I shift Chantelle’s hips, allowing her to bend her legs so I can move my head further between her thighs. I stiffen my tongue, fucking her with it then pulling out to suck on her clit. Suck. Fuck. Repeat. We set a merciless rhythm, and it’s not long before her body tenses and starts to shake.
Chantelle’s orgasm barrels through her as she cries out around my dick. The vibrations cause my balls to tighten, and I punch my hips forward once more before I am emptying my cum down her throat. I coax her through her high by lapping up her release until her legs start jerking from the sensitivity as she comes down.
I pull my dick from her mouth, and she gasps for air. I chuckle before wrapping my arm around her waist to hold on to her so that when I release her from my belt, she does not drop to the floor. Once the belt is removed, I carry her spent body to the love seat with my cock still half erect and out of my pants.
Chantelle’s head lolls back from the position I had her in. Sitting on the couch with her still in my arms, I hold her onto my lap. I lean in and slam my lips against hers. She whimpers, but opens her mouth for me. Our tongues tangle, along with the combined taste from our orgasms, and I have never tasted anything so perfect.
When I break our kiss, I watch her eyes flutter open as her mouth stays parted expectantly. I rub the pad of my thumb along her swollen bottom lip as she watches me through sated, hooded eyes.
“Don’t defy me again, Little Bird,” I whisper, then press a final, soft kiss to her lips.
Eight
Liam
THEBALLISTOMORROWnight, and today I’m standing at the airport waiting for my sister. After I got off the phone with her, she’d had her flight booked and the details sent to me within twenty minutes.
No doubt she’s more worried about Bastian than whatever the fuck she thinks is going on with me.
My issue is Malia.
Always fucking with my head, even if I haven’t laid eyes on her in weeks. My cock begins to harden at the thought of her at my mercy in that interrogation room and the feel of her tight walls sucking and enveloping me. Like I belonged there. Like she didn’t want to let me go.
I worry about seeing her tomorrow night and how my complicated feelings will react. I still want her, even though I know she’s no good for me.
“Brenner,” a deep voice calls from behind me, breaking through my thoughts. My body goes stiff. With the threat of The Omen looming, it catches me off guard.
It makes Malia even more dangerous for my mind. When I should be watching my surroundings, I’m lost in thought with a half chub in the middle of a busy airport instead. I mutter curses under my breath before turning.
If my body was rigid before, it’s steeled now. Hayes Renton stands in front of me with an impassive look on his face. I was already suspended from the FBI when I beat the shit out of Bastian, so who knows what will happen if Hayes decides to go for a round here in the eye of the public.
Months ago, I was banned from an underground fight club for beating this man beyond recognition. He was undefeated, and yet I overpowered him. After years of fighting and too many hits to the head, I had delivered the final blow to his criminal career that night.
Tanner, the owner of Limbo, didn’t hold it against me. To keep the cops at bay, though, he banned me to avoid getting jumped and killed for bringing them to sniff around his business. I know where Tanner stands, but the same can’t be said about the man in front of me.
“Renton,” I say, dipping my chin in greeting.
He smiles—bright-white teeth stark against his tanned skin—and I don’t know how to take that. This man is normally vicious with his hands, and he’s not usually the friendliest person either.
“Haven’t seen you at the club since our fight.”
It’s hard for me to think that he’s not trying to bait me right now. I quirk an eyebrow, because it seems unlikely that he doesn’t already know why I haven’t been back.
At my expression in response to his statement, Hayes shrugs. “I don’t hold it against you. It’s what we do. It’s messy and violent and people get hurt. I know what the possible outcome is every time I walk into that ring.”
My arms cross tightly against my chest. It’s defensive body language, but I suppose technically I am in a defensive position right now. He could be smiling in my face this second and still serve a cheap shot the next.
“Appreciate that,” I reply. “You’re still at the club?”
He hums. “I imagine Tanner told you I couldn’t fight anymore. Too many hits to the head will do that to you. Tanner has me training a newbie he wants to put on the roster. Ever heard of Dean Cantrell?”
Have I heard of Dean Cantrell? The man was a legend in professional MMA. He was murdered a few years ago. Foul play was suspected, but they never uncovered anything. He had been a childhood hero to a lot of people my age.
“I don’t live under a rock, Renton.”
He chuckles. “His daughter fights. She found her way into the club, and Tanner stuck her with me. It’s not so bad once you get past her attitude.”
I laugh at that, because fuck can I relate.