Doomsday Can Wait (Phoenix Chronicles, #2)(53)

The urge to show him some tenderness, to teach him that sex could be about something other than nothing, overwhelmed me. I couldn't have stopped what was happening between us any more than it seemed I could stop Doomsday.

I stared into his eyes. "You're trying to push me away."

He stared right back. "Is it working?"

"No," I said, and kissed him.





CHAPTER 20


I figured he'd push me away literally, that I'd have a battle on my hands. But Sawyer surprised me by kissing me back.

His mouth was desperate, his hands were, too. In the past he'd always taken his time; there'd never been any rush. One thing about Sawyer, even when he was doing you for the good of the world, he always made being f*cked worthwhile.

He tasted both sweet and spicy. I licked his teeth; his fingers tightened on my arms, one squeeze and then he released me. I grabbed at him, afraid he'd fly away, and when my left palm met his right bicep, everything flickered.

"Open your eyes," he whispered.

I did and saw his had gone wolf. A growl rumbled, and it took me a second to realize the sound was coming from me. If I could see my face in the mirror past the steam, I had no doubt my eyes would reflect my wolf, too.

I yanked my hand away. When we had sex and I touched his tattoos, the essence of his beasts swirled through me. I didn't become them, but I felt them, smelled them, knew them as intimately as I knew him.

"Do you want to change?" he whispered.

I stiffened. He'd said one day I'd mate with him as a wolf. I wasn't ready for that, didn't think I'd ever be. Becoming a wolf wasn't part of who I was, the way it was a part of what he was.

His expression as he watched me, wolf eyes sharp, man's mouth amused, made me realize he was trying to get me to run again.

"No chance," I answered, and his lips thinned.

"Phoenix," he growled.

I wrapped my hand around his penis, and the deadly call of a rattlesnake filled the air. I concentrated on him, on this, on us, and the urge to flick my tongue at him passed, although the urge to flick my tongue around him was irresistible.

I sank to my knees, took him in my mouth. He wouldn't be able to resist, either.

The rattle increased, drowning out the sound of the water. I touched his thigh, ran my fingers across the head of the tiger depicted there, and felt the long, dry grass brush my fur-covered body.

I used my teeth, not too hard, just enough, and was rewarded with a soft curse. I glanced up. The fluorescent lights were dim; the steam swirled around us like fog at sunset. I should probably shut off the water, but I liked the mist. It sparkled in Sawyer's hair like diamonds in a midnight sky.

His head was thrown back, his face tight, his hands clenched at his sides as if he were afraid to touch me. We couldn't have that.

"Hey," I murmured, and his chin slowly dipped toward the sleek, slick pane of his chest until his half-open eyes met mine. The wolf had receded, though it lurked, waiting to pounce.

I rolled my tongue lazily around his tip and his cool gray gaze flared. Then I took him into my mouth, as far as he would go, and I sucked.

His back arched as he pumped and withdrew, but still he didn't touch me.

I wore all my clothes; he wore none. I licked him one last, long time, then drew my tank top over my head, flicked the front snap on my bra, was reaching for the button on my jeans, when he hauled me to my feet by my elbows.

'That's enough," he said.

I leaned forward, brushing my breasts across his chest. With Sawyer nothing was ever enough.

"There's no reason for this, Phoenix."

"There has to be a reason?"

He appeared confused. "Yes."

Poor man.

"Fine," I said. "How about this?" I took his clenched hand, pulled on his fingers until he released the fist, then I placed his palm against my chest, where my heart thrummed fast and sure.

"I don't understand."

"The reason is desire. My body and yours together because we have a connection."

"We do?"

He might be ancient, yet he was a child in so many ways. Had he ever been touched in love? Had he ever had sex simply because he wanted to?

He thought I hated him, and I couldn't claim differently because sometimes, hell, most times, I did. But there was a connection between us. Had been even before I'd become like him.

"I'll show you," I murmured.

I began with kisses, soft and sweet, lips only, just a wisp as our breath blended together. He sighed, relaxed, closed his eyes when I trailed my fingertips across his lids. Leaning against the sink at my urging, he let me touch him and kiss him everywhere.

His skin was slick with steam; so was mine. He tasted of the sea. My fingers raced along his ribs, given speed by the moisture that beaded like dew.

His hands clenched in my hair. I didn't have much. Not like him. He held me closer, traced his thumbs across my brow, my cheeks, as if memorizing the bones beneath.

I leaned in to press my mouth to his neck, to inhale that fire-and-wind scent of him, and he wrapped his arms around me in the first hug from him I'd ever known. Together, we stilled. I wasn't sure, but I thought his lips brushed the crown of my head. For just an instant, my eyes burned, and my chest felt as if it would burst. This just might be the dumbest thing I'd ever done.