RyanVegas. A hell of a place to call home. At least, until the bill collectors came a-calling.
"Shit." Growling out a second curse, I pushed through the door that connected the garage to the kitchen and tossed the lease agreement for my inner-city rental house onto the table. Jenison Davis, the old guy I rented the place from, had been nice enough to tape the form to the front door so that I saw it as soon as I pulled in the drive from twenty-four hours on at the firehouse. He'd also been nice enough to highlight in yellow and circle in red the surcharges posed for not paying the rent on time. The rent I was almost two grand behind on.
"Yeah. Real fucking nice."
Not that I expected him to let me freeload forever, but, damn, this blew. If I didn't find a housemate to cover the half of the rent my brother, Jack, quit paying when he moved out to settle down with his fiancée, I was screwed.
Of course, there was the option of living at the fire-house full-time. A year ago I would have done so in a heartbeat. Women dug being sneaked into the house and were only too willing to shell out the oral gratitude. But then, a year ago, my guts hadn't roiled with the thought of being bottled up full-time with a couple dozen adrenaline junkies. And a year ago, I wasn't a mental case waiting to happen.
The barely contained nasty shit in my head was the reason I hadn't been more serious about finding a housemate. Now, I didn't have a choice. Even if it meant some stranger moving in, touching my stuff, moving things where they didn't belong, ticking me off in general—I had to find someone fast.
Going to the fridge, I pulled a longneck bottle of Bud from the crisper drawer and uncapped it. Cool, crisp ale slid down my throat, calming my irritation while washing away the sensation that smoke clung to my throat and lungs as much as my body. This morning's apartment fire was the last thing I wanted to think about. The building was located on the opposite side of the city from the blaze that changed my life. Still, it had looked enough like the other building to have guilt chomping a huge hole in my stomach and making me pissy long before I'd gotten home.
I lifted the bottle back to my lips and chugged its contents. One beer wouldn't get me plastered no matter how fast I drank it. But one beer was a hell of a start. Two were even better.
Slamming the empty bottle onto the counter, I grabbed another longneck from the crisper and headed for the stairs sandwiched between the kitchen and living room. Before I could ascend the first step, someone knocked on the front door.
Or make that some chick who hadn't waited for an invitation to enter, but let herself inside. At present, she stood in the open doorway, giving me a visual head-to-toe pat-down. I'd forgive her the indiscretion of trespassing. But only because she had waist-length red hair, huge, barely covered tits, glistening cherry-red lips and slanted ice-blue eyes that were screaming "do me all night long."
Shallow? Yeah. But what the hell, I was having a shitty day.
Those stunning lips curved in a siren's smile. In a voice laced with smoke and sex, she asked, "Are you Ryan Dempsey?"
Before she'd knocked, I'd been in the process of heading upstairs to shower the acrid smell of smoke from my body. Now, I wanted smoke all over me. Or rather that sexy, smoky voice coupled with her hotter-than-a-four-alarm-fire body.
Goddamn, the woman was built!
Feeling like I'd just come face-to-face with my destiny for the next seven or eight hours—or however long it took my dick, which was currently in the process of tenting my jeans, to get its fill of her—I took a step forward. "I am." I flashed the arrogant grin all the chicks dug and the guys at the fire-house nicknamed me "Cock" because of. "Can I help you with something?"
"You can if the housemate position hasn't been filled."
Was I really thinking a couple minutes ago that I loathed the idea of a housemate? Spending my free hours mating in the house with this hot mama had the makings of all kinds of wicked good fun. "It has."
Displeasure flashed in those devilishly seductive eyes. "Oh. That's too bad."
"Not really. Since you're the one who filled it."
Relief took over her displeasure as the siren's smile returned. "You don't want to get to know me first?"
Hell, yeah, I did. I wanted to get to know every tanned, toned, naked inch of her. First, a little "welcome to the house" gesture was probably in order. "You drink beer?"
She glanced at the bottle of Bud in my hand for a few silent seconds, then closed the door and joined me near the foot of the stairs.
Outside, the temps were peaking in the high nineties. Inside, as she took the beer and proceeded to guzzle it down like a drunk on a bender, it felt twice that hot.
"Love it." Winking, she slid the empty bottle into my left hand, and then took my right one in a shake. "I'm Deitre. Nice to meet you."
