Deadly Sins (26 page)

Her thighs tightened as his finger pulled back, her muscles clenching desperately at the loss of fullness until his finger returned in an even, pulse-pounding stroke, calloused and feeling thicker than it should as Logan worked it inside, careful to stroke every nerve ending possible along the way.

Crooking his finger as it reached the farthest depth of her, he then found a new, violently sensitive area to torment and torture.

She nearly lifted from the grip he had her in with his free hand. As she bucked against him, her fingers pulling at her nipples, a strangled cry came from her lips.

She was there.

So close.

She could feel it racing through her, each incredible sensation, like fingers all over her body, inside every erogenous zone, stroking and rasping over nerve endings so delicate her body could barely process the pleasure.

She tingled. Burned.

Her clit became impossibly tighter, harder, throbbing with exquisite agony until the tip of his tongue tightened again, tucked against the side of her clitoris, and did that thing again.

That thing where he rolled it against her clit, rasping against such an incredibly sensitive nerve ending that she wondered if she would survive it.

She couldn’t survive it. She couldn’t breathe for it. Waves of sensation tightened, coalesced, until—

“Damn you. No!”

He was gone.

“Don’t. Please, Logan, no.” She would kill him. “You can’t—”

Stop?

His hands curved around her thighs and jerked her closer as he came between them, tucking the head of his cock between the slick, swollen folds of her pussy.

“Logan,” she breathed out harshly, realizing her nails were biting into his forearms.

Iron hard. Thick.

She breathed in hard as the entrance to her pussy began to stretch.

Skye couldn’t decide if it was pleasure or pain. It was such a mix of both, so intense and overwhelming, that she felt as though she were burning from the inside out.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned as she stared back at him, the sensations so overwhelming it was all she could do to keep from screaming with the agony and the ecstasy of it. “Are you a damned virgin?”

He paused, a flare of something like panic filling his eyes.

Skye shook her head desperately.

“Don’t stop,” she begged as she felt a rush of her juices spilling to further lubricate the entrance he was pushing into.

His hips jerked as her muscles tightened further, stroking the broad head a fraction deeper as she cried out weakly.

As he slid one hand from her hip, the pad of his thumb tucked against the side of her clit, as he’d done with his tongue moments before.

His thumb rolled and pressed against the little bud. Her clit swelled further, her juices, slick and hot, spilled from her pussy as he pressed in farther. Stretching her, the heavy flesh opening her, revealing nerve endings more sensitive than those found before and stroking over them, caressing them.

“Logan, oh God, it’s so good.” Her knees lifted, tightening on his hips as the crest slipped in completely and the hard throb of his cock pulsed just inside her.

Struggling to open her eyes, to stare up at him, she watched a fine bead of perspiration as it ran in a thin rivulet down his face to disappear into his beard.

Dark, dark emerald eyes stared into hers, held her, mesmerized her, as her pussy clenched around the heavy, invasive width of his cock head.

It was like a burning conflagration tightening inside her, moving slowly forward, possessing her.

“Logan, more—” it was a whisper, a too-quiet cry, because she wasn’t certain he could hear the plea for the pounding of her heart.

Easing back, he came forward again, a slow, firm press of his hips, a stroke of burning sensation, a delicate rasp against flesh so excited that each caress was fire and ice.

His expression tightened, his jaw bunching, as she felt his cock throb harder, a feeling as though it was expanding thicker inside her, pressing against tissue already overstretched and struggling to accept the width.

Each throb of his cock and the muscles of her vagina clenched, stroked his cock head, flexing around it and tightening, desperate to draw him deeper.

She needed him.

She needed him fully inside her.

She needed all those incredible sensations racing through her.

Arching to him, thighs tightening at his hips, her back bowed from the counter and he was inside her deeper. Just a little deeper.

“No. Fuck. Skye, baby, slow.” Hoarse and strained, his voice sounded as broken as her control.

