Dare You to Run (20 page)

“Tyler Martin was my brother's team leader until he tried to set Saxon and me up in a sting mission. Two men lost their lives in it, and Tyler had us all down for flags.”

Her eyes went wide, horror nearly gagging her. Damascus shook her head, the need to protect him filling her to bursting.

“See? You have to listen to me,” she insisted. “Jeb is insane, so you have to get away from me or my sire is going to think he has to remove you.”

She was babbling, caught up in the need to warn him. To give him the information he needed to stay alive. Losing him she could live with, just so long as he was still alive.

He was so alive right then, so full of vigor and strength. She was reaching for him, seeking out just one last connection before he took her advice.

Just one last taste.

Vitus didn't deny her. He folded her into his embrace, giving her exactly what she knew only he could, a hard, solid shield against everything else in the world. He claimed her lips with a kiss that drove rational though into outer space while it filled her with the sweetest sensation that raced across her skin, raising goose bumps all the way down to her toes.

Right and wrong took on whole new meanings. He felt right. She kissed him back, and that felt incredibly perfect, so she rose onto her toes so that she could kiss him harder.

“That's it Princess,” he growled against her lips. “That's what you really want.”

“It is,” she confirmed. “You are.”

And there was no thinking about it. She'd dissolved into a pile of impulses, ones she was eager to act upon. It seemed like she had been longing for him, aching for him, for an eternity. She pulled at his clothing, fighting with the buttons on his dress shirt until one of them popped and sailed across the room to hit the floor. The little sound put a smile on her lips, fueled by satisfaction.

“Works for me.” Vitus pulled away from her and ripped his shirt open. Several more buttons went zipping across the room.

Damascus could not have cared less. What mattered was the sight of his bare torso. Their stolen night had been cast in shadow. Today, the light illuminated every sculpted ridge. She drank in the sight of him, feeling like it was water for the dried out parts of her soul. She reached for him but he caught the edge of her sports bra and pulled it up and over her head before she laid her hands on him.

She sucked in her breath, her nipples contracting as she felt an aggressive edge in the air between them. When she raised her attention to his face, she felt her breath lodge in her throat. His expression was pure intent, solid determination, and it sent a curl of anticipation through her core.

“Strip.”

His tone was tight, just like his face. Hunger was etched into his features as his eyes glittered.

“Do it, Princess … for me.”

There was an order in his voice and at the same time, a yearning that made her feel more attractive than she ever had. Some sort of confirmation that she was more than anyone else he had ever met. She reached down, grasping the sides of her panties and pushing them down her legs. A touch of apprehension teased her, setting off a shiver that crossed her bare body once she was standing there in nothing but her skin.

“I know I don't scare you.” He was jerking open his pants, letting them puddle around his ankles before he shoved his drawers down and stepped out of it all, joining her in bareness as she felt her belly do a little flop.

“I should scare
you
…” And for a moment, she recalled everything. All of her well-thought-out reasons and the logic supporting her actions.

“Not … a … chance …
Princess
.”

He captured her, pulling her against his body as he claimed her lips with a searing kiss. She stretched away from him, but he followed her, overwhelming her senses and dragging her back into the spinning vortex of impulse and action.

She craved him and didn't check herself. She reached for him, stroking him, running her hands across his shoulders as he trailed his kisses across her jaw and down her neck. He had a hold on her nape, keeping her prisoner to his whim, lifting her head so he could taste the sensitive skin of her throat.

She was at his mercy.

And yet, exactly where she wanted to be. She stretched back, arching and offering herself to him, shuddering as he drew his teeth gently along her collarbone. His strength was transmitting through his grip but so was his control. The combination sent her senses reeling, driving up her hunger a few more notches. She was bent back like an offering to him but at the same time, she settled her hips against his, purring as she felt his cock pressing against her lower belly.

He grunted, his body shuddering as he lifted his mouth and fought for control. She watched the battle in his eyes, mesmerized by her effect on him. It wasn't about power. No, the feeling was based deep down inside her, in that place where she had always wanted to matter to someone. Matter so much, that it was more important than anything else.

Selfish? Maybe, but what stuck in her mind was that at last she didn't feel alone in how much she craved him.

In that moment, she wasn't alone.

Not so long as they needed each other.

“You rip me to shreds, Princess.” He scooped her off her feet, cradling her like she weighed no more than a child as he carried her to the bed and placed her on it. “So it's only fair that I make sure I have the same effect on you.”

Her eyes had been sliding shut, the desire to just sink into the vortex so strong, she had no intention of fighting it. But there was a promise lurking in his tone that gripped her, jerking her away from compliancy. He chuckled when her gaze connected with his.

And then he pushed her back, the bed rocking as she ended up across it. While she was falling back, he cupped her knees and slid his hands down the insides of her thighs. Instantly, she was gripped by a shaft of need so sharp, she gasped. Her senses spun and he had her spread wide. Her brain simply refused to process anything, because it was caught in the current. She must have made some sound, because she heard it bouncing off the ceiling as Vitus settled between her thighs, his breath teasing her open folds.

“Wait.” Her tongue felt like a useless wad in her mouth, the only real sounds she wanted to make were groans.

He teased her inner thigh once more, looking up her body. “You'll like it Princess.”

“But you've never done … that.” Her clit was pulsing with a crazy rhythm, her hips twitching despite her protests. “I mean, you can't enjoy…”

He smoothed his hand down her thigh to the curls on top of her sex, just a small patch that she left to guard her cleft. “I like the way you smell.”

“Liar,” she shot back at him. She tried to twist away, her cheeks heating as he chuckled and pressed her flat to the surface of the bed with one hand in the middle of her belly.

“I like it,” he bit out, his tone hard and full of his determination to do exactly what he pleased with her. His eyes flashed at her. “And you'll love it.”

