Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)(83)



She tried to speak, failed. Shook her head.

“You like this position, don’t you? I can tell, from that fluttery thing your * does when I rub this spot with the head of my cock.”

“Sean…” She clutched handfuls of the sheet with shaking fists.

“It pulls me, like it’s begging me to stay. Begging me to massage all those sweet hot spots until you…oh. Yes.”

She convulsed. He rode her out, eyes squeezed shut as he savored every little clutching pulsing wave of it, and pulled her face around to his. “You don’t look like a china doll now,” he told her. “All damp and soft and sweet. That hot rose color drives me f*cking crazy.”

“You’re already crazy.” The sound choked off into a whimper as he started moving again. He nuzzled her hair, breathing in hungry gulps of that hot, damp honeysuckle smell. Licking away the delicate salt tang between her shoulder blades.

He’d always been good at getting inside a girl’s mind, intuiting what she needed to get off. Since he was thirteen he’d been good at it. But it had never cut both ways. Petting her clit was like touching himself. Every stroke of his cock was a sweet lash of mutual pleasure.

He drove her to the edge, but he was right there with her, shivering on the verge of the abyss. She clutched his hands, begging with every movement of her body for him to bring her off.

“Roll over,” he said.

She stiffened, turning her head. “Why?”

“I want to kiss you,” he said. “I want to look into your eyes.”

She hesitated, but he pulled out of her hot, clutching sheath and flipped her over onto her back. He mounted again, and slid deep and hard into her slick depths, jarring a gasping sound from her throat.

“One more,” he said. “One more, and I’ll come with you.”

He pried her hands off her face and stretched them wide. It wasn’t a confinement, she just stretched voluptuously against the resistance. It opened her wider to him, her chest, her throat. Chest to chest, heart to heart. A dam breaking, a geyser bursting forth.

Pleasure thundered, splintered through their fused bodies.

There was barely enough of him left afterwards to deal with the condom and then crawl back between the damp, crumpled sheets.

He hugged her jealously tight. He was as exhausted as she, probably more, but all he could do was stare at the sooty fan of lashes against the blush rose stain on her cheek. Awed, at how beautiful she was. Terrified, that this incredible thing might go sour on him.

He could make some butthead mistake, let T-Rex through his guard, and lose her. And even if he killed T-Rex, he had no clue who held the f*cker’s leash. There was an endless supply of thugs for hire.

He didn’t even know where to start with this crazy shit. He hadn’t gotten anywhere with it fifteen years ago. He had even fewer ideas now.

And even if he did resolve this mystery, that was no guarantee at all that he could hang on to the princess. He was perfectly capable of f*cking this up, even without the help of a homicidal maniac.

He’d been a f*ck-up since he could remember. He’d driven old Eamon nuts with his nonstop chatter, his off the wall energy, his shit-for-brains impulsiveness. But even the most severe punishments his father came up with never calmed him down, or shut him up, or taught him sense. He just ended up bouncing off the walls that much harder.

Davy and Con loved him, he knew that, but they were always on edge, scared he would do something crazy. Hurt himself, or someone else. The only person he’d ever been able to relax and chill with, who wasn’t always irritated and aggravated by him, had been Kev. And Liv, for that brief, fabulous interval. And then they’d both disappeared.

He’d been passed from one prison to another his whole life. His father’s degenerating illness had been the first, then the hell of public school. The coursework had been a joke. It was staying square with the powers that be, keeping out of trouble, that he couldn’t seem to grasp. No matter how he tried, he kept f*cking up. Like college. Losing his scholarship, for some sweaty afternoon quickies with the dean’s wife.

Then he’d met Liv. That had felt so effortless, so precious, so exquisitely right. Til he’d been forced to destroy it with his own hands.

Then Kev’s death. Accepting lies for truth had put him in still another prison. A metal box in the dark for his mind. He’d huddled in that box for fifteen years. It was like he was under a goddamn curse.

But now the bonds were broken. The box was open. He felt so lost, so disoriented. Cut loose, scared shitless. Liv. His need for her was stronger than any bond he’d ever felt. So was the fear, that she might decide she didn’t want him anymore.

He couldn’t take that. He’d lost enough, suffered enough, f*cked up enough for any one lifetime.

This time, losing her would kill him.





Chapter 17



L iv didn’t want to wake up from this dream. She was awash in erotic sensations, every nerve kissed and caressed. Swimming in pleasure, like raw fresh honey, but something was pulling her to wakefulness. A sound that would not stop, a moaning whimper. It was coming from her own throat. She opened her eyes, blinking in the morning light. Incredibly warm, held tight against a hot, hard male body. Her thighs were splayed, and Sean’s skillful hand moved between them. His fingers made wet sounds as they stroked and delved and circled. She was sopping wet, squirming with excitement.

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