Page 24 of Delta (Alpha #12)

I wet a washcloth and clean myself up, then wet another and return to Bryn. She's laying on the bed watching me, smiling, hands laced behind her head, legs crossed ankle over ankle. So fucking beautiful.

I don't believe in love, but I think if I did, I might be tempted to think I'm half in love with this girl already.

God, that would be stupid, wouldn't it? Falling in love with the woman you're supposed to sell into sexual slavery?

Good thing I don't just not believe in love but am allergic to it. I repel it. Based on history, at least.

She reaches for the cloth, but I keep it out of reach. "Nah, love. Let me. Please."

She drops her hands, but hesitates, searching me. Now that we're done and the wild heat of the moment is spent, she's shy?

She keeps her legs crossed and pressed together, swallowing hard.

"Cmon, love. Open for me." I sit on the bed's edge next to her, waiting.

She covers her face. "It's a lot .”

I lean over her. "Hey. Nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart. Sex is messy."

I press a palm against her thigh, and she slowly relinquishes the pressure, opening her legs for me. I swipe the cloth down through her folds, gathering my seed. Fold it, drag it down again, and a third time.

But then…

I can't help myself. I'm sat there staring at the prettiest pussy I've ever seen. I mean, it's perfect. A delicate pink flower, lips like silken petals, clit an elegant pistil. Her folds glisten, beckoning.

I drop the washcloth to the floor beside the bed and settle myself in the cradle of her thighs and feast upon her. Gently, however. Tender licks and soft kisses, slowly, purely for the enjoyment of tasting her sweetness.

"Rush, what are you—oh. Oh… god . Wow, I…oh god, that feels good." Her fingers bury in my hair, but not to pull or knot or yank. There's no desperation, no ferocity in this. It's almost…affectionate. "Rush. Your mouth…oh god. Fucking magical."

I take my time kissing and licking. I'm not trying to make her come, I'm just…giving myself a little treat.

"God, you taste like fuckin' sugar, Bryn." My words are muffled in the silk of her thighs. "Love the way you taste."

She pulls her heels up against her ass and holds my head, hips tipping and rocking subtly as she gasps quietly, each breath a soft whimper that shoots straight to my cock.

Her sounds, though. Bloody hell, the sounds she makes are fucking erotic. Sensual. The soundtrack of pure female ecstasy.

Her hips lift off the bed as she nears her climax, and I push her over the edge without preamble, tonguing her to orgasm as unhurriedly as I began. There's no screaming, no thrashing, just her quiet gasps and breathless sighs and rapturous whimpers.

I keep her coming until she's trembling all over and arched off the bed, mouth open in a silent, shuddering cry. I devour her hungrily, growling my enjoyment of the way she arches, gasps, and whimpers.

Finally, she pushes me away. "Stop, stop. I can't—I can't handle any more. I need a minute."

I crawl up and flop to my back beside her, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.

She covers her face with both hands, panting raggedly, shuddering occasionally, "God, Rush. I just came, like four times, and you go down on me again ?"

I grin. "Sorry, not sorry. Couldn't help myself."

She shakes her head. "I mean, I'm not complaining. I've just never had anyone go down on me minutes after we finish fucking."

"I'm not most blokes, am I?"

"No, you're not."

She yawns. "Sorry. It's been a lot, and it's catching up to me."

I have a freakishly strong urge to pull her into my arms. To hold her. Nuzzle her hair. And I’ve gotta ask myself: the fuck , mate? I don't do that. I don't snuggle . I fuck and get gone.

But this is Bryn.

And this isn't a normal situation.

The choice is taken from me when she rolls into me, the soft press of her breasts against my chest making my heart skip a beat. I swallow hard, finding it difficult to catch my breath.

Bryn chuckles, patting my pec. "Relax, Rush. We're just enjoying a nice little post-coital cuddle. I'm not expecting a proposal. Breathe, Jesus, you're as tense as a rock."

I will myself to relax, but that's sort of a contradiction in terms and doesn’t exactly work.

I focus on breathing, but that's ineffective as well.

Eventually, I zero in on her—categorizing and memorizing the sensations of her: her scent; the warmth of her skin, the silk of it against my body; her breath on my chest; her hair tickling my chin and nose; her fingers curled on my pec.

That relaxes me.

Slowly, slowly, I drowse.

Bryn twitches, sighs. I feel her drop off into sleep, growing heavy against me.

My throat is tight and hot—what am I doing? Making everything harder on myself, that’s what. I should get up and leave. Sneak out like I usually do. Call him and give him her location. Wash my hands of this whole thing. Take my money and run.

I have to.

