Hell Breaks Loose: A Devil's Rock Novel (17 page)

He swallowed a moan at the sight of her full breasts. “I’ve dreamed of these.” The same flawless skin as the rest of her except
the skin of her breasts looked delicate, baby-soft. Olive-hued with deep plum nipples. “The reality is so much better.” His
hands closed over the lush mounds, holding their weight, thrumming her nipples between his fingers.

Her head dropped back with a long gasp, exposing the arch of her throat. Another thing he couldn’t resist. He nipped and kissed
and tongued his way up the gentle slope, his hands still molding to her breasts, his thumbs dragging over her nipples in steady
strokes.

“More,” she sighed.

He squeezed and massaged the heavy swells, his fingers plucking and rubbing at her nipples until they grew pebble-hard. She
pushed out her chest and made these wild little sounds that knocked him over the edge. He dropped his mouth to her chest,
pulling a nipple deep into his mouth. She released a small shriek, surging up off the counter. Her hands went to his hair,
gripping the short strands and pulling him in tighter, as though she couldn’t get enough of him.

He laved that nipple with his tongue, tasting and sucking and feasting on it like a starving man. She cried out again when
he scored his teeth across it.

He turned his attention to her other breast and treated it to the same worship. “Please,” she whimpered, writhing against
him. She slid her hand between them and rubbed his dick through his pants. “Reid, please . . .”

He looked down at her, his chest clenching at her desire-clouded eyes, her puffy, kiss-swollen lips.
She should look this way all the time.

Just as soon as the thought entered his mind he killed it. No. He didn’t want her to look this way all the time. He didn’t
want the world to see her like this. He wanted to be the only one to see her like this. The only one to know her.

Instantly, he was reminded that there was another man. A fiancé who could see her like this anytime he wanted—who probably
had
and who would continue to in the future. The reality of that crashed over him and fury hissed through him. He should probably
respect that. She belonged to someone else. Her fingers clawing through his hair, her sweet sighs and moans for more, weren’t
his to have.

Fuck that. Right now she wanted him and he wanted her. He wasn’t going to deprive himself anymore. He’d had eleven years of
deprivation. It was time to feast. He would take her and her fuck-me eyes and her warm sweet-smelling skin and have something
to remember when he was back in hell.

Grace tensed when Reid paused to stare at her. She fought down the tide of lust that urged her to fling herself at him and
beg him to keep doing all the crazy-hot things he was doing with his mouth and hands.

This guy’s hands and mouth were nothing short of magic.

But they’d started things before that got cut short, so she held her breath and waited, watching him, ready for this to end
like all the other times. She took a deep breath, hoping that it helped to cool the maelstrom raging inside her.

She lowered a hand to grip the edge of the counter, prepared to slide down and touch the floor, but his hands went to her
waist again. He pulled her in close. “Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded.

She blinked up at him. His bossy tone didn’t invite argument, but still she hesitated. A moment ago she was holding a knife
to his throat, and then he had turned it on her—proving if he wanted to hurt her he could—and now she was shirtless with breasts
that were aching and raw from his mouth and the scratch of his five o’clock shadow.

He yanked her legs up, urging her to lock them around his waist. “You’re thinking too much,” he growled, slanting his mouth
over hers, his tongue diving inside her mouth. “Stop,” he hissed into her.

She locked her ankles around him, losing herself in the hot persuasion of his mouth, hardly even aware when he lifted her
up and carried her to the bedroom. He followed her down on the bed.

She felt drunk, dizzy from the play of his mouth and tongue. She did exactly what he said. Easily. There was no thinking when
he slid down her body, his teeth and tongue blazing a trail between her breasts, over her rib cage, and down her navel. His
hands seized the waistband of her boxers and deftly slid them down her hips. This time he didn’t waste time with underwear.
He took those off, too, in one swift yank.

Then he was there, his big shoulders wedged between her thighs, his hands spreading her wide for him.

“I’ve dreamed of this, too,” he breathed against her core.

She slid her fingers along his scalp. “You’ve been dreaming of me a lot, then. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

He looked up at her, his hazel eyes gleaming hotly from where he crouched between her legs. “Since the moment I saw you I
pretty much thought about a thousand dirty things I would like to do to you.”

Her breath caught. A thousand? And yet he had held back. Denying himself. Denying her. “Then we’ve been wasting a lot of time.”

He slowly grinned then, darkly and with wicked intent. She held her breath, bracing herself as he disappeared between her
thighs. The first brush of his tongue against her pulled a soft sigh from her lips. Then he grew more aggressive, stroking
her deep and hard with the velvet of his tongue.

She gripped his head with both hands, writhing and twisting under him. She cried out and muttered incoherent pleas. She was
close.
So close.

He lifted up, his green-gold eyes feral like a lion as he prowled up her body. “The next time you come it will be with me
inside you.” Her heart stammered inside her chest as he uttered this.

