13
Preacher’s cellphone rang after their meal was finished. She inclined her head to the house and started to pick up the dishes. He nodded and moved to a chaise lounge and settled into it. “Hi, boss,” he said and then launched into a sitrep regarding their takedown of the two NSH goons.
Deciding that she needed a nice hot soak, Karasu wrapped the leftovers and put them in the fridge, then went into the master bath. She turned on the TV and the news was all about the terrible terrorist attacks and how they were connected to the United States. Almost as if the announcer was blaming America for bad actors. Every country had them, yet the US always seemed to be a target no matter what they did. It sucked but was a reality of being a superpower.
She ran the water in the jacuzzi tub and added bath salts. She pulled her weapon out of her waistband at the small of her back and set it on a small table near the bath, stripping down to her skin. At the sink, she cleaned up the small cuts on her face—nothing too bad. She walked back to the tub, turned on the jets, and stepped into the water. A large picture window at the back of the property, tinted for privacy from the outside, gave her a clear, striking view of the La Paz landscape. She had said the city was ugly and she considered it a mish-mash of old and new, a mad carnival of jostling pedestrians, honking, diesel-spewing vehicles, street marches, and cavalcades of vendors, but the surrounding area was anything but displeasing. The big bowl of urban jungle gave way to the stunning snowcapped mountains of the Cordillera Real, with triple-peaked and much-climbed Mount Illimani. Revered by the Aymara Indians, the peaks were cautiously revered with offerings and sacrifices to appease evil spirits.
Karasu’s Japanese culture was full of that kind of folklore, and as an avenging ghost, she dealt out her own kind of retribution to the evil who walked the earth.
She turned off the news, soaking in the immediate silence, then eased back into the hot water, sighing. She closed her eyes, the scented water soothing her battered body as she ticked off her next moves.
Take her time with Preacher and seduce him with her body, fill up her soul with him, power rest to give her the fuel she needed to find Volk, and kick ass until she got the information she needed with the skills she always relied on.
She had someone in the city who would help her. Someone like her and he was as dangerous, ruthless, and relentless as she, for Gonchaya had a stake in this rescue…Zorra.
He would also stop at nothing to get her back.
She would have to give her contact an incentive to talk when she found him. And find him she would.
Her thoughts went back to Preacher, that decent, beautiful man, and to the way he made her feel…vulnerable. Her heart fluttered. That kind of shit didn’t wash in her kill-or-be-killed world. The only emotion that could mean anything to her was her commitment to duty. Shadowguard immersed themselves in secrecy, for her government, or she might as well hang up her assassin’s knives. Keeping her heart under wraps was painful, but no one else got hurt that way. No one to upset, worry…or to care.
Yet. Hecared. Heworried. About her.
Damn him. She wanted him, and so much more. The flutter in her chest went wild. Leaning back against the tub, Karasu slicked her hands over her aching nipples, now hardened against her palms. The nearly unbearable longing welled up in her and her clit throbbed in time to the beat of her heart. She couldn’t remember wanting something as badly as she wanted his mouth on her.
She stopped touching herself, her hands going into fists in the water.
Floating in the anticipation of taking what she wanted from Preacher, the water grew cold. She left the tub and dried off. Wondering where Preacher was, annoyed with her timetable, she left the master bath and saw him standing by the window, admiring Illimani as she had, just from a different angle. Her body still throbbed and ached. How he did that without even touching her was a miracle. Dusk was beginning to settle, and the sky was a gorgeous shade of sunset, streaked with ochre and rust.
He wore nothing but a towel, his hair tousled, the ends damp. His glorious back was facing her, the fading light dusking his skin a burnished gold. He was the epitome of the male form. His broad shoulders flexed as he shifted, rippling down the V-shape of his muscular back to his slim waist and narrow hips.
As far as she was concerned, that towel covered up way too much, namely his fine ass and all that goodness nestled between his legs. She’d barely had any time to savor him the first time they made love, and with the dangerous mission coming up, she wasn’t going to speed this along.
He didn’t acknowledge her, even though she knew he must sense her behind him. Gliding closer, she read his body language and those subtle nuances about him. He was both a compassionate good guy and a bad boy warrior who exuded sexual power without even trying. It was all innate.
“Come and do what you want. Take what you want. I’ve been waiting for you, babe. I need you…fuck…” His voice rasped against her skin, his breathing ragged. He leaned into the window. “I’mdyingfor you.”
She’d been dying for him…for a lifetime.
She came up behind him and snaked her hands around his waist, turning him into the window. “Put both hands on the glass.” He shuddered from her touch and set both of his palms flat against the window. She stretched him out a bit, then pushed his thighs apart, wanting access to everything. “Don’t move,” she whispered in his ear. “Until I tell you to.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His deep voice with that sweet indulgent tone did funny things to her insides, and she bit him hard on his trapezius muscle. He groaned. She then soothed the spot with her tongue.
She breathed in the earthy, clean male scent of his body still damp from the shower. Then she reached around him and found the tuck of the terrycloth. Releasing the knot she pulled the towel off him, baring his gorgeous, tight ass to her. She smoothed her hands over the taut globes, then slapped him hard.
He gasped, his muscles contracting and releasing in such a delicious flex, she bent her knees and bit his buttock, making him groan again. She trailed her tongue up the cheek of his ass to his lower back, at the same time she reached between his legs for his perineum, the nerve-rich area spanning from his pubic bone to his butt, and into his thighs, a very hot erogenous zone many women didn’t know about. Want to bring a man to his knees, yeah, that was the place.
She pressed lightly just beneath his balls, then whispered in his ear. “How’s that, babe?”
“Harder,” he said.
She gently increased the pressure and a violent shudder coursed through him, and Preacher’s breathing turned harsh and labored in the silent room.
“Good?” she murmured, breathing hard into his ear.
“So, good,” he breathed, his chest expanding raggedly, his voice gruff and unsteady, thick with desire.
“I can’t wait to get my mouth on you,” she whispered, her pulse thick and heavy with the anticipation of taking him. The sheer satisfaction and relief of finally touching him, exploring, giving him immeasurable pleasure, she shuddered and tried to absorb the moment, how agonizingly perfect, how incredibly right, he felt beneath her hands. Hot, thick muscle on every part of his body drove her wild.