The Dangerous Boxed Set Read online

  “O-okay,” she breathed.

  Nick shifted in his seat, eyes resolutely ahead. On the way over, he’d been in total control of himself and the car. Short of an RPG hitting the Lexus, they wouldn’t have had an accident. Right now, he didn’t feel in control of anything, least of all his cock. An accident was perfectly possible, except it really wasn’t.

  Even far gone in the throes of red-hot lust, he was master of the car. He was always master of the car. It was such a deeply inbred skill, it was as if it were in his bones, as if he’d been born with it. He’d once driven from Kandahar to Kabul after catching the tail end of an IED that had blown up the car in front of him. He’d been concussed, had lost his hearing in one ear, and was bleeding like a stuck pig over his left eye from a piece of shrapnel that had sliced across his forehead like a scalpel. The road was pockmarked with big holes left by previous IEDs, they came under fire twice, and through all that he’d driven his team to safety as if they’d been on the German Autobahn.

  So, yes, he had a blue steeler and it almost fucking hurt when he moved to shift gears, most of his mind was taken up with the beautiful woman in the seat next to him, but it didn’t make any difference. Even if he had only two neurons left in his head, they were enough to drive with. His muscles could manage alone, without guidance from his head.

  “Take your pants off. And then your panties.”

  The swish of her hair on her shoulders as her head swivelled toward him was audible. “What?” she breathed.

  “You heard me.” Jesus, even his throat muscles were tight. He could barely get the words out. His voice came out harsh and guttural. “I want your pants and panties off. And while we’re at it, take off your bra under your sweater. You can keep the sweater on.” It was a tough concession, but having her pretty white breasts bared might just be too much for him. He had a lot of self-control, it was true. But shit, there was a limit to everything. “Pants, panties off. Bra. Off.”

  He reached down and turned her heater on high. He wanted her turned on, warm and receptive. He didn’t want her blue with cold and goose bumps.

  It was silent in the car for long moments. Nick flexed his fingers on the wheel and kept his gaze resolutely on the road.

  “I—I’ll need to take my seat belt off.”

  His jaws clenched as he slowed the car down to a crawl. “Do it.”

  She unbuckled the seat belt, holding it over her body, hesitating.

  Finally, she moved and ah, yes. There were the lovely little sounds of a woman disrobing, so different from men. A woman taking her clothes off was a miracle of nature.

  Nick remembered all too well what it was like living in barracks. He and his teammates would come in from a fifteen-mile run, sweaty and smelling like goats. They’d strip down, swearing a blue streak, weapons and flak jackets and combat boots clunking heavily to the floor. Followed by the sound of twelve hairy paws scratching twenty-two hairy balls.

  How did women do it? How did they make such cute, soft sounds? Everything so delicate and tender.

  Nick could follow what was going on by sound alone. The little rip of the pants zipper going down. The seat creaking slightly as she lifted to slide her pants down to her thighs. The silky sound of her pants sliding off. Neat as always, she folded her pants carefully along the seam and put them down in the footwell.

  “Stockings.” The word came out through what felt like a boulder in his throat. “Panties.”

  Oh yes. Even more delightful sounds. The small thud of her boots coming off. The whisper of nylon-clad legs rubbing against each other as she slipped her stockings off.

  Almost there. He felt a drop of sweat fall down his temple and plop onto his sweater. It was hot in the car after he’d turned up the heat, but even if it had been freezing, he’d have sweated at the thought of Charity almost naked.

  She lifted again and he saw a scrap of pale yellow silk flowing down her body. Oh yeah.

  “Take your bra off under your sweater.”

  “Okay.” He heard her swallow. She was trembling but she was also excited. He could smell it. Over the leather of the seats and Charity’s perfume was the scent of her arousal. He’d recognize it anywhere. She was turned on.

  Damned right. She had to be because he was going to start fucking her hard just as soon as they were in a place where he physically could without driving them both into a tree.

