The Callahan's: Ultimate Sins Part 16

"Do you want that, too, sugar elf? My c.o.c.k buried in your tight little p.u.s.s.y as we stand here?"

He lifted her against him, ignoring her gasp as he pulled her up his body until his denim-covered shaft pressed between her thighs and her knees gripped his hips naturally.

"Yeah, that's the way you do it," he growled, reaching between them to loosen his belt and jeans before drawing the painfully hard length of his p.e.n.i.s from inside his pants.

He wasn't about to let her go long enough to pull her panties down her legs.

"I'll eat that pretty p.u.s.s.y later," he promised as he tore the silk and elastic from her body, then dropped the ruined material to the floor at his feet. "Now lift that sweater and let me have those hot little nipples."

To convince her, he tucked the wide crest of his erection just inside the swollen, incredibly slick folds of her heated c.u.n.t.

He stopped there, watching as her hips pressed lower, her knees tightening at his hips to hold herself in position for the penetration he was teasing her with.

"Give me those pretty b.r.e.a.s.t.s," he ordered her again, wondering if the top of his head would blow off from the pressure he was putting on his aching c.o.c.k. "Let me suck one of those pretty nipples while you ride me, sweetheart," he groaned. "Come on now, take that f.u.c.king sweater off."

A whimper left her lips, but her hands moved from his shoulders, gripped the hem of the sweater, and pulled it slowly up her torso before lifting it over her head.

The bra was no obstacle. Thin, delicate lace covered the tight tips, making it impossible to wait for her to remove it. His head lowered. Pushing the low-cut lace aside with the fingers of his free hand, he latched on to one hard tip, drawing it into his mouth and pressing his c.o.c.k deeper between the swollen lips of her s.e.x.

Amelia heard her whimpers with a distant sort of shock that wasn't nearly enough to pull her out of the grip of pleasure so incredible, she was helpless against it.

His mouth drew on the overly sensitive peak of her breast as he wrapped his arm around her hips, holding her firmly against him. He pressed the thick erection against the entrance to her v.a.g.i.n.a; the wide crest stretched her flesh, demanding entrance and igniting her senses.

She could feel too much, too many sensations, too much pleasure.

She ached for him with a soul-deep hunger she couldn't rid herself of. A hunger that weakened her, that held her mesmerized as pure, white-hot pleasure began to whip over her flesh.

Between her thighs, the mushroom-shaped crest of his erection parted her further, dragging an agonized moan from her lips. More of her juices fell from the inner depths of her v.a.g.i.n.a. The excess slid past the slight penetration to slicken her folds further.

"Crowe, more," she whispered, a part of her shocked at the demand.

He eased farther inside her, slowly, so slowly until the full width of the blunted tip was buried inside her, stretching her with a heat she was still shocked she could actually take.

"d.a.m.n, that's it baby, suck my d.i.c.k inside," he groaned, the explicit words shocking her as much now as they had the first time he had uttered them seven years before.

Even more shocking was the realization that the uncontrolled flex and ripple of her internal muscles felt as though she was indeed trying to suck him inside her, to milk the engorged flesh and draw it deeper inside her body.

Pulling the lace of her bra over the curve of her other breast, Crowe covered the unattended little bud with his mouth. Sucking it deep in his mouth, he used his tongue to lash at the sensitized nerve endings as his erection surged deeper inside the tender depths of her body.

Crying out at the stretch and burn of her flesh, she was only dimly aware of him moving, turning her, his body tensing as he pressed her back against the wall.

In the next breath a hard thrust sent the heavy shaft surging fully inside her, burying to the hilt as her v.a.g.i.n.a clenched and spilled its damp heat along the invading flesh. His lips abandoned her breast; his head lifting, he stared down at her with a fierce, predatory hunger.

Amelia couldn't stay still, despite the grip he had on her hips or the tight press of her body into the wall. Her knees tightened on his hips, her hips shifting, lifting and moving against him as sensation struck at the responsive flesh stretched around him.

"That's it, baby. Ride me. Show me how hungry you are for me," he growled, his lips moving to her neck in hot, hard little kisses that heated her flesh and sent hot surges of electrified pleasure racing from the contact.

