Taken By Surprise

STORY EXCERPT

"The clock is ticking, Rhonda girl." And time might just be running out. She started to feel that way tonight. She walked side by side with a malicious drug lord, listened to his incessant chatter, marveled at his smiles and the things he offered her, heard the minutes of her life ticking by.

Phay had let her end the night early. She didn't believe he would let her off so easily the next time. He wouldn't kill her, at least not yet. Would he rape her? Definitely. Torture her? Yes, and without an ounce of remorse in his demonic black heart. Keep her? If she gave him his way, agreed to the conditions he put before her.

He tortured her enough by keeping her locked in this room. Bars blocked the single window, and Xavier guarded the door from the hall. When faced with the choices of suddenly becoming a woman with superhuman strength to break through steel bars or taking down a man ten times meaner, stronger, and uglier than she, Rhonda went for option number three. She lay on the floor and racked her brain for any other option.

What her gaze landed on brought a smile to her face and pages of past research to mind. Phay's compound might be built with the durability of a fortress, but the structure was old and reminded her of the places she had seen in architectural plans with all the hidden passages and ductwork large enough to accommodate a human. Ductwork with an entrance much like the one she stared up at now.

Too easy. Too predictable. "This isn't fiction land. You're in the real world." And things like escaping a locked room through an air conditioner vent simply didn't happen anywhere outside of books and movies.

Despite that knowledge, it didn't stop her mind from plotting out the escape. She ran though each possible scenario, and, as she did so, she drifted off to sleep.

* * * *

The soft pop split the silence like a shot from a bolt-action rifle. Michael waited and listened. When he felt certain no one else heard the sound, he eased the metal grate down, using the blade of the knife in his free hand as a mirror to see into the space below without revealing his presence. The room appeared to be empty save for the sleeping form directly below the ventilation duct.

Years as an agent kept his heartbeat steady at his first sight of Rhonda. She lay utterly still on her back, hands resting on her tummy, looking for all the world like a blonde Sleeping Beauty waiting for her prince to come. He watched her from above for several long seconds, relief swirling in a dangerous concoction with the need in his heart, gut, and loins. His gaze moved slowly over her, scrutinizing every inch for any sign of harm inflicted on her perfect flesh. From this distance he didn't see any cuts or bruises on the smooth column of her neck or the tantalizing swell of her breasts left visible by the amazing dress covering her curvy frame. Her arms looked unmarred. All her fingers remained attached. The skirt rode high on her hips, revealing long legs of pure perfection and feet with ten toes polished siren red. By the time he pulled his gaze back to her face, sweat trickled down his temples, his pulse raced, and his cock ached with a vengeance.

Michael fought to breathe. What kind of man thought about sex at a time like this?

The kind who needed to know through touch, through taste, through every sense of his soul that the woman he loved still lived.

"Is something wrong, boss?"

Simon Dregs's question whispered through Michael's earpiece. The DEA team brought in consisted of four agents. Michael ordered the other two to stay with the FBI, Cambodian, and Thai operatives on the ground waiting for their moment to strike. He brought Dregs inside with him. Next to Bingham, he trusted the raid team senior agent the most to watch his back.

Michael shook his head, feeling the other agent's gaze on his every move. Rather than speak, he motioned to Dregs, a “stay put” signal to which the other man murmured, "Whatever you say," into his headset.

Michael lowered himself into the room through the opened vent, dropping to his feet at Rhonda's side without a sound. A cursory 360 glance confirmed no one else in the room. He sank to his knees beside Rhonda, touched her cheek with a hand that shook. He couldn't remember the last time he let himself cry. He wanted to now. He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her close, and release every ounce of emotional relief tightening in his chest. Instead, he took another precious moment to examine her for injuries he might not have spotted from his place in the ceiling.