But not broken enough. Not far enough in the same vortex she was fighting to slip farther inside.

“More,” she moaned again. “Fuck me, Logan. Please, please fuck me—”

The words were cut off for the simple reason that she had to inhale. Sharply. Her eyes widened, her body tensing as he buried inside her almost halfway. He pulled back, and she watched his face tighten further, his eyes drifting closed before he gave in to it, the incredible hunger swirling around them.

Moving, his hips thrusting his cock deeper, deeper inside her, working it past the tight, flexing tissue of her vagina and stroking nerve endings she hadn’t known she had or could have known were so sensitive.

She was more aroused than she had ever been. Each stretch, each fierce throb and heated stroke, amplified the sensations already expanding out of control.

Short, fierce thrusts. Once. Twice.

The third stroke buried him inside her to the hilt.

And then there was no stopping either of them.

Skye’s legs wrapped around his hips as Logan’s hands clamped to her rear and added yet more sensation to the mix. Parting the tender curves of her rear and sending striking flares of heat through the rear entrance as his thrusts began in earnest, Skye gave herself completely to the power of his touch and the pleasure.

A pleasure she had only ever read of and had known she could never experience.

Yet here it was.

Locked in his gaze, held by the thrust and power of his cock filling her, throbbing inside her with each impalement. Bearing down on the shuttling, iron-hard shaft, her muscles tight and quivering, flames beginning to race, to sear, to strike at her clit, her vagina.

Nerve endings flared, expanded, and as she felt his cock expand, the heat of it intensifying, Skye felt herself exploding.

The pleasure ruptured inside her in a wave of such destructive rapture that she was certain she wouldn’t, couldn’t, come out of it the same.

She tried to scream, but there was no energy, no breath, no thought capable of any other function but the hard, clenching power overtaking her, stroking through her veins, over her nerve endings like a thousand tiny electrical currents of ecstasy.

Shaking in his grip, held suspected within the rapture as he continued to thrust harder, faster, driving inside her, fucking her past reason and restraint. Another brutal explosion before the first had even had a chance to ease, then the pleasure drove into her very core with the final thrust and the feel of his release, hot and silky smooth, spurting into the unprotected depths of her pussy, only threw her further into the ecstasy.

It should have thrown her back to reason, to reality. It should have left her in a state of panic and chaos and screaming in fear.

Instead, the feel of his release jetting to the sensitive tissue, searing it, adding to the sensations, only sent her reeling into a wave of such ecstasy that for a moment she felt blinded, held suspended in a world the color of emeralds, dark and mesmerizing and filled with wave after wave of pleasure that she knew she would never find again outside his arms.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Skye was replete, sensually satisfied and feeling the effects of complete exhaustion as it dragged at her body.

And she was waiting for daylight.

Lying against Logan’s shoulder, if she opened her eyes she would be staring into the squished little face of the pup who had demanded to sleep on his chest.

And with both of them lying on him, Skye against his shoulder and the pup sprawled, front paws spread out from her wrinkled face, sleeping on his chest, Logan was still breathing heavily and sleeping as deep as she imagined he could.

She imagined that, like her, he rarely slept very deeply.

Was it a part of the life, the realization of the dangers that could visit as they slept?

Skye knew well what could visit as she slept; she’d been up close and personal with it. Just as she’d learned, as fate would set it for her, most of those monsters had rarely visited when the sun rose. They came in the dark, while hidden, while shadowed and unable to see themselves the horrible destruction they wrought.

Daylight was less than an hour away, though. If she stayed awake until she could see the dawn beginning to brush against the curtains covering the windows, then when she slept it would be without nightmares.

Warm, so drowsy that it would be a struggle to remain awake this last hour, she found herself visiting areas of her life that she never had allowed herself to visit. Memories she hadn’t realized she had, hadn’t realized were there.

She’d always been scared of the dark, she knew. A fear she remembered her parents actually encouraging.