Show him how hungry she was for him? She had thought, for a while, that she wouldn't survive after he'd left seven years before. The world had been a bleak, gray existence filled with pain and hunger. Then with a fear that drove such deep, nightmarish spikes of terror through her senses, it had nearly broken her.

As overriding as the pain without him had been, the pleasure now was a hundredfold in the opposite direction. So good, so hot and addictive it was almost agonizing.

When his lips covered hers, his hips drew back. His tongue pressed between her lips as he thrust his c.o.c.k inside her again, suddenly moving, his hips pounding against hers. Pleasure whipped through her body in steadily increasing waves of searing tension.

Her nails dug into the cotton of his shirt as her knees tightened further at his hips, clenching on them, lifting herself against him and pressing down hard as he thrust inside her. She drove him deeper into the sensitive depths of her v.a.g.i.n.a, her flesh rippling, tightening on each heavy thrust.

His kiss was a hungry mating of lips and tongues, stroking the need and driving the l.u.s.t building in their bodies. Striking need and burning l.u.s.t began tightening in her p.u.s.s.y, pulsing in the sensitive bud of her c.l.i.t as his pelvis raked it with each inward stroke.

The sensations grew stronger each time he took her.

Amelia whimpered at each hard, flaring pulse of sizzling pleasure as he shafted harder, faster inside her. Each inward thrust and quick withdrawal tightened the pleasure and pushed her deeper in the maelstrom of ecstasy.

"Look at me, Amelia," he growled, jerking his head back as his thrusts became shorter, the friction against tender nerve endings increasing. She forced her eyes open, her gaze meeting his.

Heavy, drunk with pleasure, hammered gold gleaming against the deep brown depths of his eyes, Crowe held her gaze.

"G.o.d, yes," he whispered. "Let me see your eyes, baby. Let me watch you come for me."

She couldn't bear it.

Staring into his eyes was like being hot-wired into a sudden, deepening electric pulse. It drew the pleasure into ever-tightening waves of destruction.

The pressure was beating at her c.l.i.t, in the clenched tissue of her v.a.g.i.n.a. Each thrust forged past the spasming muscles that struggled to hold on to the shuttling thickness of his c.o.c.k.

Agonizing pleasure struck at the tender bud, at her womb. It sent forks of sharp, rasping sensation tearing through her v.a.g.i.n.a, clenched it, tightened around her c.l.i.t. It suddenly imploded inside her with spirals of ecstasy so blistering, they ignited a harder, sharper explosion.

Her senses ruptured. Flying into a blinding, white-hot vortex of erupting sensation and clashing ecstasy, she feared she'd never survive it.

It shouldn't be like this.

She sobbed with the exquisite near agony of the ecstasy overtaking her, possessing her, marking her spirit.

As her p.u.s.s.y spasmed and milked at his c.o.c.k, her release spilling around it, Crowe surged inside her in a final thrust that triggered his own o.r.g.a.s.m and filled her with jet after jet of hot s.e.m.e.n. A harsh, low male groan vibrated from his chest.

She could feel everything. The smallest touch, the stroke of air against her flesh, each cell of his body that met with hers amplified through her senses. The dampness of his perspiration stroking against her flesh, the heated warmth of hers as it met his already damp flesh.

Nothing escaped her senses. Not the pulse of his release, the rasp of his shirt against her nipples, or the breath that carried her name from his lips to stroke against the flesh of her neck where he'd buried them.

What also didn't escape her notice were those few precious seconds when she swore she could feel him so clear, so close that they must be a part of each other. That sense of unity, of completeness, brought her the first, fragile moments of peace in far more years than she could remember.

CHAPTER 10.

It was days later before Crowe actually realized that Amelia had never really answered his question about Wayne's abuse.

He was immersed in reports from the Brute Force agents, the personal security team from the agency he co-owned with his cousins and the Resnova family.

Based in Sweetrock, the agency had garnered attention even before the Resnovas had invested in it. Now Crowe had every available agent not currently on a.s.signment searching for Wayne Sorenson.