He didn't give her a chance to argue. She gained a glimpse of him shifting his attention to her spread body, just a moment for her to twist with modesty, one last second of straining to maintain her composure before he fashioned his lips on her cleft.

She cried out, the sound a mixture of surprise and delight. There was no possibility of containing it, her self-control was a pile of ashes, floating away on the waves of heat licking at her insides. It was all centered under his mouth. He pulled her folds away from her clit, teasing the little bundle of nerve endings with the softest touch of his tongue before he lapped her from the opening of her body to the top of her slit.

“
Shit
.”

He cracked up. “So you do cuss.” For a moment, their eyes met and then he was once again set upon driving her insane.

She withered beneath him, her body drawing into a tight cord that felt like it was going to snap any second. She was suspended in the moment, held in the grip of the pleasure he was raining down on her, using his tongue to drive wave after wave of intense sensation up into her core. It was churning, swirling, centering under his tongue until she felt it cresting. The wave broke, crashing into her and tumbling her. There was nothing to do but let it wash through her and drop her into a panting heap on the bed.

When she opened her eyes, Vitus was watching her, his expression smug and cocky. Something sparked inside her, igniting a fuse. He was going to do what she wanted now, there was no room in her mind for anything else. She was consumed by the hunger, the need to not be alone. Damascus reached for him, curling up off the bed, seeking what she craved.

Vitus didn't disappoint her. He levered himself up, giving her a glimpse of his hard form before he was flattening her and she was gripping his hips with her thighs. He thrust forward, her body opening for him so much easier this time. She arched toward him, her breath hissing between her teeth as he buried himself in her.

“I want to see you,” he growled, slipping his hand into her hair and straightening her head so that their gazes locked. “I want to see you take me…”

“Yes…”

It was more than just a word; it was an idea so large, it consumed her. He was riding her as she lifted to take his length, straining to make sure he went deeper with every thrust. It wasn't soft, wasn't gentle, and that was exactly what she needed. The battle was between them and yet somehow, they were fighting it together. Panting, straining, fighting to get closer, and finally, that last moment when she felt like her heart just might burst with the effort of rising up to meet his thrusts and she felt him giving up his load. It was hot against her insides, making her gasp as her body spasmed and convulsed. Pleasure ripped through her like the crack of a whip, leaving a sting behind that pulsed with the tempo of her heart. Nothing mattered.

Not a fucking thing.

*   *   *

Pratt waited until night fell because that was when people came out in the Quarter.

At least his type of people.

Bourbon Street was filling up, cell phones snapping away as businessmen lucky enough to score a conference next to the French Quarter eagerly set out to enjoy their few hours of free time.

Pratt watched, looking for the right people. There were two types in the Quarter—those making legitimate business and men like him. Of course they all rubbed elbows from time to time. That was the way the Quarter had always been, only now in its modern incarnation was it considered a safe place.

That was a bit of a misconception.

Legitimate strippers were moving around, going into bars to perform, but Pratt was interested in the women moving among the shadows. Some might call them prostitutes, but he knew they had more value than sex. Anyone could take a fucking but there were some who were smart enough to listen while their clients let a little intercourse loosen more than just their pants.

A woman shifted, moving closer to him, waiting to see if he wanted anything from her. He knew her; she was exactly what he was seeking.

“A woman and three men came out of my ally last night. The girl's dress was spotted with blood, ginger curls on her head. Tell me where they went.”

The woman had lit a cigarette and was drawing on it as he smoked. She didn't say anything, just gave him a flutter of her heavily made-up eyes before moving down the street in a slow, sultry motion that attracted plenty of male attention. In the warm air, she wasn't wearing more than a thin dress that barely reached her midthighs but there was a polish to her, a sharpness to her skill that set her above the term “slut.” She might have been a ghost from an era gone by.

Pratt ducked into a doorway, making his way to the back of a restaurant. Steam was hanging around the ceiling like a displaced cloud, the scent of crawfish mixing with alligator. The cook looked up, his short sleeves showing off his tattooed forearms. There was only one wide-eyed person in the kitchen. A young busboy who stared at Pratt until the cook reached out and smacked him on the side of his head. The cook only gave the boy a disgruntled snort, but the sound conveyed exactly what the cook intended. The boy looked down at his bin of dirty dishes and never made eye contact with Pratt again.

That was life in the back alleyways of the Quarter. At least in the ones that Pratt controlled. The cook slid a plate across the stainless-steel service counter to him. Pratt considered it before selecting a fork from the sorting bin beneath the counter and sitting down to enjoy the offering. The kitchen kept serving food, but the banter had stopped. No one looked at him except for the waitress who brought him a drink and smiled shyly at him before turning around and returning to the customers beyond the door.

Pratt tossed a photo down. “I need to find them. They walked out last night. The information will put me in a generous mood.”

The cook flipped his spatula a couple of times in the air before leaning over to look at the picture of Damascus Ryland. He grinned, showing off his capped front teeth.

“No one would forget her,” he said as a way of trying to assure Pratt of success.

“Good.”

Pratt melted into the alleyway behind the restaurant. The noise from Bourbon Street came filtering through the separations between buildings and over the tops of them, but he was still very much alone with the shadows. He could hear his footsteps and maybe those of a few ghosts, but he was comfortable walking with the specters. A man who lived on the edge as he did needed to be on good terms with the dead, because he was always dealing with men who might send him to walk among their number.

It was wise to ensure that he would have a warm welcome when his days among the living were finished.

*   *   *

It wasn't that bad.

Damascus stared at her reflection, considering the missing part of her ear. Amazing how a cut so small could hurt so badly. Okay, it had been more than a cut, but in the light of day, only an inch-long spot marked where part of her upper ear had been taken.