Nightmares, her father had told her gently, if firmly, were the mind’s way to warn her to be wary, to sleep lightly.

She frowned as she felt Logan shift against her, his hand stroking over her hip before he stilled against her once again.

Whenever the nightmares woke her, screaming and in tears, her parents had been there at first, soothing her but always making her aware that the nightmares were warning her. But her parents had never told her what the nightmares were warning her of.

Over the years, though, the screaming had stopped. By the time she reached her teens she found herself waking silently but unable to go back to sleep, always watching the night. It had been hell when she’d begun private school. She’d had to learn how to hide the fact that she was only sleeping a few hours a night. For a while she’d actually found herself depending on medicinal aids to stay awake.

She was in the academy before she’d realized what her parents had been doing and who they were. Even after their deaths she hadn’t suspected what they were or the fact that from a young age she had been trained specifically for one thing. To join the academy.

Staring into the darkness, she wished that she’d known what her parents were doing, that they had explained it to her before their deaths. Instead, they had left the explanations to Carter, and there were so many of her questions that he couldn’t answer.

Some people had no business being parents, she thought. They had no business breeding, because even with the affection they might feel for their children, to some people their children were still possessions. They were extensions of their parents rather than beings in their own right. And that was what she was to her parents. She was an extension of what they were, of what they were doing, and, in their eyes, the future of their ultimate goals.

Just as Amy had been to Carter Jefferson. And after Amy’s death, Carter had transferred his plans from his daughter to his foster daughter, knowing that she had already been prepared for the life her parents had expected her to live.

Was that why the nightmares had grown so difficult? So bloody and violent? Or was it really, as she’d told her director and Carter, a result of that final assignment and a killer’s vindictive nature?

She suppressed a shudder, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt it would awaken Logan.

Instead, she gave a hard jerk at the almost-silent vibration of the phone beside Logan on the bed.

Instantly he was reaching for it and bringing it to his ear as he murmured to Skye, “It’s Crowe.”

“Which house are you in?” Crowe demanded quietly before Logan had a chance to speak.

“Skye’s.” He was moving even as Crowe spoke, knowing he would have never called if it weren’t an emergency.

Skye was rolling from the bed as Logan gently set the pup on the bed and rose quickly to his feet, reaching for the clothes he’d brought into the bedroom after carrying Skye to bed earlier.

“Check the security cameras for anyone around the house,” Crowe ordered. “I have Rafer and Cami with me. She was attacked and two bodyguards nearly killed. She’s been hurt.”

“The cameras,” Logan told Skye as she quickly tied a pair of sneakers on her feet. “Crowe’s coming in with Rafer and Cami. She was attacked.”

Following Skye as he pulled his weapon from the bed stand and checked the clip efficiently, Logan felt himself slipping into the cold, steely skin he had used while in the military.

The door to the camera room popped open as Logan and Skye approached it, the door sliding back easily as Skye began working the remote.

The six cameras’ four sections popped up instantly, the thermal imagining and digital status reports lighting the closet.

Pulling up the three rooftop views rather than the sectioned displays, she began rotating the cameras slowly to scan the entire area around the house.

“We have an all clear if they come in around the back as we did. We have several neighbors preparing to leave for work, as well as a deputy drive-by beginning at the end of the street,” she told Logan as he flipped the phone to speaker.

“All clear for a back entrance,” Logan told Crowe. “Keep to the thermal path and you’ll come in without detection.”

One camera focused automatically on the three images moving into the heated path the cousins had lain in months before. The path, heated to varying degrees, showed shadowed shifts and temperature variants that could be blamed on the thermal activity the area also possessed. The same activity they had tapped into for the pipes buried just beneath the ground.

Turning to move, Logan saw that Skye already had her weapon in one hand, the pup in the other. A dark jacket covered the dark T-shirt Skye had pulled on, and a hat covered her head.

Taking Bella in his free arm, he led the way through the house to the patio doors.