They were cutting off every venue of aid Wayne could possibly turn to. All his contacts were under investigation, or had an agent in place should Wayne attempt to contact them. Phones were tapped and the better part of the agency's considerable electronic strengths were aimed at detecting any and every sign of the murdering b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Bank security cameras had spotted him walking into one of the larger banks in Aspen. The disguise he had worn was enough to fool the naked eye, but not the facial recognition software Ivan Resnova had contracted from the far-flung Resnova family member who had created it.

They'd almost had him.

They had a single agent in town. He'd slipped inside the bank to catch sight of Wayne, who had obviously spotted the agent first. He'd rushed from the bank before the team could reach it and disappeared in a throng of shoppers in the outdoor bazaar several streets away.

They had managed to find out why he was there, though, and they'd uncovered yet another of Wayne's ident.i.ties. Under the a.s.sumed ident.i.ty he'd rented a safe-deposit box years before. A court order was pushed through with the governor's influence, and the box was opened to reveal a handgun, ammunition, close to a million dollars' worth of high-grade, uncut diamonds, and several hundred thousand dollars in cash.

The a.s.sets were turned over to an account set up to eventually split them among the law enforcement agencies that had chased the Slasher for over fourteen years, as well as the family members of the victims Wayne and his partners had murdered.

So far, they'd found three safe-deposit boxes, two mountain cabins, as well as a home in Aspen. There were three vehicles, stashes of cash in each of the cabins, and a safe in the home that held more cash, stocks, and bonds in yet another a.s.sumed ident.i.ty.

Wayne had been busy, Crowe reflected bitterly as he tossed the reports to the table before him and stared around the small room he'd taken to locate the multiple monitors and computers running the security programs and a.s.sessing national and state as well as private and business security systems throughout Colorado and several other surrounding states.

The little electronic bot programs Ivan sent out through the Internet to attach to the public security systems d.a.m.ned well beat any Crowe had seen outside the intelligence community. They sifted through millions of faces that pa.s.sed thousands of cameras across Colorado, especially the counties closest to Corbin County.

Some days, Wayne was a busy little beaver.

A week before in Boulder, two days before that in Montrose. He hadn't yet ventured into Corbin County as far as the cameras had detected.

Crowe had a feeling Wayne was closer than any of them could guess, though. He wouldn't have left Corbin County, and-unlike the FBI agents-Crowe was sure he hadn't left the state or the country.

Wayne had no intentions of escaping. Nothing in the world mattered as much to the man as destroying the Callahans' lives before they had a chance to get used to the happiness they were finding.

And the news stations were flashing stories of the Callahans' happiness daily. Crowe made certain they were. They were especially focusing on Crowe and his new lover, Amelia Sorenson, the daughter of the man the world was coming to revile. The daughter the public was seeing as strong, compa.s.sionate, and a leading figure in past battles with the Slasher, the uncaring county attorney who had attempted to destroy the Callahans.

Stories were beginning to filter in about the many and varied citizens she'd helped escape the vengeful wrath of the man who wielded enough power to falsify evidence or have it planted against those he considered his enemies.

The young man whose family home was saved after Amelia had managed to slip the family's lawyer proof that the owner couldn't have been involved in the large excavation of marijuana found growing in his bas.e.m.e.nt, because he had been out following his hobby. A camping and rock climbing enthusiast, he had been perched on a cliff somewhere in Asia about the time the crop had been planted, and he'd been recovering from a fall in Budapest when the authorities had harvested it.

He'd returned home in time to face several DEA agents and Wayne Sorenson as he'd unlocked his front door. Wayne had proof the owner couldn't have been involved. He'd attempted to destroy it, knowing the guide who'd dropped him off at the bottom of the cliff was on an extended trip somewhere in the Congo and unreachable. The doctor and nurse who had treated him and sent the original doc.u.ments had then contracted a case of sudden forgetfulness after the file they'd sent Wayne "disappeared."

Wayne thought he'd shredded all proof. Amelia had been terrified he was right until she checked the memory card she'd programmed the fax machine to store all information in. It was still there, within hours of being overwritten by the time she'd managed to get to the office ahead of Wayne and send it to the homeowner's attorney.