  Charity reached up between her breasts under her sweater and in a few graceful moves had removed her bra, the same pale yellow silk as her panties. It joined the rest of her clothes in the footwell.

  Nick would have given anything to make her take her sweater off. He loved her breasts, so pale and soft, with the pale pink nipples that turned cherry red when she was turned on. He’d take money on a bet that they were cherry red now. But he didn’t want her to catch cold, and he didn’t know if he could keep his eyes on the road with her bare breasts inches from him, so against his will, he let her keep the sweater on.

  A second into her warm house it was coming off, though.

  They were crawling slowly. Now that she’d taken most of her clothes off, they needed to make better time. “Put your seat belt back on.” As soon as he heard the little click, he pressed the accelerator. They had another quarter of an hour before they got to Charity’s house. He had fifteen minutes to get her ready. Or rather, she had fifteen minutes to get herself ready.

  His jaw clenched, back teeth biting together. In his peripheral vision he could see the long elegant line of her legs gleaming palely against the black leather seat, a pale puff of hair between her thighs.

  Charity naked was a wet dream. Fully clothed, she was the classiest lady he’d ever seen. With her clothes off, she became sex on a stick. Classy sex on a stick. The most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

  “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

  She let out a little breath. “All right.” She shifted slightly, arousal and her perfume billowing out with each slight movement. Nick’s hands tightened again on the wheel, slippery with sweat. “What I’m feeling. Whew. Well, um, the seat was shockingly cold at first but now it’s warming up. I feel—I feel the heat from the vents on my bare skin. I’ve never felt that before in a car. I mean, against my—my intimate parts.”

  “Open your legs,” he said harshly. “Position the vent so that you have warm air directly on your pussy.”

  Another little huff of breath, and hesitation. Not reluctance, he could feel it. Just surprise.

  He was a little surprised himself, at how hard he was pushing her. It was like he had a fever, an itch he couldn’t scratch, just under his skin.

  It was post-op horniness, he suddenly realized.

  Oh my God.

  He always had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit at the end of an op. All that adrenaline had to go somewhere and it always ended up in his dick. It was a kind of horniness that he could rarely fuck away, too, much as he tried. The women he found after an op, particularly if there had been a firefight, were used hard. He went at it for hours.

  He hadn’t been on an op but he’d definitely been on a mission. There hadn’t been danger to him, but there had been to the old lady, like a wounded teammate who needed rescuing. He’d been super-charged while looking for her, he realized with hindsight. Every sense sharpened, heightened, totally focused like a laser beam on finding her and bringing her back to safety.

  So he’d had an adrenalin dump and it was working its way out of his system through his dick. That explained the steel hard-on and his total inability to even contemplate foreplay or anything other than ripping Charity’s clothes off and entering her just as soon as it was safe to do so.

  What it didn’t explain was that this time, it wasn’t just any woman who’d do. Oh no.

  Usually, all he needed was someone reasonably attractive with the correct human number of limbs and female plumbing. He usually kept his eyes closed during sex, anyway. As long as she was wet enough, he didn’t care who it was.

  This time
, only Charity would do. No one else.

  Fuck. For just a second, Nick tried to visualize getting rid of his hard-on with another woman and for the first time in his life, Generic Woman wasn’t enough. He put a couple of women he’d fucked, and whose faces he could recall, in his imaginary bed and his hard-on actually went down a little.

  Nope. Just any woman wouldn’t do.

  This was serious shit. He’d have to think about it. Later. When some blood had returned to his head.

  Right now, he had to make sure that when he got Charity home, she’d be able to take him.

  “Touch me,” he ordered. “Put your hand on my cock. Feel what you do to me.” Thank God he hated driving in a coat. There was only his jeans and briefs between her hand and his hard-on.

