He paused to watch. She wasn’t shy and thank God, because this worked for him in ways he didn’t know. A possessive need flashed, and he joined back in, his tongue commingled with her fingers.

“More.”

Sure thing. He’d take orders from her. He speared her tight entrance with two fingers. Mia clamped around him. Such a tight pussy. Liquid fire coating his fingers. He’d explode if he entered her. She deserved better than an eight second rodeo, which was all he’d probably muster at the moment. He tried and failed to recount the steps of cleaning his rifle. He tried to list the phonetic alphabet. Backwards. Zeta. Yankee. X-ray. Nothing helped.

“Colby,” she said breathlessly. “Don’t stop. Harder. I need more.”

Harder. He could do harder. He could do whatever the hell she told him to do. He grabbed her ass, holding her tight against his mouth. She pulled from him, pushed toward him, but it didn’t matter.

Finally, he couldn’t handle anymore and rumbled into her sweetness, the vibrations tearing the last shreds of her climb into an untamed climax. She bucked hard against his mouth, her hands ripping through his hair. She could pull every last strand out if it meant that orgasm was as strong as it sounded. She cried his name and cursed him. He forced her through it until the last of her ripples crossed his tongue, and she went limp.

One deep breath, then another. He released her from a grip that may have been far too tight. Marks outlined where he held her in place, but the satisfaction on her face did something barbaric to his need for her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Their break didn’t last long. Mia lifted her head from the mattress and snagged him with a look. “I need you. Now.”

Yes, ma’am. That’ll work for me, too.

She reached for his hair and ran her fingers through it. Nice to know he still had some. Directing him from his knees, she tore at his shirt. “Get this off.”

It was only then he realized he hadn’t disarmed. Very gentleman like. Shit. He stood, and un-holstered his Glock from the small of his back. The smooth metal was cold in his hand, a violent contrast to her sizzle and warmth.

One-handed, he pulled the slide, released the clip, unloading it in one swift move. The magazine hit the floor. He emptied the round in the chamber and placed his concealed carry on the nightstand.

“Show off.” She laughed, looking impressed.

“You liked it,” he said an octave lower than normal, saturated in arousal. He wanted to impress her. Needed her to see him as something beyond a street fighter, even if it was only a quick trick.

The gun holstered under his pant leg was still loaded. No way would he leave them vulnerable. Her fingers brushed over his belt clasp, working the buckle. His erection pressed hard into his pants, wanting her touch.

“I wasn’t complaining.” She rounded her hands onto his ass, encouraging him to step out of his pants and boxer briefs. He unstrapped the remaining holsters, set his backup and his tactical knife on the nightstand, and dropped trou.