He hopped off the bed. She sat up, bewildered, watching as he bounded to his bag on the chair. He returned quickly, assuring
her he wasn’t gone for good—in case his avowal hadn’t convinced her of that already. Before rejoining her on the bed, he dropped
his sweatpants.

She sat up higher, eager for another look at him. The first night she had seen him naked felt like a long time ago. Even though
the image of him had imprinted itself on her retinas, the memory still did not do justice to this sight of him. He had a warrior’s
body and it made everything inside her melt and turn to goo. Her sex throbbed, almost hurting in her need to be filled with
him.

He slid right back in between her thighs, his own rock-solid thighs rubbing against hers. It was shocking for a moment, the
sensation of a man against her. It had been too long. And never really a man. Never someone that looked like he was forged
by some mythical god to fight epic wars. His hands found her everywhere, her breasts, her stomach and hips. Touching, stroking.
She was bombarded with sensations, release rising up inside her again.

“I could touch you all night,” he growled as his hands slid under her, cupping her cheeks, lifting her like she was weightless
underwater.

“Please,” she choked. “End it.”

There was a crinkle of wrapper and a sharp tear of foil. He had a condom. At least one of them was still living in reality
and thinking. She hadn’t even thought that far. That’s how lost she was.

She propped up on her elbows, hungry to touch him. “Let me.”

He hesitated and then turned the condom over to her. It was purely selfish. She wanted to know him, feel him with her fingers
before she took him into her body.

She positioned the condom over the tip of him and eased it down, rolling it over his length with shaking fingers. He was big
and hard and it made her girl parts clench in anticipation.

Once he was fully encased, she closed her fingers over him. Wrapping him in her palm, she pumped several times, watching his
face, enjoying the way the lines and hollows seemed to grow more stark, torment-ridden. The good kind of torment. The kind
she knew so well at his hands and now she was able to inflict on him.

His breathing grew ragged. “Gracie,” he choked.

She ignored him, pumping deeper, taking her hand all the way to the base of him. She felt in control. Powerful. Her fingers
slid back up and she dragged her thumb over the engorged tip of him.

“Gracie,” he said again. “Not like this . . .”

In response, she squeezed him, her own breath hitching as he pulsed and jumped in her hand.

“Enough.” He grabbed her shoulders and roughly shoved her back down on the bed.

Her pulse hammered in excitement against her throat. She thought that was it. He would ram into her and she was okay with
that. She wanted it so badly she burned for it. She would revel in it. She felt like she had been waiting for this forever.
And maybe she had. Maybe all these years, she had been waiting for him. She wasn’t burning for
it
. She burned for
him
. It could happen anywhere with anyone. This need was for him. The
it
was something only he had unlocked inside her.

He rose up into a sitting position between her legs and froze, each of his big callused hands gripping one of her thighs.
He slid them down and under, lifting her slightly off the bed. He looked down at her, all of him tense, every muscle and sinew
locked hard and tight, ready to go off.

“I can’t promise this will last long—it’s been a hell of a long time for me, but you’re going to come. I promise you that.”
His thumb worked small, hypnotic circles inside her thighs as his gravel-deep voice pebbled over her. “And then we’re going
to do it again . . . slow.”

Her eyes widened. Holding her up with one hand now, he fisted his cock with his other, guiding himself to her opening.

She gasped as he started to slide inside her, a part of her wondering if that were true. Would they do it again? None of her
previous partners were up for a second round in the same night. Then all thoughts fled. She panted as he filled her, gliding
in slow, stretching her until he was buried in to the hilt. She felt her eyes go wide, shocked at the unfamiliar sensation.
She had never felt this. So full . . . so invaded.

“You feel amazing,” he whispered against her mouth.

“I feel you everywhere,” she returned, talking against his lips.

And then the ability to speak was lost because he started moving, holding her hips, leveraging her for himself but angling
her in a way that built the friction and made her arch and cry out.

Tears burned her eyes as something snapped. Some invisible, coiling band broke and she came undone, her muscles going limp.
Reid didn’t slow down. His hands slid under her and gripped her ass, bringing her right up to that precipice again.

She moaned and he dropped over her, his mouth on her ear as he thrust in and out of her. Fast and hard. “That’s it, sweetheart.
Come again for me.”

His deep voice served as its own turn-on. She flew apart again. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. With a few
more strokes he joined her.

Their ragged breaths fogged the air between them. For a brief moment she worried awkwardness would instantly follow. Regret.
He would look at her with cold eyes and everything would go back to before. They would return to captive and captor.

Except that didn’t happen.

Reid rolled off her and left the bed to dispose of the condom. Then he returned, sliding under the sheets and pulling her
against his side.

He curled her leg around him, his hand splaying over her hip. They were quiet for a long time. She fanned her fingers over
his chest, enjoying the sound of his heart against her palm.

