Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) (72 page)

Barely conscious, she opened her eyes. He looked so big and powerful on top of her. Angie quivered knowing his cock had her pinned to the bed.

“Ready?” he asked. She nodded; although, with all her muscles straining around his shaft, she could have imagined it.

He gave it all he had . . . and then some. As he thrust, he pulled her ass up and back creating a friction that re-ignited her passion. She knew he felt her response by his surprised grunt.

She heard his roar, but it sounded a hundred miles away. Succumbing to the blinding stimulation, she flew so high and so far, there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen. She came with a fierce rush. Through eyes blinded by lust, she saw his head go back and the veins in his neck pulse in time to his cock releasing inside her.

The last thing she had known before the darkness overtook her was a sense of overwhelming completion. Not just because they’d made fierce, hungry love but because her heart and soul were finally free. Free to love and be loved.

They’d actually made it. Found their way back to each other. She smiled and drifted away.

B
REAKFAST THE FOLLOWING MORNING WAS
quite a production. With Meghan and Alex smiling at them, Angie perched on Parker’s lap, having declared the spot her favorite place to
drop her ass
although why she giggled and blushed each time she said it didn’t make sense.

Women, huh? Go figure.

When Carmen made her morning appearance, she took one look at the two grinning couples and launched into throwing together a world-class breakfast. Real buttermilk pancakes—made special for Miss Angie—an embarrassingly large pile of bacon, Meghan’s favorite cheesy eggs, and the best damn country hash browns not made on a campfire. This was going to be a great day.

“Stop wiggling,” he chided his lap passenger quietly. Luckily, Carmen was dithering away and making so much racket, no one heard him but Angie.

She glanced hurriedly to Alex and Meghan before leaning in to nip his earlobe. “Stop giving me something
hard
to wiggle on.”

His heart tapped out a rhythmic happy dance. The face of the angel smiling at him was glowing and Parker knew a satisfaction that shot into his balls knowing he’d get to gaze into those pretty sapphire eyes until his eyes no longer saw.

“I bet you’re hungry,” she drawled. “Worked up quite a calorie burn earlier, I must say.”

She issued the smug dig with a look of total innocence. Angel, indeed! Her smart-aleky mood scattered his brain so much that he couldn’t access the
Star Wars
quote he mentally searched for. Something about being so hungry he could . . .
something.
Whatever. It was gone that quickly. The quote search was replaced in his thoughts with a detailed summary of their overnight activities.

Their first coupling hadn’t exactly been pretty. No long, drawn-out sensual ballet that time. No, they started with a raw, barely controlled explosion of untamed lust that was more a choreographed street fight than a waltz. A good thing too because satisfying that initial intensity let them explore the depth of their passions long into the night. And early this morning.

Parker learned his lesson years ago endlessly regretting not having made love to Angie the way he felt she deserved. Women needed all that romantic shit. The whispered words. The long, slow possession. And he’d brought it all.

Ya’ didn’t wait a lifetime to pull an angel from the heavens and then not express every desire and want he carried in his soul. Things only she could satisfy.

Remembering her hushed cries and gasps as he feasted on her femininity made his dick throb. If it wasn’t taking vulgarity and crudeness to new heights, he’d commission a portrait to be hung above the fireplace in his bedroom depicting them in his new favorite position. Angie arching her back, knees wide apart, his face buried between her legs while his tongue lapped at her pussy. He’d have his arms reaching up to fondle her glorious tits. One of her hands would be clutched in his hair, the other hanging onto the bed covers for dear life.

It had taken all night to come even slightly close to satisfying his hunger. And satisfying his cock? Not a chance. In fact, if they didn’t have an audience, she’d be laid out on the table right now while he did all sorts of things to her delicious pussy. Now, there was a breakfast treat he could get down with.

“Hey, butthead,” Alex was drawling. “Earth to Space Cadet Sullivan.”

Fucking crap. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he wasn’t paying attention to what was going on around him.

Angie’s soft, mocking chuckle wrapped around his heart but that didn’t stop him from grabbing a handful of hair for a gentle tug.

“What?” he barked into Alex’s amused faced.

“It’s nine o’clock. If you plan on calling someone’s father to inform him that you put a ring on it, you better get your ass in gear—is all I’m saying.”

“Oh, crap!” Angie exclaimed. “He’s right. It’s nearly dinnertime for them.” She reacted like the starting gun went off, scrambling from his lap to pull him up from his chair. With her hands pushing him along from the small of his back, she blurted a rush of nonsense about Uncle Cris that got his head shaking.

“Don’t say anything about how crazy the constuction is. Alex wants to surprise them when they get here. And don’t let him railroad you into setting a date.”

Ah,
he thought.
So this is how it was going to be.
He’d never seen her so bossy. Well, okay. That was certainly an understatement, a funny one, but the underlying sentiment was still true. She was a pushy little thing at times.

Parker chuckled to himself. Maybe he’d remind her later what a truly craptacular submissive she’d have been and make the point by letting her run the show. See what she had. The toe-curling blowjob was hardly her best move and since he hadn’t let her lay him low with a repeat performance, despite the pouting and whining, she’d been sulking about it since. Every so often she’d frown at him and mutter, “Not playing fair,” which only made him snicker.

