Page 121 of Ricochet

My eyes flipped open. I lifted my hand, but the sensations kept on, and my muscles seized against momentary panic. Neither of my hands were anywhere near my pussy. One hand fondled my breast. The other remained above my head, something shackled about my wrist.

Yet, my walls still gripped what felt like long fingers inside me, milking them with each upward drive.

I let out a gasp.

“Come for me, Aubree.”

That voice! So rich and husky, it tickled my chest. The unmistakable sound of Nick.

It’s him. In my bed. He’s real. Not a dream.

Squirming against him, I fought the mounting pressure, the heat inside of me surging, swirling, promising the most exquisite release.

No! No! My mind protested, wanting to be sure the man lying behind me, coaxing pleasure like a fucking boss, was really him.

In a desperate bid between mind and body, I tried to will away the inevitable pull at my womb, the friction against my raw and hungry flesh, the string of tension in my muscles, telling me resistance was futile. My muscles turned rigid, quivering with the effort of holding back, fighting the climb. I wanted to turn and see his face, to make sure it wasn’t some slick psycho with a death wish, but the orgasm crashed over me, and all I could do was lay there, allowing it to paralyze me, take me beneath the surface.

Ripples of ecstasy zipped through my body, spreading like flames through my muscles, the chasing tingles making me dizzy. Gripping the sheets with my free hand, I bit into my arm, cursing against my skin. Back arched, muscles taut, my body acted of its own will, riding out the most intense orgasm I’d had in months.

While my mind demanded what the fuck?, I cried out, confessing what he already knew, as his fingers continued their unrelenting pursuit of a second orgasm, the wetness and tiny muscle contractions making quick and easy glides that created a slight suction with each pull. His thumb caressed my clit, dipping into the wetness, then smearing it across the sensitive, if not traitorous, little bud. My own moaning droned inside my head, and I squirmed, thrust, tensed against the flames building inside my muscles.

Fuck you! Fuck you! My mind screamed inside its cage while another orgasm exploded through my body, sending flashes of light behind my eyelids.

“Oh, God, Nick. I hate you. I fucking hate you.” I wanted to sob into my pillow and wallow in the betrayal I suddenly felt, but those bullets of pleasure shot through my veins, a blast of cool tingles extinguishing the flames in pulses that had me smiling, in spite of my frown—a true contradiction of absolute bliss and fury tangoing inside of me.

“I can’t tell you how much it excites me to hear you say my name again.” His fingers slipped out of me. “I missed your taste.” A growl rumbled inside his chest, and at the grip of my throat, I nabbed the gun from the nightstand, crossed my arm over my body and pushed the barrel beneath what I estimated to be a chin.

“Achilleus X?”

“Hello, Pistol Lips.” His grip loosened, and I rolled on top of him until straddling his body, where his erection pressed against my ass, and pointed the gun at him.

As he pulled back the ski mask, those sickeningly kissable lips stretched to a grin. “Didn’t your parents teach you to lock the doors?”

Magnificent blue eyes that I never thought I’d see again forced the angry tirade burning inside of me to die on my lips. Nick. Achilleus. Alec Vaughn. The same man rolled up into one exquisite package, gazing back at me with the kind of expression that had wetness pooling in my panties and my ass arching against his cock. The kind of thrill that only came with dreams, because what else could explain why I hadn’t fallen into a pile of desolation and tears at the sight of him?

“What … what are you?” Words tumbled out of my mouth as I mentally searched for some coherence. “I get it. I’ve lost my mind.” I rubbed a hand through my hair, a twinge of panic crawling up my spine. “Oh, shit, I’ve lost my mind. I’m seeing ghosts.”

Ignoring the gun, and my distress, he reached out, fingertips dancing along ridge of my dress. “Fuck … I’ve never seen you in red, but I can’t imagine you wearing anything else from now on. Do you always sleep in a dress, or did you know I’d come for you tonight?”

That voice. His voice. Like a trained dog, my thighs clenched at the rush of excitement that hit my core. My stomach knotted, as a chill climbed my spine, begging an encore to what he’d accomplished only moments ago.

Surely, I had to be dreaming. I’d dreamt that very scenario at least a dozen times, both during the day and at night, where he came to me, holding me prisoner and molesting my body for hours. I’d become the weird chick with the twisted kidnapping fetish, who fell asleep to erotic stories of being swept away, imprisoned by dark fantasies I’d never given thought to before Nick.

His touch lingered on my cheek, and if not for his stare, I’d have covered it with my hand to preserve the sensation. If he was there, really there, then, “Why didn’t Achilleus bark?”

His brow kicked up. “You named your dog after me, I’m flattered. Apparently, he’s not trained to kill intruders, particularly those armed with treats.”

“That was quite an exit you made.” A new burst of anger ran through my body, battled by the excitement of having him there in my bedroom, where I’d planned to hold him prisoner, if I didn’t happen to kill him first. I hated him for making me feel the way I’d felt for so many months, but hell if my body could stay mad at him. A part of me wanted to leap into his arms. “I thought you were dead.”

His gaze fixed on my lips as his jaw shifted. “I escaped. A door in the sub-basement led me to a tunnel that let out through an abandoned building two blocks down.” He glanced down at the gun I kept locked on him in my refusal to believe he was alive. “Still want to shoot me?”

He’d survived. Alive that whole time?

The confusion inside my body spun like a tornado, casting out random emotions that didn’t make sense. So out of place, affecting my words and my reactions. Happiness. Sadness. Anger. Disbelief. Absolute chaos twisting beneath my skin.

I wanted to scream at him, yet could only muster a smile. I wanted to kiss him, but my finger twitched at the trigger. My heart felt cold, crystalizing inside my chest with the sting of mistrust—that I’d wake to disappointment. My hands heated with the burn of a slap waiting to crack against his cheek.

I lowered the gun. The pain of so many nights, thinking I’d lost him. Nearly losing myself.