The dress that covered her was more astounding up close. Made of a siren-red, shimmering fabric, it whispered over her breasts, clung to her sides and waist, and flirted with her thighs. His tongue pulsed to trace the heart-shaped bodice. His hands burned to form to her sides, to grab her by the waist and hold her hard and fast against him. Whips of lust slashed through him as the need built to slip between her thighs. He wanted to skim his palms up the smooth expanse of their inner flesh until he found her pussy. He wanted to lose himself within the comforting heat of her body until he convinced himself beyond a shadow of a doubt that no part of her had been harmed.

She stirred, a restless movement of her head, and a soft sigh escaped her sultry lips. Michael swallowed hard as the sound moved through him in a wave of wicked enticement. He lightly traced her cheekbone with his thumb, then closed his hand over her mouth.

"Rhonda."

Her eyes flew open as if he yelled her name rather than letting it roll from his lips on barely a whisper.

Michael watched as emotions flashed through her large sapphire orbs like an old-fashioned slide show. Absolute terror came first, followed closely by shock. With both, she bucked, hips coming off the floor as one hand clamped over the hand covering her mouth and her other balled into a fist. He flinched at the sharp sting of the punch she landed on the corner of his lips, but he didn't look away. The shock in her eyes intensified even as recognition took hold. She stopped thrashing and lowered her fist. She didn't release her hold on his wrist. He didn't remove his hand from her mouth.

"It's me." He kept his voice at barely above a whisper, hoping to soothe her more with his presence than his words. The room might be bugged. There might be hidden cameras, too. He had already resigned himself to hoping like hell that weren't the case. He knew a guard stood watch outside her door.

Her hand on his wrist squeezed, and she nodded once. Still, he didn't remove his hand. The surprise in her eyes morphed to a split second of relief, but the next emotion to settle in their sapphire depths made him want to keep his hand over her mouth permanently. Anger, razor-sharp and fiery hot, turned the blue to a stormy gray. No doubt about it, the woman was pissed. At him. She had every right to be.

 

ADULT EXCERPT

 

He ravaged her with the desperation of a man starved, possessed, out of control. She tasted it all in his kiss. She tasted more, too. Passion, apology, anger, and fear collided in a tongue-tangle of wild insanity.

The electricity grew more intense as his hands found her flesh. He touched her shoulders first, flattening his palms as he dragged them along her arms. He caught her wrists, guiding her arms to her sides where he held them close to her body as he continued to devour her in mindless, sharp possessions of his tongue over hers.

Rhonda shifted in his lap, feeling the length of his rock-hard cock against her bottom. Gods, it made her senses go berserk! She wanted to feel him, needed to touch as much as she craved to be touched. She tried, but his arm around her back held her tight.

"Michael." She gasped hisname as he tore his mouth from hers only to claim her again in a feverish rush that turned her protests to moans of pleasure. She'd told him she wanted to feel. Damn if he didn't let her in ways she hadn't considered. Every moment of desire, every second of restraint between them since the second they met flooded through her in the wash of his kisses.

Too much.

She couldn't handle this onslaught of sensations.

Not enough.

She wanted more. She wanted it all.

"Do your feet hurt too bad to stand?" he asked against her lips.

"No." At the moment she barely remembered she had feet. Whatever ache she felt in no way compared to the pulsating throb in her channel. If she needed to stand in order to get him out of his pants, she wouldn't waste another second sitting here.

Michael helped her, his hands moving to grip her waist as he all but lifted her off his lap. When she started to stand beside him, he skimmed a hand up her right leg, raising it, guiding it until she straddled him.

Rhonda glared down at him, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind."

His chuckle sounded wicked. "I don't doubt that, but it's what I have in mind." He sat up straighter. Both hands moved to her calves and glided up over her knees, beneath the skirt of her dress, higher on her thighs, sparking magical sensations in her core.

She had dreamed of him this way, taking pleasure in doing as he wished with her, to her. His lips tilted in a devious grin that set her soul on fire. He scooted forward, pulling her to him in the same movement, and buried that devilish smile in the triangle of her panties.