Like the air around us, the heat in the connection of our fingers felt electric—raw and primal. The heat in her Southern drawl, which I hadn't noticed until now, was like a physical stroke down my spine and along the crack of my ass.
"Something tells me the pleasure's all mine." Something also told me I was right before. She could touch my stuff all she wanted and I wouldn't mind a bit. The stuff scattered throughout the house and the stuff now nearly stone-stiff behind my zipper.
Up until last year and that day my life changed irrevocably, I was an admitted horn dog. For all the women I'd done, not one had gotten me so quickly and thoroughly aroused with barely a touch.
Sliding my gaze from hers, I eyed her lush red lips. If her presence and a gentle touch had me this hard, what kind of power would her mouth hold?
"Find out."
I darted my gaze back to Deitre's with the unexpected response to a question I hadn't asked aloud. At least, I don't think I had. My mind was doing a sort of tunnel-vision thing that focused entirely on sex with my newfound housemate. "Come again?"
Amusement gleamed in her eyes. "Find out and maybe I will."
Holy shit, I was right a second time. She was my evening's, night's and, quite likely, morning's destiny.
Just to be certain we were on the same page, I asked, "Want to be more specific?"
With a slow nod, she thrust out her chest and leaned forward. "You want to kiss me. I'm telling you to go ahead."
She'd only been a foot away to begin with. Now, she was inches away and, with that thrusting move, it was all I could do not to stare at her tits. Better yet, push my hands beneath the sheered hem of her tiny black tank top and see if the generous mounds felt as good as they looked. "You're serious?"
I'd managed to waylay my urge to cop a feel. Deitre didn't bother.
Her fingers dove beneath my dirty gray T-shirt and splayed branding hot over the muscles of my chest. She knocked me back a foot with the press of her palms, far enough I could feel the last step riding against my sock-covered heels.
The strength of her arms was surprising. The strength of her tongue was the stuff wet dreams were made of.
On a husky breath, she drove her tongue between my lips. The urgent grinding of her hips mimicked the actions of her mouth. Through a few-inch-long jean skirt, she rocked her mound against my erection, urgent, needy. Her tongue lashed against mine, demanding, devouring.
Devouring back, I gave in to my initial urge and shoved my hands beneath her clingy black tank top. Obviously the top had some serious padding. She wore no bra beneath and, until her breasts filled my hands, I couldn't tell that her nipples were as solid as my shaft.
She pushed me backward again, catching me off balance and leaving me no choice but to go down on my ass on the staircase. I landed hard on the third step. She came along for the ride, swallowing my grunt with her lips. Then she made me forget about my sore ass altogether as she grabbed hold of the stair ledge on either side of my head and dragged her pussy up and down the length of my cock.
I grunted again, this time with the tightening of my balls. Christ, I'd never had a woman affect me like this. My blood felt afire and my heart pummeled against my ribs so hard they were bound to be left bruised.
At the moment, I could give two shits less. I just had to be inside her. Had to be.
Deitre plucked her tongue from my mouth. Pushing off from the stair ledge, she rolled off me to wedge herself in the foot of space next to my hip. Her jean skirt had come up with her grinding to reveal the visibly damp crotch of her black panties.
With teasing eyes, she studied the wet cotton. "How about the coming again part?"
"Pretty sure you'd have to come a first time," I managed in between sucking in breaths in the hopes of calming the ragged state of my mind and body.
"Make me," she returned in a commanding tone that said she expected me to slip my fingers beneath her panties and bring her to orgasm without hesitation.
After what went down a year ago, I was a mostly reformed horn dog. But that was only mostly. And, hell, I wouldn't be much of a housemate if I didn't live up to her expectations, now would I?
Deitre
I'd been expecting to find Ryan hot—Jada never slept with a mutt a day in her life. I'd also been expecting to walk in his door and want to kill his ass for the part he played in my mortal best friend's death nearly a year before.
But this guy was literally hotter than Hell. At least, the northern stretches of Hell that I'd spent the better part of the last two hundred years frequenting.
The sensuality in his megawatt smile alone had my pulse racing and my nipples standing at attention well before our mouths connected. From the first challenging flick of his tongue, my pussy squeezed so hard I wanted to wrap my hands around his fine behind and deliver death immediately. A minideath of orgasmic proportions.
What the hell. Why not toy with him awhile? Get a few cheap thrills out of the bastard while slowly draining the life out of him?
I hadn't bothered to use seduction powers on him. From the player rep the guys at the firehouse ...
