Celt. (Den of Mercenaries #2)(34)

But he had with Amber.

There wasn’t any fear of what she might do to him while he was passed out, so maybe another part of him was glad to be back here in the hopes that she could help him sleep again.

“Aye,” he said answering his question. “But I wanted to see you first.”

Finally, he was able to manage a smile out of her. “Do you want to come up?”

“I’d be a fool to say no.”

Fingering her keys absently, she didn’t start for her door right away. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

Remembering the last time they were together, Kyrnon couldn’t hold back his smile if he tried. “Bit late for that, lovie.”

“Again. I’m not sleeping with you again.”

“Maybe not tonight, but I’ll wear you down.”

With a roll of her eyes, though she didn’t look half as bothered as she tried to pretend, she let them into the building, leading the way to her apartment.

He had only gotten a glimpse of it the last time he was there, needing to get going so he could catch the flight to Brussels, but he could tell that it was different. For one, she had unpacked, getting rid of the moving boxes he had seen on his last visit.

More paintings had been hung along the walls, and he was starting to reason that there were reason behind the madness. They were hung based on which period they fell in, something not many would have noticed.

Her place was different from his. He was tidy to an almost compulsive degree, and because people were always in and out depending on whether he was using the place as a safe house, he always kept it cleaner than usual. Her apartment, on the other hand, felt lived in, like there was life within the four walls.

Dropping her keys on the table, Amber asked, “Do you want something to drink?”

After the week he had, that was the last thing on his mind.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he answered honestly. “I just want you and a bed, the rest can be worked out tomorrow.”

Reaching for him, she said, “Then let’s go to bed.”





Chapter Nine





It was in the wee hours of the morning that Amber came awake with a gasp, her back nearly coming off the bed at the sensation of Kyrnon’s tongue on her inner thighs. With the glow of the moon spilling in through the nearby window, she could just see her duvet kicked off at the foot of her bed, and the length of Kyrnon’s nearly bare body as he was stretched out before her.

Hazily, she remembered stripping out of her clothes with him and falling into bed, thrilling in the feel of him wrapping his arm around her as they got comfortable. No sex, she had told him, and how quickly that thought had gone out the window now that she was faced with the sight of him between her legs.

His lips were barely brushing her skin and she was already aching for his touch. When he realized he had her rapt attention, he grazed the back of his fingers along her lace covered sex. “You’re trembling.”

“Kyrnon, what are you doing?”

But she already knew the answer to that, could feel it in the way he inched closer to the apex of her thighs with his mouth, leaving lingering, biting kisses along her heated skin.

“I’m apologizing.” He skirted a hand up her stomach, not stopping until he had his hand on her breast, pinching her tightened nipple. “Will you let me?”

She wasn’t thinking clearly, too caught up in the moment with him, but nevertheless, she found herself nodding, aiding him in getting her panties off as she lifted her hips.

Sitting up now, the straining bulge in his boxer-briefs was all too visible, making her * clench at the remembered feel of it. But his own need seemed to be the last thing on his mind as he gave her thigh a tap, silently commanding she spread her legs, and even when she thought they were wide enough, he wrapped his fingers around her leg and opened her further for his gaze.

“I thought of nothing else,” he murmured, eyes riveting to her sex as he rubbed his fingers up and down her slit, pausing at her clit to rub tight, slow circles. “Nothing else.”

She couldn’t help rocking her sex against his hand, seeking out more of his touch as he brought her closer and closer to bliss, but each time she felt like she was getting close, that she was one stroke away from falling apart, he drew back, barely touching her until she calmed once more.

When she reached for him, he caught her wrist before she could, twining their fingers even as he pressed her hand against the bed beside her. “Hands to yourself, lovie. I’ll take care of you.”

And in the next breath, he slid two fingers in as deep as he could.

He worked them in and out, dragging over every nerve ending inside her. Her cry of pleasure encouraged him to thrust harder, faster, deeper.

“I don’t want to rush this,” he said almost conversationally, slowing the rhythm of his fingers until he removed them entirely.

Already she missed the feeling of being full, the feel of him stroking her higher until she was nothing but a quivering mess beneath his touch. He wasn’t the only one who had thought of the night they spent together, of the emotions he made her feel.

“I need you. Please.”

“Patience,” he told her, even as he shifted until he was hovering over her. “We’re not even close to being done.”

Shoving her shirt up her stomach to bunch at her chest, he yanked the cups of her bra down, his mouth covering the exposed flesh in seconds. His tongue worked over her nipple, the heat of his mouth making her moan loudly. But it wasn’t until he had the bar between his teeth and tugged that she was arching farther into him. He repeated the same actions with the other before his whiskered jaw was drifting down her stomach.