The heat of his breath seeped through the satin covering her pussy and bathed the sensitized flesh in erotic flames. Her heart fluttered as her hips involuntarily thrust forward, seeking more. She wanted to feel that blaze without the barrier of the material between them. She shouldn't let this happen. Passion overwhelmed her too intensely to make him stop.

"Don't tease me," she heard herself plead.

"I don't plan to." Even as he answered her, his fingers delved beneath the thin layer of satin, pulling it aside to uncover her shaved pussy lips. "Geezus, I couldn't if I wanted to. So beautiful, just like I've dreamed. Do you know how long I've fantasized about having you like this?"

Cool fingers parted her sodden pussy lips. Rhonda's knees trembled even as any response skated out of her consciousness. She locked her fingers in his hair, both in an effort to remain standing and in an attempt to bring his mouth that last fraction closer. Madness ripped through her, bubbling in a cry of frustration. It never made it past her throat because his tongue found her clitoris and licked all sound from her being.

He tormented the pulsing bud until it swelled, circling and nipping with his tongue and teeth. Her head fell back on her shoulders as the sensations raced through her system. Acute pleasure, intense wonder, wicked need combined to form a precipice that defied reality. Then he licked further down, drawing her closer as he speared his tongue through the drenched folds of her intimate flesh. Her thoughts centered on a single word that left her on a gasp of wondrous pleasure.

"Michael!"

This was Michael bringing her to places she never before visited. This was Michael, who drank from her like a man stranded in the wasteland. This was Michael, who she'd wanted for so very long her mind attempted to convince her that she must be dreaming, because no way could this be happening.

His tongue probed her sodden entrance, delving inside to lick the inner walls of her channel, before retreating to find her clit once more. Her channel throbbed, weeping from the abandonment. Only the replacement of not one, but two fingers prevented her protesting cry from leaving her.

"I can't stand it." Claws of ecstasy pierced her insides, climbing the torturous path from her pussy to her head. She had never experienced a want for a man that hurt so desperately and in such a pleasurable way. She had never needed a man the way she did Michael.

"Neither can I," he growled against her clit, the sound animalistic, giving evidence of his own tormenting need. "Feel it, Rhonda. Feel the way your hot pussy stretches around my fingers." He wiggled his fingers in her channel, stroking and stretching her further, filling her deeper. "Feel the way your clit jumps when I rake my tongue over the swollen bud." He danced his tongue over her clit, lapping and flicking it until her hips bucked in his hold. "Feel it, Rhonda," he said again. "Feel me."

She did, absorbing every sensation, every stroke and lick until she whimpered from the extreme pleasure. His touch invaded her soul, canceling out all thoughts of right and wrong, of safety and preservation.

"Don't stop."

 

Sexual Games

STORY EXCERPT

“Were you hurt?” She started to slow for a stale yellow then gauged the distance too close to stop. She punched the gas, gliding the car beneath the traffic light just as it turned red. She glanced at him. The fleeting red glow illuminated the muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Not physically,” he answered dryly, not looking at her. “My ego took a hell of a blow, though.”

Mallory knew what it cost him to admit that. Tough as nails, stuffy, and often a pompous ass, Jackson Graham didn’t let much penetrate his steely shell, especially on the job. He was a robot, or at least that’s what he preferred people to believe. He kept his emotions hidden, on and off assignment.

Except for that one time.

Yeah, and that one time had scared her to the tips of her toes.

“I apologize for pulling you away from Cinderella’s.”

He made the conversational shift before she could prod for more answers. She let it go, finding a string of patience within herself to latch onto until they reached HQ.

“It’s no big deal. I was considering leaving when you called anyway.” That was a half-truth, but she went with it. She’d really been debating on another drink, a dance with Jim, possibly more.

“Considering?” Jackson finally looked at her, his expression blank, guarded. “Was there something that might have kept you there if I hadn’t called?”

