Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(54)

“Calm down,” he soothed. “The madder you get, the more you clench around my finger. Your muscles are really contracted. Relax.”

Her bark of laughter sounded bitter. “Oh, wow.” Her voice shook. “That’s a wee bit of a tall order for me right now.”

“Get inside,” he said, on impulse.

She looked dubious. “Huh?”

“You know. Inside the Citadel. Like you did in the woods.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “I . . . I don’t know if I . . . that was a life or death kind of thing.” She wiggled, clutching her * muscles deliciously tight around his finger. “I’m, ah, distracted. You know?”

“I know,” he rasped, and caressed her breast with his mouth again, sucking as he thrust his finger deeper inside. Twisting, thrusting, slick and slow. “Try,” he urged.

It took a while, but he put every second to good use. The stripes of light that had painted their bodies slid on up the wall as he petted, nuzzling, caressing her slick opening. She clutched him, her thighs clamped around his hand, shaking with strain. Her fingernails dug into his shoulder. He waited, listening in the silence . . .

And there she was. A light, blazing on inside him. Her radiant presence. He didn’t see the images, because his eyes were too busy with the visual stimuli coming from her physical body, and he couldn’t be bothered to look inside at a waking dream. But the inner contact felt as great as it always did. That glow. So close. So intimate.

The words scrolled, on the screen in his head. happy now?

getting there, he replied. i go 4 this. u inside. makes me hot.

She vibrated with laughter. ur hot already. like a kiln.

He wound his hand full of her hair, and forced her to lift her face away from his chest.

She was smiling, eyes lit up. Crazy beautiful.

He kissed her. Ravenously, like it was life or death, and that inner place where they were linked went off like fireworks blasting. Color, heat, noise, and movement, like a dancing, singing flash mob. She made a shocked sound and kissed him back. Opening to him.

She tasted so good. His tongue in her mouth, hers in his, dancing, melding. She squirmed against his hand, which was slippery with lube, softening against the onslaught of that devouring kiss.

They came up gasping for air a time or two, but dove back into the kiss as soon as they replenished their oxygen stores. After a few breathless, desperate minutes of that, he was seriously in danger of losing control and coming all over her. She worked herself against his hand, desperate jerking thrusts. His hand shone, wet and hot. He thrust two fingers in, following the trembling, the gasps, the heat. Urgency built in both of them. He drove her like he was driving for his own release.

And off they went, straight into it. Oh, f*ck, yeah.

Her pleasure throbbed through his mind and body, echoing. Lighting up his head, his chest, his cock.

He lifted his head, at great length. Rolling her up on top of him, so that she was sprawled over his body.

“That’s more like it,” he said. Trying not to feel smug.

She was glowing pink, dewy with sweat. Eyes dazzled and dilated. “I never knew it could feel like that. Not even from the dreams.”

“We’ve barely even started,” he said.

They gazed at each other, for seconds that ticked slowly into minutes, but time ran differently now, and the silences were not empty. They were eloquent, charged with poignant meaning.

She shifted, so she could stroke his stiff, longsuffering cockhead which had been trapped between them. Beet purple, shiny with precome that had left a gleaming slick on her pale skin.

He helped her position herself, because she seemed awkward and unsure of herself. He draped her legs where they needed to be, adjusted her knees. Lifted her up to the perfect angle, so he could slide his cockhead tenderly against those slippery folds.

No hurry, he told himself, grimly. No f*cking hurry in the world. With lots of wiggling and squirming, he wedged himself a little deeper. So hot and slick. She sank down, and he slid slowly, inexorably inside her . . . into total f*cking heaven on earth.

Now it was a brand new challenge. It had been hard enough not to come when it was just his finger in that tight clutching hole, but now, oh God, it felt like his entire self being bathed in scalding perfection.

She arched, forcing him deeper. Hugging and squeezing his whole length. A little deeper, another shove and sigh and delicious squirm, and he was all inside.

He held his breath, shaking on the edge. So good.

The deed was done, right or wrong, and he was not sorry. He felt defiant. After all she’d been through, she actually trusted him with her body. It was a f*cking miracle, and he was not, by God, going to fumble it by coming too soon. No, and no, and no.

Her hair had almost dried. Undulating dark locks draped over both of them, a ticklish, caressing cloud. She gazed down, with that soft, dazzled look that made his chest ache and his throat twist and his eyes sting, but now was no time to get weepy, for f*ck’s sake.

He had to make damn sure she did not regret this.





The world flipped. He’d rolled her over onto her back, was pushing her down into the mattress. “Is this OK? Am I squishing you?” he demanded. “Scaring you?”

She slid her hands up and around, to clutch at the thick muscles bunched in his back. “I love it,” she said, slowly and clearly.

They stared into each others’ eyes as he established the rhythm. Their bodies were so attuned, every movement was a caressing call and response, each slow, rhythmic plunge and slide. Each individual stroke felt so achingly perfect, she couldn’t imagine anything sweeter, until the next one, and the next.