing, she reached back and clasped his hip, trying to make him move faster.

“Only drawback with this position,” he said, “is that I can’t suck on your nipples. Later, maybe after we’ve showered and gotten something else to eat . . .”

How in the world could he talk right now? Eyes closed and skin dewy, Gillian felt the building of a powerful orgasm pulsing through her nerve endings.

“. . . I’ll get you to sit on my lap, and let me take from you until I get my fill. What do you think, Gillian? Will you let me have an hour or so just drawing off these soft pink nipples of yours?”

The thought astounded, and stimulated, her. Hours? No, she’d never be able to do that.

“Or how about right here?” He caught her small turgid clitoris between fingers and thumb. Tugging gently, he asked, “You like oral sex, honey? Could I maybe sit between your legs, with them real wide, and suck on you here until you—”

Crying out, Gillian climaxed.

She heard Drew chuckle—
chuckle
—and wanted to strangle him. Later she’d get even. Somehow. She’d have to think about that one. But right now, thoughts were impossible.

He held her close as she came. Toward the end, as a great shuddering moan went through her, she felt him stiffen at her back, felt his hand hard on her hip, keeping her steady for his pounding thrusts.

And he joined her.

They both lay panting, limp. Gillian felt him leave her, and he rolled to his back.

Still breathing fast, he rested a hand on her hip. “I like how you moan, but it does me in.”

Trying to think of something to say, Gillian fell to her back, too—and his doorbell rang.

Both surprised, they looked at each other.

Gillian recovered first. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Popular tonight? First phone calls, and now a visitor.”

His eyes closed for the briefest of time, then frustration took over.

“Son of a
bitch
,” he snarled as he launched himself out of the bed. “I don’t fucking believe this.” He stormed into the bathroom and came back with the condom gone and a towel in his hand. He wrapped it around his hips as he headed out of the bedroom.

“Be right back.”

He had no shame at all. “I’m not going anywhere.” Gillian knew he didn’t hear her because he’d already stomped through the door. She started to worry about Dickey, as he was the obvious choice for interrupting, but then it occurred to her that it could be anyone calling. Getting caught buck naked in Drew Black’s bed wouldn’t be a smart business move. She all but leaped from the bed.

Forgoing underwear, she stepped into her skirt and was still buttoning her blouse when she crept to the hall to listen in.

Peeking around the corner, she saw Drew look out the window first, and then with a muttered
“What the fuck?”
he opened the door.

A solid, uniformed officer stood there. He must have gone prematurely gray, because he looked to be in his late forties but had a full head of silvery hair. “Drew Black?”

“Yeah.” Drew leaned out the door to look beyond the cop. “What’s going on?”

“I’m Officer Sparks. Everyone is fine, but there was an incident I’d like to discuss with you.”

For Gillian, an officer at the door was a monumental thing, so she couldn’t believe it when Drew said, “It’s a bad time, Sparks. Can you make it fast?”

The officer’s face grew stony. “All right, I’ll try to cut to the chase, then.” His smile wasn’t pleasant. “A bomb threat was called in to Roger’s Rodeo.”

“No shit?” Drew didn’t seem particularly thrown by a bomb threat, either. “Anyone hurt?”

“No. We did a thorough check of the building and found nothing.”

“That’s great.” He propped a shoulder against the door frame. “So why are you at my door?”

“The caller specifically named you as the target for the bomb.”

Gillian’s automatic gasp drew the officer’s attention. He leaned into the entrance to look at her.

Oops. Too late to dart behind the wall as she’d like to do. It was unfortunate that she hadn’t tucked in her blouse or retied her scarf to hide the love bite on her neck. Chagrined, she stepped out into the open. “Officer Sparks.”

The officer did a quick, automatic once-over before nodding. “Ma’am.” He averted his gaze.

Attention lingering on her breasts beneath the white blouse, Drew sent her a chiding glance. Raising a brow, he turned back to the officer. “As you see, I’m a little preoccupied right now.”

Pen poised, the officer asked, “And she is . . . ?”

Drew repositioned himself to block Sparks’s view of her. “She’s none of your business.”

Shocked at the disrespect, Gillian gaped at him. “Drew, what in the world is wrong with you?”

Sighing loud enough for his neighbors to hear, Drew pivoted around to face her. “He has a notebook, honey.” When she just stared at him, he prompted, “For taking notes?”

Neither the officer nor Gillian understood.

“He’s investigating a bomb threat,” Gillian reminded him. “I imagine he wants to get his facts straight.”

“I’m sure he does.” Drew didn’t budge an inch. “But I’m the prez of the SBC, and someone apparently sent that bomb threat in my name. Given that everything with me goes public, this will sure as hell hit the Net, and probably the local papers and news stations. Even if the good officer is discreet, you know how jammed Roger’s place gets. Lots of folks would have gotten wind of this by now.”

“Oh.” Drew was trying to protect her. Gillian felt like a fool.

“So tell me, doll, do you really want him to write down your name, give details of how he found you, and share with others what it’s pretty clear that we’ve been doing?”

Her cheeks warmed at his deliberate provocation. “Of course not.”

Drew smiled at the cop. “There you go. The lady’s keeping mum.”

If she had something to throw, Gillian would have lobbed it at his head. How dare he put this all off on her? He didn’t want their intimate relationship known either. Sure, she had more to lose. But if the SBC owners found out, Drew could end up fired.

Officer Sparks looked between them with disinterest. “I take it one of you is married, huh?”

Gillian gasped,
“No.”
How dare he make such an assumption? Holding up her ringless fingers, she gave the cop a good frown. “It’s not like that at all.”

Drew silenced Gillian with a single look, and when he gave his attention back to Officer Sparks, his smile turned feral. “Neither of us is cheating, but again: it’s
none of your business
.”

Thankfully for Gillian’s peace of mind, the officer let it go. “Were you supposed to be at the bar tonight?”

Drew shrugged. It amazed Gillian that he was as at ease in a towel as he was in a suit. “Had planned on it, yeah.”

“What happened?”

“You’re kidding, right?” He referenced Gillian with a shrug of his head. “I found a better way to spend my evening.”

The fib left Gillian uncomfortable. Drew had changed his plans because of Dickey. Getting together with her happened after that. But maybe he had a reason for keeping Dickey out of the equation.

“Were you supposed to meet anyone at the bar?”

“Not a set meeting or anything. Just loose plans to hang out with friends.”

“Any of those friends maybe want to see you blown up?”

Drew laughed.

Asking the question forefront in Gillian’s mind, the officer said, “That’s funny?”

Cool, rainy air blew in through the open door, but Drew didn’t invite the cop in to extend his visit more comfortably.

“Look, in my position, someone always hates me. Threats are made.” He shrugged with indifference. “It comes with the territory.”

“How so?”

Holding out his arms, Drew said, “The buck stops here, baby.” Then, more seriously, he explained the scope of his responsibilities. “I’m the one who decides if a fighter gets a spot in the SBC or if he gets sent home. I choose the venues, not just here in the States, but in the rest of the fucking world, too. Everyone wants us, but not everyone can have us. So someone’s always crying foul play.”

Officer Sparks stopped writing to listen.

“I deal with overzealous managers and agents, and the athletic commission. On top of all that, I handle a lot of the press. Every pissant so-called reporter who doesn’t get a scoop wants to rip my guts out. And then there are the fanatics who think the sport is too brutal or who—”