Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)(67)

“Oh. I, um, see.” She was blushing, abashed.

“If it went like it did at Tony’s apartment, I’d come inside you. I won’t remember why I shouldn’t. I won’t remember my own name. Sex with you turns me into a mindless, screaming f*ck machine.”

Ooh. Wow. Her lower body clenched deliciously at the thought.

“Well,” she said delicately. “I think you’re exaggerating a tiny bit.”

He shook his head. “No. Not at all. Not evhed.

They stared at each other. The prickles on the back of her neck turned into racking shivers. Shimmering heat pooled low in her body. Thoughts, hopes, possibilities shifted between them. Into probabilities.

Then, into a certainty. She felt the moment it happened. The energy, changing all by itself. Without moving a muscle, without saying a word, his male energy was suddenly blasting out at her, unchecked.

“Listen to me, Lily.” His voice was low. “Decide if you really want to get on that fun house ride. You’re right. I’m not Mr. Mature. I can’t resist you, because I don’t really want to. You know the risks.”

“Will you at least, you know, try to not—”

“Yes, or no. I can’t promise anything. Get it through your head.”

She stared at him. Some small, faraway part of her brain was appalled at how stupid, how irresponsible, how insane this was.

She was acting like an addict. Strung out on her drug of choice. After all the fear and howling emptiness, she could not resist the bright, glowing way he made her feel. In his arms, she felt free. Powerful. He was the only thing on earth that made her feel that way. She’d heard junkies describe their highs like that. And she didn’t even care.

She folded the comforter down on his side, inviting him in.

Bruno’s leather jacket hit the floor with a thud. He peeled off his sweatshirt, yanked off his socks, with jerks that seemed almost angry. He shoved his jeans down and stepped out of them, naked and beautiful. Offering himself, but not with arrogance. In spite of his strength, some subtle part of him had surrendered to her.

He needed her, too. She saw it in his face, his eyes. No matter what he thought about her problems. She wasn’t alone in this fear, this hunger. Heat swelled in her throat. Tear fog swirled in her eyes. She got up, faced away from him. Silly to get gooey and emotional just because he was taking her up on her aggressive offer of sex. Any normal guy would do that. In a heartbeat. It wouldn’t change things one bit. But at least he’d come down off his high horse. He wasn’t trying to protect the crazy girl from her own folly. That was something.

She wiped her face, sniffed back tears, and walked around the bed, taking a long, hungry look. He was dazzling. Every detail so specific, so inevitable, so perfect. Every hair on his body, lovingly designed and placed just so, adding up to a perfect synthesis of male beauty. And she couldn’t wait to grab that thick, hard cock pointing at her so urgently. To make good, athletic, prolonged use of it.

She flicked tears off her face with her fingers and struggled to stay on top of herself. It was impossible, but it was foreign to her nature not to try. Bruno waited. The silence was so full. Thick, like honey. Palpable and heavy and sensual. She swam through it, moving closer to him with the slow drift of utter inevitability.

Barely an inch of space between them now. The heat throbbing off his body touched her, caressed her. She contemplated the brown oblongs of his nipples adorning his thick pecs. The pattern of his treasure trail. The placement of the moles on his shoulders and chest.

He took her hands, held them to his face. Pressing his mouth against her palm, the pad of her thumb. He placed them against his chest, and they gasped at the rippling jolt of exchanged energy. It crackled through her, lighting her up like a star.

The kiss was inevitable, but they waited for it, circling it slowly like they were afraid of it. Once their lips touched, that carnival ride would start. Good-bye, rational thought. Not that she felt all that rational now.

He grabbed handfuls of her sweater, peeling that and her undershirt off, leaving her tousled, shivering. Covering her breasts with her arms, feeling foolish. Flustered and shy, even now.

He tossed the sweater away, brushed her hair off her face. Her nipples barely touched his chest, but they lit up as if they’d been kissed, suckled. His cock bobbed against her jeans. He brushed hair behind her ears, tracing her cheekbone. He pulled the band off her braid, unraveled the kinky, fuzzy mass of her hair.

“Great hair,” he murmured, rubbing his face in it. “Love the hair.”

Her giggle choked into a gasp when he shoved down her jeans without bothering to unbutton them. He helped her step out of the jean shackles, leaving them in a tangle on the floor. “Nice panties,” he murmured, cupping her ass. “Very hot.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

He jerked the garment down. “OK, fine. Lose the panties.”

She peeled them off her ankles and basked naked in his heat. If snowflakes fell on them, they’d dance and hiss, like drops on a griddle.

Snap, something gave in. He grabbed her, or she grabbed him, she couldn’t tell who initiated what, and the fraught silence exploded.

It was like they’d attacked each other. She felt so uniquely, specifically naked wrapped around him, straining. A live wire, thoughts and feelings exposed. Their mouths moved, opened, tongues twining, moaning. She thrummed, burned, with a need that had no name. Not just sex, but a heart-splitting ache, a sharp yearning for something far deeper. She craved him. Wanted to crawl inside him, body and mind, heart and soul. She wanted to walk inside his dreams. She was jealous of his past, possessive of his future. She wanted to wrap herself in him like a blanket, twine herself through his body, braid herself into his life. Into his very veins and blood, until they could never be untangled.