Protected by Shadows by Aliyah Burke Page B

her breast into his mouth.
    She wriggled against him and soon they both moaned in pure pleasure as he sank deep inside her.
    “Lexy,” he began.
    “Shut up, Val. Don’t ruin this by talking.”
    He bit back his frustrated retort and focused on taking the woman in his arms. It wasn’t anything romantic and gentle. This was hard. Fast. All about each of them finding release—how it had been between them previously.
    She ground against him, flexing her internal muscles around his thrusting cock. Lord, no one had ever held him so tight. Not just her pussy either, Lexy held him as if she couldn’t bear to let him go. In and out he thrust, nipping and laving her breasts as he alternated between the two of them.
    Her grip in his hair neared painful, but he didn’t care. Nor did he stop. Her panting increased as did the pitch of her voice.
    “Mine,” he rumbled around one pebbled nipple. A statement he punctuated with three forceful strokes.
    She cried and came in a rush around him. It didn’t take him long to follow and shoot his release deep inside her with a guttural cry of his own. Palming her ass, he stepped back from the wall and carried her to the bed he’d been staying in before laying her down, remaining buried in her core throughout. Then he began all over again, his hunger only piqued for her, not assuaged in the slightest.
    * * * *
    Valentino woke to the sound of something hitting the floor. Bolting upright, he scanned the darkness as his hand slipped beneath his pillow to grip his Walther PPK. More banging and thudding had him sliding from bed. He shoved into his slacks and made his way out of the room, moving with caution but speed.
    Lexy hadn’t been in the bed so he knew it could be her, but that wasn’t a chance he was willing to take. After spinning around the final corner, he stood there, weapon at the ready, and paused.
    “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded, staring at Lexy who stood amongst what appeared to be most—if not all of—her cookware lying upon the kitchen floor. The one piece that wasn’t at her feet was suddenly sailing through the air toward his head.
    Shit! He ducked and it chunked into the doorframe beside him then clattered to the tile.
    “Lexy, it’s me!”
    “I know.” Her tone cold and hard.
    Wait, what? She knew? “You knew? Then what the fuck are you doing throwing something at my head?”
    She stared unapologetically at him. “Had I wanted to hit you I would have. It was merely a warning. Why? Because when you come thundering into my kitchen with a pistol and aim it at me, do you think I won’t react? Or is it because I didn’t scream like a little girl and wait to be saved? Put that away.”
    “Are you insane? I heard noises.”
    She threw up her hands in obvious disgust. “This is my house, jackass, I’m allowed to make noise if I so desire. If it bothers you so damn much, go elsewhere.”
    He lowered his pistol and bent to pick up the heavy cast iron skillet she’d launched at his head. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the dent in the doorframe. Christ, had that hit me I’d be knocked unconscious. Or worse.
    “Let me try this again. What are you doing?”
    “Cleaning,” she snapped. “What’s it look like, genius?”
    She was more agitated than usual and he really had no clue on how to respond. Before, he would have continued to antagonize her. Right now, he really wanted her back in bed. Preferably with him.
    He backed up then checked the rest of the house, mostly to appease himself and partly to give himself a moment to calm down. What logical woman faced an armed man with an iron skillet? Alexsa Camden, that was who. And she wasn’t logical. What she was was fearless and headstrong. Not necessarily a good combination.
    He paused in the doorway to her kitchen. She knelt before the cabinet and scrubbed, her head partway in the open space. His gaze lingered on the addictive sway of her ass in her pink and black plaid boxers. She was his wife.