Should she tell him? Would it help her mission or hinder it? Making Jackson jealous had never worked for her before. That was if she’d ever managed to make him jealous in the past. If she had, he damn sure never let it show.

“I thought about staying for another drink, maybe a dance or two.” As she said it, she felt herself slip into you-want-to-fuck-me mode. She’d been playing the game with Jackson for years, laying it on thick, not attempting to hide an ounce of her attraction to him. That, too, hadn’t worked yet, but hope sprung eternal. “What’s the matter, handsome? Does the thought of me on a dance floor make that conservative brain of yours think provocative thoughts?”

“I’ve seen you on a dance floor. Your idea of dancing makes Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey’s interpretation fit for a Disney special.”

Mallory threw her head back and laughed. “You should try it sometime. A couple of hot, sweaty bodies bumping and grinding to the beat of the music, a little alcohol to numb the senses…” She trailed off as her words created an image in her head that made her panties wet. She saw Jackson on a dance floor, his tie gone and shirt half unbuttoned to reveal a rock-solid chest speckled with dark springy hair. She saw his stormy gaze lock with hers as he crooked a finger, beckoning her closer. She could almost feel one corded, muscular arm as it slid around her waist and yanked her close. Then he started to move, grinding his thickening cock against her belly and sending slivers of erotic heat straight to her pussy.

“I should try it with you, I suppose.”

His words ripped her from the quickly accelerating porn flick taking form in her mind. She shifted in her seat and felt more juices escape her slick folds as she pulled the car into the parking lot of FBI HQ. She looked at him as she put the car in park and shut off the engine.

“It would be a place to start.” She slid her gaze from his face to his chest, her hands burning to touch. She wanted to push off his jacket, rip open his shirt and flatten her palms on his tanned flesh. She wanted to feel his dense muscles flex under her hands. She dared to lean closer to him, to reach for his tie, and let the silk glide through her fingers. “You’re still wearing this tie far too tight, Agent Graham.”

His hand closed around her wrist and she suddenly felt dizzy, intoxicated. It was as if his fingers came equipped with tiny needles that penetrated her flesh and injected her with a heavy dose of erotic desire. His stormy gaze locked with hers, and the intensity in his stare took her breath away. Challenge, promise, and hope twisted in an expression that was starkly sexual and dangerous as hell.

“Take it off, Mallory. You know what you’ll get.”

Sanity teetered as need urged her to do things her mind screamed she shouldn’t. Yeah, she knew what she would get, exactly what she’d wanted for more years than she could count. Knowledge of what it would cost her in return had her slowly dropping her hand and easing back into her own seat.

A flash of disappointment moved through his handsome face. “You still aren’t ready to play.”

The passenger door closed with a finality that sent a shudder down her spine. Anger and a fear she could no longer ignore kept her planted in her seat as she watched him walk into the building, saw him stop just inside the door to wait for her. He’d taken over the game, changed the rules.

“Not by a long shot,” she muttered as she got out of the car and slammed the door behind her. She was Mallory Stone, and she didn’t stand placidly by while anyone attempted to take control of anything she possessed. Jackson wanted to play. Well, then, she’d just have to stage a game he’d never forget.

 

ADULT EXCERPT

 

“Jackson, I—”

“Am going to give me dessert now.” He cut off her argument as he had done when she walked in the door, dipped his head, and brushed his lips to the tip of her nose. Confessing he loved her had apparently been a good thing. Her being this close to speechlessness would make it easier to continue his game.

“At Chef Jackson’s dessert is served by the guests to the cook.” He let his hand fall from her face, found the buttons of her shirt, and freed them slowly, one by one. She averted her gaze, bowing her head. He hooked a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face. “Look at me. Last night was yours. Tonight is mine. My game. My rules.”

