“I love this here,” he said, inundating her clitoris with several flicks of his tongue.
“Do you?” she asked, barely able to respond and wondering if her eyes were rolling in the back of her head. She felt her hips moving with each flick of his tongue and couldn’t stay still even if she wanted to.
When he sucked her clitoris, she screamed his name. But he didn’t let up. As if her clit was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, his fingers parted her even more and he used his other hand to lift her hips. She could feel his tongue actually going deeper, licking all the way and applying a hard suction to certain spots.
It was as if he knew just those areas of her body that would make her shatter. As if he was fine-tuning her for both their pleasure. How could any man possess both a fierceness and gentleness when making love to a woman?
Suddenly she couldn’t think any more as her entire body exploded into what seemed like a million pieces, with each piece sensitive to his touch. Before she could get her second wind, he came up over her and entered her in one hard thrust.
She was pinned to the bed as her head thrashed from right to left and she felt an intensity of pleasure she hadn’t thought was possible. She was convinced this degree of ecstasy could only come from Striker. He knew just where to strike, for how long and how deep. The man was perfection in the bedroom.
And then he took her mouth again. It happened again, this explosion more powerful than the last. She felt her entire body shaking from one end to the other. She clutched the bedcovers, trying to keep everything from spinning. Too late. It was as if her entire body had blasted off into outer space.
And like he’d said, he didn’t let up. He kept thrusting, pounding, holding her hips steady to receive one hard strike after another. The most pleasurable strikes she’d ever received.
From her Striker.
She drew in a sharp breath that was quickly absorbed by his mouth. No matter how much they enjoyed pleasuring each other, he was not her Striker. She must never let such foolish thoughts enter her mind. Although he admitted she was now more than a job, she knew all she was to him was another bed partner.
He released her mouth to let out one huge guttural growl.
When she actually felt Striker getting hard inside her again, she blinked, thinking she had to be imagining things. But when he quickly pulled out of her and went to the bathroom, only to come back and put on another condom, she knew she hadn’t imagined anything.
He eased back between her legs and entered her in one smooth thrust. He began moving, thrusting hard, like he hadn’t just had an orgasm moments earlier. She released a needy moan when sensations began building inside her again. How was that possible? Striker Jennings had to be the most virile man she knew. What other man could do this?
Striker could. And Striker did.
*
STRIKER GATHERED MARGO into his arms and held her. When had he become such a greedy ass? It was as if every time he was inside her body he felt at home. He felt the need to take her to the heights he’d always wanted to climb.
While making love to her, he’d felt on top of the highest mountain. On top of the world. Parasailing across the damn Atlantic Ocean. How could any one woman make him feel that way?
He looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, and she was moaning and quivering. On the second go-round he hadn’t planned to pound so hard. In fact, he’d established a moderate rhythm. His strokes had been gentle and undemanding. But she’d asked, said she wanted hard again, and he’d had no problem giving her what she wanted.
“Striker?”
“Yes?”
“What’s happening to me?”
He knew why she was asking. “You’re experiencing orgasmic aftershocks.” Orgasmic aftershocks weren’t all that abnormal after an intense orgasm or a series of them. Usually they only lasted for a minute or two. So far hers had lasted for over five minutes now. If a man hit a woman’s G-spot at a certain angle, followed by the insertion of his finger inside of her for further stimulation, it could cause continuous surges of pleasurable sensations. And he’d deliberately made sure she received the full effect.
“It will wear off in a minute. How do you feel?”
“It’s hard to explain.” She glanced up at him. “I feel like you’re still inside of me.”
“I am.”
“I mean you. Not your finger.”
He smiled. “Next time I’ll make sure I stay.”
She finally stopped trembling and tried lifting her head, but it fell back against his arm. She must be drained. “Next time?”
Striker stared down at her. Had he said that? He hadn’t meant to give her the impression there would be another time for them. When he inhaled her scent he knew there would be a next time. Somehow he would protect her as well as bed her.
“You’re okay now,” he said, sliding his finger out of her and then boldly licking that finger while she watched. “Delicious,” he said huskily. “Now we’ll shower, but not together. I don’t want to wear you out too much. Besides, I need to call Quasar to bring our dinner and get an update with Stonewall with the relocation plans.”
“So we still have to leave here?”
He shifted to face her. “Yes, but you understand why, right?”
She nodded. “Yes, I understand. I just wish they would catch the person responsible, put him in jail and throw away the key.”
“That might happen. I understand the psychic who they didn’t listen to the last time has agreed to work with them again. If the authorities had taken her seriously before, then they would have known they’d been holding the wrong man.”
She lifted a brow. “She’s that good?”
“I hear she has quite a reputation and has worked with law enforcement before. Most notably, she worked with the feds to bust up a human-trafficking ring a couple years ago.”
“Wow. I hope she uses her psychic abilities to bring an end to all the killings.”
Striker pulled her closer into his arms. “So do I.”
*
RANDI TURNED FROM the barred window when she heard a sound behind her. The person she’d been waiting for had entered the room. Murphy Erickson. He seemed surprised to see her, and, just like she had requested, he was alone and wearing no restraints of any kind. Other than the orange prison suit, there was nothing to show that he belonged inside these prison walls.
He looked over at her, and his lips lifted in a curious smile. “Well, who do we have here?”
Already she was picking up negative vibes and, in a way, that was a good thing. “I’m Dr. Randi Fuller, Mr. Erickson. A psychic investigator.”
His eyes narrowed. “A psychic? I didn’t ask to see you.”
“No, but I asked to see you.”
He glanced around, and when he looked back at her, his face had hardened. “We’re alone. Don’t know whose idea that was, but it was a stupid one. I could kill you. With my bare hands. What do I have to lose?”
“What you have to lose is whichever body part you want me to mutilate first. Just so you know, I am a fifth-degree black belt. If you try to attack me, I will hurt you to the point that you’ll wish you were dead. In the end, you might very well be.”
He stared at her for a minute and then chuckled. “You’re kind of feisty, aren’t you? I like you. But just so you know, I don’t believe in your mumbo-jumbo stuff.”
“I’m surrounded by skeptics every day, but it doesn’t matter. In the end, I produce results.”
He pulled out the chair at the table and sat down. “So what do you think you’re going to get out of me?”
“Anything you want to tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. In the end, I produce results,” he echoed. “We’re up to how many dead people now?”