  Charity reached out hesitatingly, then lay her hand on his crotch. His cock immediately lengthened as a surge of blood went through it at her touch. Her hand jerked in surprise. It must have felt as if he had a landed trout in his pants. They were on a broad avenue and he spared a second to look down at himself.

  Her pale hand gleamed in the faint light coming from the digital readouts. After her initial surprise, she’d put her hand back on him, cupping her palm around him. He could feel the heat of her hand through the two layers of cloth. His cock and her hand started doing a little dance. She’d squeeze lightly, his cock would respond enthusiastically, which made her squeeze him again, while he surged against her.

  It was torture. Why was he doing this to himself? Nick wasn’t big on teasing self-denial, but if this was all he could get, well, he’d take it.

  He had to concentrate fiercely on the road and worked to keep his breathing even. She was driving him crazy, yet he’d kill himself if she stopped touching him.

  “Touch yourself.” Her eyes turned big. “Touch yourself,” he repeated grimly. “With your other hand. Open your legs and touch yourself.” In his peripheral vision, he watched as her right hand hesitated over her thighs. Then, slowly, her thighs opened and she reached between them with her forefinger, running it along the slit.

  God, he remembered doing that himself, sliding his finger along the silky opening, tender and fascinating, puffy and pale pink. Like a little flesh flower.

  “Are you wet?” They were passing the McBain mansion, a huge, decaying Victorian monstrosity surrounded by woods that just cried out for a crazed writer with a pickax. It meant that they were just a few minutes from her house. “Please tell me that you’re wet, because otherwise I’ll shoot myself.”

  Charity gave a little snorting laugh. “No, you’re okay. You’ll live a little longer. I’m wet, though…,” she paused delicately, “not quite as wet as you make me.” Her fingers tightened around his cock.

  The muscles in his thighs pulled, hard, and a line of fire raced down his spine. For a shocked second, he thought he would come in her hand. He managed to pull back from the brink, shaking, jaws clenched.

  Charity ran her hand up him once, then back down. “Wow.” He could see her looking at him. “Something almost happened there.”

  Nick’s jaws clenched. “Yeah.” He chanced a glance at her. They were almost home. “You little witch.”

  He saw the beginning of her smile before concentrating again on the road. “That better have excited you.”

  “Oh, it did,” she assured him softly. Her thighs opened wider and he could actually hear the wet sounds as she pushed her finger inside her, then pulled it slowly out. “I am very…ready.”

  Nick had one big punch to his system as he started the free fall to orgasm. No! Not here, not now. Again, he had to use all his self-control to pull himself back.

  They were there. He drove up the driveway, killing the engine just as the front fender of the Lexus kissed the garage door. He turned to look at her, wincing. Every movement fucking hurt. “Pull on your pants and shoes. Leave your underwear here. Get your key ready, too.”

  She was fast, he had to give her that. By the time he made it to her door, she had her pants, shoes, and coat on. Panties, bra, and stockings were a pale, silky gleam on the floor of the footwell.

  Charity lifted up her arms to him, in utter trust, a mysterious half smile on her face. “I’m looking forward to this,” she whispered, once she was in his arms, where she belonged.

  “Not as much as I am.” Nick smiled down at her. His hard-on still hurt, but for just a second, he was able to forget it. She felt so light and soft and…and right in his arms. His cock was squeezed tight inside his jeans but something was squeezing him in the chest area, too.

  His senses were heightened. The pine trees of the forest surrounding her house gave off a heady, resinlike scent that mixed with the steely smell of snow and whiff of gas coming off the hot hood. Above all those, her scent, Charity’s scent, rose like a grace note.

  He could see so clearly, it was as if he had on night vision goggles. The faint light given off by the streetlamp a hundred yards away and Charity’s pitifully weak porch light were enough for him to take in everything. He could have taken a sniper shot.

  And his skin—Jesus. His skin felt supercharged, one huge erogenous zone from the top of his head to his toes. Each stray snowflake felt like a little pebble pinging against him. All the textures of his clothes and hers, the light wind that felt like a gale—everything was heightened.