“It’s been a while for me, too, you know,” she whispered, her lips brushing the warm skin of his chest.

“Eleven years?” he returned.

She grinned and couldn’t help the little giggle from escaping.

“I’m guessing I have you beat,” he continued, his voice rumbling up under her. “Eleven years ago you were probably in high
school.”

“True.” She sobered, thinking about that. Eleven years was a long time to go without intimacy. “You really haven’t been with
anyone that long?”

He tensed under her. “I was no one’s bitch if that’s what—”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she rushed to say, her hand smoothing his chest involuntarily. “It’s just you’re so hot . . .
and virile. It’s hard to imagine you not . . . doing it.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “There were a few close calls when I first got to prison, but I quickly learned how things
worked. I got in with a crew, made friends . . . allies. And watched my back. Every minute of every day.”

“It sounds horrible,” she whispered.

“Yeah, well, prison isn’t supposed to be fun.”

She propped her chin on his chest, looking up at him. “What did you do? To get yourself in prison?” she clarified. “What did
you do?”

He paused before saying, “Murder. Sorry if you were looking for something more original.”

He watched her, holding her gaze with an unreadable expression. She didn’t look away, certain this moment was important. Her
reaction was significant. He wanted to see if she would flinch. If she would recoil in horror.

Finally, she said, “I don’t believe it of you. You’re not a murderer. Not justifiably anyway.”

A slow smile stole over his face. He leaned up, his hand gripping the back of her head, pulling her in, kissing her long and
deep, stoking the fires again. Her body started to wake up, tingles sparking throughout all her well-used parts. She moaned
softly into his mouth.

He pulled back and whispered against her mouth. “You have no reason to have that kind of faith in me.”

“I’m a good judge of character.” The moment she let go of that knife between them, she had placed her faith in this man. She
wasn’t wrong.

“Maybe you’re just an idealist.” His fingers played in her hair as he gripped her head, his fingers lost in the wild tangle.

“Am I wrong about you?” she challenged. Again, another long moment passed as she swam in the storm of his eyes, waiting for
his response.

“No,” he admitted, sounding almost reluctant to confess this to her. “I’m not guilty.” He laughed once, low and rough. “Every
criminal says that, though. I don’t expect you to believe me.”

She nodded once, a smile tugging her lips. “I believe you. I think I knew from the start that you were an innocent man.”

“I didn’t say I was ‘innocent.’ Only that I’m not guilty of the crime I was convicted for.”

“There’s a difference?”

He nodded. “I’m not innocent. I’ve done bad things. Before I went to prison and then, once I was in there . . . well, no one
stays clean on the inside.”

“But you’re not a cold-blooded killer. You’re not a rapist,” she declared matter-of-factly.

He looked a little unnerved. His hand flexed in her hair, and she felt the strength in that hand, the power of his body pulsing
beneath her. She knew that power firsthand, the stamina and intensity his body could inflict. Her girl parts kicked into gear
again, turning warm and quivery. “And you knew that from the start, huh?”

She nodded, bumping his chest with her chin.

“How?”

“That first night in the house. You saved me. You could have hurt me and abused me in the worst way, but you didn’t. You weren’t
like the others.”

He settled back on the bed, sliding one hand under his head, revealing the delicious underside of his muscled bicep. “It feels
like I’ve fought all my life to not be like those men. All I do is fight.” He sighed, his hand tensing in her hair. “Eleven
years and all I know is how to use my fists . . . how to break people. I don’t think I’m that different from those guys. Not
as much as I want to be, but I don’t know how to
be
anything else. How to exist out here without being like that. God, I don’t even know this world anymore. Or me in it. Guess
it doesn’t matter since I’m going back.”

She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. She didn’t want him to go back to prison. He didn’t belong there. He was innocent
of murder. He shouldn’t be in prison.

“So tell me what happened?” She threaded her fingers over his chest and resettled her chin over them. “How did you end up
in prison for a crime you didn’t commit?”

He took his time answering, as though formulating his thoughts. “After my grandfather died, I pretty much ran wild. Did petty
crimes. Stupid shit. After high school things got more serious. I led a group of guys and we attracted the attention of Sullivan.
He was rich, respected.” He snorted. “He started hiring us to do things for him. Nothing too serious at first.” He sighed,
and she felt the heaviness of that sound drag through her.

Reid continued, “Then we started roughing up people for him. Knocking heads. Running drugs for him . . . and doing other stuff
that didn’t sit right with me. I could see what was happening. We were basically his thugs and things were spiraling. It was
only going to get worse. I didn’t want to go down that road. I told him I was pulling out. With my brother.” Another pause
followed, and she smoothed a hand over his chest. “He didn’t like it, but seemed okay. Asked me to do one last job.” He shook
his head. “I should have been smarter.”