There were families who had nearly lost their homes after having their receipts for cash payments of land taxes mysteriously disappear. Records in the county attorney's office would show nonpayment with the county taking possession immediately to pay the delinquent bills. Just as mysteriously, those receipts would be found. Under a doormat, in a vehicle's seat; one had been found stuck in the collar of the family dog after it came in from a trip outside.

h.e.l.l, Crowe had known who had been behind it the minute he heard the stories, just as each victim had learned who had saved their lands or family members framed for crimes. Or even auxiliary members, it was rumored, whose husbands had been framed or sons targeted.

That story had been particularly satisfying to hear, Crowe thought. Watching it hours before, he'd smiled smugly at his own ingenuity in digging up the information. Because it sure as h.e.l.l hadn't been easy. It wasn't as though Amelia had been wise enough to give him even a particle of the information he'd come up with. h.e.l.l no, his agents had dug it up by following this thread of information, then that one, then digging like sons of b.i.t.c.hes to get enough to threaten to fill in the gaps themselves.

Only then had the auxiliary members-such as the mayor's wife, Ruth Anne Justin, and her daughter, Linda, the wife of the current Corbin County attorney, Jason Grandor-spilled their reluctant, less-than-pleased little guts.

Giving the security monitors that viewed the estate a final glance, he gestured to the tech to keep watch before leaving the room and going in search of Amelia. He knew she had an appointment scheduled that afternoon with several entertainers scheduled for the spring social season. Why she had elected to keep the meeting, he wasn't certain. He'd be d.a.m.ned if he would have given that d.a.m.ned auxiliary the satisfaction of doing any d.a.m.ned thing.

The fact that his sister had fought for and won the t.i.tle of social planning director didn't affect his feelings on it whatsoever.

h.e.l.l, Anna should have known better that to take the position. She and Amelia both should have left that d.a.m.ned committee hanging in the wind. Just as they had intended to leave Amelia hanging.

Grimacing at the thought of their reactions should he voice his opinion, he stepped into the kitchen in time to watch Amelia finish her coffee next to the sink.

"You sure we're going to that meeting?" he asked her, bracing his hand against the door frame as he glared at her.

"Stop staring at me like that," she ordered.

He narrowed his gaze. "Like what?" Like he wanted to f.u.c.k her? She should be used to that by now.

"Like you believe I should be locked away for my own safety or something," she drawled, that slightest edge of amus.e.m.e.nt a h.e.l.l of a lot better than the stoicism she'd carried in the past days.

"Or something," he agreed with a disgusted little grunt. "Those women don't deserve your d.a.m.ned help."

"Anna does," she refuted.

"Anna only demanded the position to give it back to you," he argued. "Only this time you have to drag Anna along with you, b.i.t.c.hing every breath."

Amelia couldn't help but grin at that comment, because it was the truth.

"She threatened to neuter the fairy clown yesterday." She gave a m.u.f.fled laugh at the memory as she moved away from the sink toward him. "Are you ready to leave?"

"What time's the d.a.m.ned meeting?" he asked.

She glanced quickly at the watch on her wrist. "Fifteen minutes."

"Five minutes per block." He grinned. "That works for me. It would give me time to talk some sense into you."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "It never takes me five minutes to walk a block, Crowe. If it takes you that long then I'm going to wonder how you keep all those tight, manly muscles."

"Wal-Mart," he stated somberly. "They were on special one weekend."

Wal-Mart, her a.s.s. If Wal-Mart was selling muscles like that, on special or not, then they'd stay packed.

"I'll be sure to post that information on Facebook," she grinned as he helped her put on the heavy, faux-fur-lined coat over her shoulders. "I can think of a lot of interested parties."

"I bought all they had," he a.s.sured her as he opened the front door to face a black jacket wall of Brute Force agents. "Come on then, fairy-girl, let's take your little walk."

"My little walk," she murmured. "Who can enjoy it with a wall of bodyguards surrounding them?"

Stepping into the clear mountain air she inhaled slowly, filling her lungs with the crisp, cold wintry air as they moved down the steps of the portico to the cement walk that led around the driveway to the black metal gates.

Gates that were free of reporters hanging off them for a change. They'd disappeared with Crowe's arrival at the house, and hadn't returned.