Saving Bryn isn't an option—I've only room in my life for one girl, and it's not Bryn, unfortunately.

I'm almost asleep myself when I hear my mobile buzz. It's across the room in the pocket of my discarded jeans. Moving slowly, I worm out from underneath Bryn, holding my breath when she stirs. Asleep, there's youth and innocence in her features that makes my heart clench. So damned beautiful.

She's no idea what's going to happen to her. What I'm powerless to stop.

Fuck.

I tiptoe across the room, snag my phone, and take it into the bathroom.

It's him.

I shoot back an SMS rather than answering: can't talk. What do you want?

Him: Where is she? You should have delivered my merchandise by now.

Me: Close .

Him: Not having second thoughts, are you, Rush? Need I remind you why you're doing this?

Me: No .

Him: You have until noon tomorrow. Or instead of receiving the money you need, you'll get her head in a box.

Fucking goddammit it all to motherfucking bloody shit-eating cunt ass hell.

Me: If you so much as breath the same air as her I swear to god I’ll rip out your eyeballs and skullfuck you.

Him: How eloquent. You should know better than to threaten me, Rush.

Perfect grammar and punctuation, even in a text message, uppity fucking prick bastard.

Me: I don’t make idle threats

Him: Nor do I.

A moment later…

Him: I'll sweeten the pot for you, because it has come to my attention that the particular…

item…in your possession is of higher value than I'd originally realized.

Bring her to me as soon as possible, and not only will I increase your payment to an even 500k, I'll cut you loose. Done. No more jobs for me. Ever.

Damn. She must be really valuable if he's offering that. I wonder why?

Me: Tomorrow noon cash legally binding contract you miserable sadistic evil fucking cunt.

Him: Deal .

I'm about to click the button to put my mobile to sleep when it dings again.

He always has to have the last word.

Him: Enjoy your stay at the hotel. I've heard the Salade Nicoise is particularly excellent there .

He knows where we are? How? What I told Bryn was the truth—I assumed they lucked out on finding us here. But if he knows which hotel we're in? Not good.

A tracker, I can only assume. Implanted while she was drugged and unconscious.

I have neither the skill nor the tools to remove or neutralize an embedded tracking device.

Why would I? I'm giving her over to him.

I have to. My threat wasn't idle—I'd put a slug in his brain without a second thought, and then I'd follow it with two or three more just for good fucking measure. But he's immensely well-protected. If I had a team of six highly skilled operators, eyes in the sky, and a solid plan, I’d go after him in a heartbeat. But alone? Nah. I’d be dead, and the one human on the planet I refuse to fail will be alone and helpless.

I let my phone clatter to the bathroom counter before I either crush it in my hand or huck it at the mirror.

My head hangs, and I struggle to pull in a breath.

My heart hammers. The image of the sink below my face wavers and distorts.

There's a fat fucking elephant on my chest. Guilt rages through my veins in place of blood, along with an acidic dose of venomous rage.

I hear the door creak, but it doesn't register. I can't breathe. Can't breathe. Fuck.

What do I do?

Bryn is clueless. She trusts me. She's so fucking beautiful. Inside, I mean. Strong, smart, resilient.

I can't give her to a monster like that. He'll use her for himself until he's had his sick fill and then sell her to the highest bidder like an old used Ford Fiesta at auction.

But if I don't? Well, that doesn't bear thinking about. I nearly vomit even considering the idea of not following through.

At what would happen.

"Rush?" A soft hand rests on my shoulder.

I flinch violently. "Fuck off." It comes out in a ragged croak.

"Hey, it's okay." She doesn't fuck off. She leans against my back, arms wrapping around my shoulders. "You don't have to tell me what's wrong. But you're not alone in it."

Fucking hell—that just makes it all the worse. She's comforting me.

"You don't know the first fuckin' thing about me," I murmur, my voice rougher than 24-grit sandpaper.

"No, I don't."

"You dunno wha’I’ve done." I can't totally make my London accent go away, but if I focus, I can smooth it out a bit, which I’ve done for her since she mentioned not being able to understand me. But right now, this upset, it's back with a vengeance and thicker than treacle.

"What have you done?"

"Wrong question, swee'art. What've I not done, more like." I growl. "Answer is, not fuckin' much. I might 'ave a pretty face but I'm a fuckin’ monster ."

"I've seen no evidence of that so far, Rush. You've been rather sweet with me, actually."

This gets a laugh out of me. "Sweet? Lay off the drugs, love. One thing I ain't is sweet ."

"It's all an act, baby." She rests her cheek on my back, breath plosive on my skin. "I see who you are under the cocky bad boy exterior."