  He made it up the walkway and the stairs as fast as he could without slipping on the ice and breaking both their necks. A second later they were inside the door and a second after that, he had her up against the door, both hands plunged into her hair, cradling her skull, kissing her wildly.

  His hand went to his pants and he freed himself

  She lifted herself up on tiptoe so she could cradle his hard-on and it brought about a second’s relief. Not enough, but Christ, it was better rubbing himself against her softness than against his jeans.

  He left her mouth for the second it took to whip her sweater up and off, missing her fiercely, moaning as he took her mouth again.

  He had another second to get her naked and to get himself suited up. He couldn’t do both in a second.

  “Take your pants off,” he whispered against her mouth, stepping back. “Fast.”

  He pulled a rubber out of his pocket and donned it, wincing at the feel of his hand smoothing the condom over himself. He felt ready to explode.

  She held his eyes as she unzipped her pants. They slid to her ankles. She toed her boots off, tugged the pants past her feet and tossed them into the room somewhere.

  Before they landed, Nick had pressed against her, lifting her and stepping between her legs. She opened for him, an instinctive gesture of welcome and his cock brushed against her soft pubic hair. He gritted his teeth.

  He was completely dressed except for his dick hanging out and she was utterly naked. He didn’t need arousing, it felt like steam was coming off him as it was, but the sight of her naked body against him shattered what little control he’d still had.

  Nick’s hands cupped her bottom, lifting her up, and he slammed into her, hard and fast. She took him. He shook, letting his forehead droop onto her shoulder. She could take him. Thank God. She’d done her own foreplay and this was going to work.

  He was breathing hard, lungs bellowing, trembling, trying to hold on to his control. She clasped him like a warm, wet fist. He needed to wait just a second before fucking, make sure she was used to him.

  Charity’s head was tilted back against the door, long slender neck exposed. Again, Nick wished he were a vampire. He got vampires, totally. Understood precisely what made them tick. That neck was a bite magnet, positively made for biting.

  He shifted his head, brought his lips to her throat, licked her, then bit her. A delicate but hard nip. Right over where her heartbeat pulsed.

  Charity jolted, gasping. At the same time, her cunt clenched around him, from root to tip, tight and hot. His entire body clenched back and he lost control.

  Keeping his mouth to her throat he started pounding in her, holding
her up and keeping her legs spread with his hands, the entire world reduced to his mouth on her throat and his cock in her, completely open to him. Her back thumped against the wooden door. Too hard. He was being too hard on her but he couldn’t stop himself, it felt like he’d been waiting for this forever, like a dam that had just burst.

  He had no idea if he could stop if she asked him to, his body had taken over entirely, trying very hard to pump as deeply into her body as it was possible to go. As if he were trying to punch a hole to her heart with his dick.

  It was too much, too intense. His heart raced, sweat poured down his back, he picked up the pace for a wild second, cock swelling inside her and then he erupted, coming wildly, in huge waves, shuddering and moaning.

  Was she—yes!

  With a wild cry, Charity started coming, the small contractions milking him tightly, drawing his climax out. Damn, he’d give anything not to have a rubber on. To spill into her warm, welcoming body instead of into latex, feel every inch of her, as he had yesterday.

  One last, hard thrust and it was over. He leaned heavily against her, panting, knees so weak he had to stiffen them.

  Slowly his senses returned. He could hear his own heavy breathing in the quiet of the room.

  He winced. His fingers were clutching the soft cheeks of her ass so hard he was bound to leave bruises. He loosened his fingers, one by one. It was surprisingly hard to do.

  He was leaning against her so hard, he was keeping her up against the wall by his weight alone. He stepped back a fraction and allowed her to slip down until her feet touched the ground.

  He also allowed himself to slip out of her. He didn’t want it, but it had to be done. She’d be sore, and the rubber would start leaking soon.