He continued to unbutton the shirt until it fell open, knowing how difficult it had to be for her to look at him right now. She couldn’t hide from what he had said to her, couldn’t hide from the turmoil it made her feel, not with him being this close to her, with him touching her. It was exactly what he wanted.

“Don’t think, Mal.” He pushed the shirt from her shoulders and let it fall in a pool of material at her feet. “Listen, react, feel.”

He stepped back a fraction, putting just enough room between them so he could see her. The flickering candlelight danced over her flesh, providing him just enough light to see every delectable inch of her body. She hadn’t put on panties. His cock pulsed at the realization. They had sat through dinner making idle conversation, and the whole time she had been across from him wearing absolutely nothing but his shirt.

“I can’t do this, Jackson.”

Her whispered words, the conflict and pain in them, sliced at his heart. He pulled his gaze back up, praying he wouldn’t find tears in her eyes. The single tear last night had been bad enough. Watching her cry now would destroy him.

He didn’t see any tears, though. Thank God. But he had a feeling they weren’t too far away. Tough-as-nails Mallory could only be strong for so long before she would break, and what he was doing to her tonight had to be hitting her at the weakest possible level.

“Yes, you can,” he said soothingly. “It’s sex. It’s you. It’s me. It’s what we’ve been dancing around for years, what we took the first steps in exploring last night.”

“It’s not just sex anymore.” Her voice broke, and she took a ragged breath, reining herself in.

No, it wasn’t, and the fact that she realized that, that she put voice to it, told him he was one step closer to his ultimate goal.

“Let yourself go, Mal. Touch yourself for me. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about watching you pleasure yourself.”

She angled her head and drew her eyebrows together. “Really?”

His lips twitched. “Really.”

She took another ragged breath, let it out slowly, and lifted her hands. She started at her chest, flattening her hands above her breasts, and dragging them down. She cupped her ample breasts in her palms, ran her thumbs over her hardened nipples, and—Oh holy Jesus—the sight sent whips of lust slashing at his tortured cock and balls.

“Is that what you’ve fantasized about?” She caught her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, rolled the beaded points then pinched, her head falling back as she moaned from the pleasure she gave herself.

“Christ, yes.” It was better because this was reality.

“How about this?” One hand moved from her breast to glide down her abdomen, her stomach, then disappeared between her legs.

Entranced, Jackson’s gaze, along with every ounce of lust inside him, followed her hand. She parted her legs slowly and turned her hips slightly toward the cabinets on her right. Balancing her weight on her left foot, she raised her right to rest on the handle of the nearby cabinet, opening her pussy to his view and her questing fingers.

“Damn, that’s amazing.” He tore his gaze away long enough to glance up. Her other hand had stayed on her breast where she continued to massage and toy with her nipple. Her gaze was fixated on him. Shadows of her conflicting emotions remained in her heavy-lidded eyes, but they sparked with the vixen challenge he had seen in them all too often.

How far would he take this? How far did he want her to go? He saw those questions in her gaze even as her lips formed an O of pleasure that had his attention plummeting to her hand once more. She used her index and ring finger to part her pussy lips, massaging her clit with her middle finger until the bud became engorged and utterly torturous to his throbbing cock.

Jackson nearly came right then and there, without so much as a touch to his own body from her, his dick still safely enclosed in his jeans. Watching her drove him that close to the edge. He found himself fighting to think about details at the bureau, about cooking, about anything that would divert his mind and body from blowing his wad in his jeans.

“Mmm, so that’s what you’ve really fantasized about.” A teasing lilt added a wicked tone to her voice, telling him she was truly enjoying herself now. Getting off on driving him to the brink of insanity was more like it.

“Yes.” The word came out rough, breathless, and just short of sounding like a growl. He wanted to close the distance between them, replace her hands with his own, but first he wanted to taste her. “Stop.”

Her hands stilled and he glanced up again to find a wicked smile tilting her succulent lips. “What’s the matter, handsome, too much?”

Jackson shook his head as he reached for her right hand. “It’s not enough.”