“All right, all right, all right,” he drawled. “I’ve got this, woman, so settle down. This is my uncle we’re talking about. I think I know how to talk to him.”

Alex bawled with laughter. “Oh, my god, you poor dumb fuck! Uncle shmuncle shithead. That’s her
father,
man. Show some fucking respect and be prepared to sweat balls. My dad’s not stupid. He knows what giving his baby away to an old pervert like you means.”

“Gag on my cock, Alex.”

Meghan snickered. So did Angie.

Glancing at his fiancée . . . holy fuck! He had a fiancée. Anyway, when he looked at her, she smiled and twinkled her fingers.

Great. Twinkle fingers. Muttering darkly, Parker left the room, fishing his iPhone out of his pocket. When he shut the door of Alex’s study behind him and pressed the call button, he had to center himself as some uncharacteristic nerves assailed him.

The call was answered almost immediately.

“Hi, Uncle Cris. Parker here. Have you got a moment, sir? There’s something I need to discuss with you . . .”

Meghan shot Alex a scathing look when she sat down at the breakfast table after going to the fridge for some milk. As her knees bent, she became achingly aware of her sore bottom and the reason why.

Last night, he’d told her to be naked and bent over the bed, waiting for him when he came back from talking to Parker. She hadn’t complied, of course. Feeling flirtatious and wantonly frisky, the minute he left the room, she’d shot from the bed and run into the wardrobe, pulling open drawers in a hurried search for something specific.

When she hurried back to the bed a minute later, she was completely covered, neck to toe by a baggy old Boston PD sweatshirt and pair of sloppy sweatpants. And underneath that? The ugliest, most unsexy sports bra she had and a pair of granny panties that had seen better days.

The expression on his face when he came back, fully expecting her naked ass to be on display, was nothing short of priceless. Chasing her around their room while she shrieked with laughter, Meghan gave him a decent challenge, not surrendering until he’d finally cornered her in the wardrobe and she’d had nowhere else to run.

She’d wanted to throttle him though when he grabbed the neckline of the frayed sweatshirt and dramatically ripped that shit in two with one mighty pull.

“Hey!” she yelled. “You can’t do that.” Bah! His fierce leer told her that he could do any damn thing he wanted.
Swoon.

“Next time, do as you’re told.”

She wanted to answer,
Make me,
but this was working out pretty well so far so Meghan just pouted. He was doing fine!

“You’re fucking joking,” he snarled when the unsexy, gray sports bra came into view. “Take that off.” His horrified expression told her what he thought of her underwear.

This time, she did simper, “Make me,” and got exactly the reaction she hoped for. Was her bottom still a warm pink? Probably. But fuck . . . had it ever been worth it!

Pouring the milk onto her cereal, she jumped with surprise when he leaned close and chuckled wickedly. “Bet that smarts, huh?”

Scathing look with the flash of a smile—take two.

“Be a good girl and Daddy will rub your tushy with lotion later.”

Oh no, he didn’t! Settling back heavily in her seat, she crossed her arms and sniggered. “Five points to the ledger of Major Marquez.”

Alex roared with laughter, earning them an amused glance from Angie.

She was surprised when he changed subjects, babbling about the upcoming St. Patrick’s Day get-together she was planning.

“So, I checked with Cam and he’s all hooked up and set to go with streaming video of the Boston Parade. Ten o’clock our time so he’ll record and we’ll watch the playback before dinner. Okay?”

Of course, it was okay. Meghan couldn’t believe all the effort Alex was making to celebrate her Irish heritage. It was sweet as a mountain of chocolate and just as decadently satisfying. He really would do anything for her.

“Can’t wait,” she assured him. “Ria’s been face chatting nonstop with Ma. Cooking lessons from the old sod.”

“So I’ll finally get some of that brisket you go on and on about?”

“Indeed,” she drawled.

“What’s the matter? Something’s not right. I can hear it in your voice.”

Damn, he was good. Evasion was not an option. He’d drive her mental until she shared. Shrugging nonchalantly, Meghan swept her hair aside and spoke quietly. Carmen was still bustling in and out and she didn’t want her to hear and get her feelings hurt.

“It’s nothing . . . I’m just not used to having other people take over. Ria had a shit attack when I said I wanted to cook. Made me feel like I’d just stabbed her with a fork.”

He took one of her hands and squeezed it reassuringly. “It’s just her way. She sees taking care of all of us, and especially you, as some sacred vow to the memory of our ancestors.”

Awww.
Meghan liked that he included her in that sentiment—calling them
our
ancestors.

“You’re a Valleja-Marquez bride, my wild, Irish goddess. It’s her privilege to take care of your every whim.”

“I know. And she’s over the moon planning and organizing everything with Carmen. We’ll start here, of course. Maybe watch the parade playback on the big screen and hang out on the patio. Early dinner and then head down to the Camerons—take over the theater room for my favorite movie.”

“And then, the next day . . .”

Meghan lit up with happiness. Yeah. The next day. She couldn’t wait.