Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(49)

The invitation was obvious. He pressed his face against her breasts with a ragged sigh of surrender, rubbing her tight, puckered nipples against his cheeks, and then cupped her breasts in both hands and suckled her. He wanted to imprint every detail onto his long-term memory. Every shape and shade and contour, every sigh and shudder, every delicate difference in texture; the translucent gold perfection of her skin, the plump, lush curves and hollows, all of it calculated to drive him to screaming sexual overload.

He lost himself. He could do this forever. He wondered if he could make her come just by sucking her tits. He'd read somewhere that it was possible. Now there was a challenge that he would readily embrace. His mouth moved over her, wallowing in her sweet, generous response, her pleading moans, the nails digging into his shoulders.

She sagged over him, quivering, and embraced his shoulders. Her hair draped across his face, and he pushed the thick, fragrant fall of dark satiny hair out of his eyes, his gaze flicking up to her face.

Tears stood in her shadowy eyes.

A chill shuddered through him. His fingers tightened around her waist until she gasped. This wasn't only to please her and make her hot for him, and she knew it. He saw it in her eyes. The witch was on to him, she'd pulled him so deep into her spell that everything was bared to her. And now she'd ripped away a mask that was so much a part of him, he hadn't even known he was wearing it. Hadn't wanted to know.

Beneath it, he was raw, needy. Famished for her female nurturing. Desperate to assuage a child's ancient grief, a loss so deep and huge, it was part of the landscape of his mind.

Her eyes swam with tears. They spilled over, sliding down her face. He was completely naked to her. Wide open. It was unbearable.

Shame transformed instantly into anger. For a moment, he hated her for witnessing his weakness. He shoved her away from him.

She stumbled back, startled. When he dared to look at her again, her gaze was wide and cautious. She was wiping her eyes, covering her breasts with her hands, backing away. Too late for that. Power welled up inside him, sexual and dangerous. His cock jutted toward her.

He advanced on her. "You want to know me, Erin? I'll show you everything I've got. Let's go into the bathroom and get started."

Her eyes were full of tremulous uncertainty. "Connor? I—"

"I want to wash my come off you. Then I want to f*ck you in the shower. And I want to do it now. So move."

Her mouth snapped shut, and she gave him a jerky nod. Her slender back trembled as she preceded him into the bathroom.

He'd scared her. He almost relented, and then he thought of that naked moment at her breast. She had tricked him into this. No masks, no mercy. She showed him hers, he'd show her his.

It wasn't his fault if she didn't like everything she found.

The bathroom was still humid and perfumed from her hair goop. He wrenched aside the shower curtain, set the hot water running, and motioned for her to get into the tub.

She was silent and wide-eyed, hot water pounding down and soaking her curtain of dark hair. He grabbed the shower gel, sudsed up his hands and turned her around, yanking her back against him so his cock was pressed against her ass. He washed his sticky come off her belly, her breasts, touching her with proprietary boldness. She reached down to wash between her legs, but he grabbed her hand.

"No. Don't wash your lube away. It's better than soap or water, and you're really tight and small. You're going to need all of it."

She shivered at his matter-of-fact tone. He covered her soapy hands with his and pressed them against her breasts, glad for any excuse to fondle them. He shoved her legs wider so he could nudge his cock between her thighs and set his teeth against the tender curve between neck and shoulder.

"Still want to know what's under my mask, Erin?" He slid his fingers down to tangle in the curls between her legs. "Still convinced?"

He was taunting her. He couldn't help it. He almost wanted her to chicken out, so they would have to stop. So they wouldn't slide down this slippery slope to God knew what.

She pressed her body back against him, clasping his cock between her clenched thighs, and turned up her wet, flushed face to him. Her eyes glowed with primal female challenge.

"Yes," she said simply.



Water pounded around them. If she had been any less heightened, the look on his face would have terrified her. He pushed her until she tipped forward.

"Brace yourself against the wall." His voice was harsh and breathless. "Spread your legs wider."

"Connor?" She caught herself against the cold, wet tile.

He gripped her hips and bent her over. "You want me to put my mask back on? Just say the word if the real me is too scary for you."

"This does not give you the right to act like a prick!" Her voice choked off when he slid his fingers between her legs.

"Oh, I'm not acting," he said. "I thought that was the whole point."

He nudged the head of his penis between her soft folds, and pushed. He seemed impossibly large from this angle. Her body bore down on him, and he slowed, stroking her hips. "Arch your back," he commanded. "It'll make it easier for you."

"This isn't for me, though," she snapped. "This is all for you."

He shoved himself deeper. "You showed me yours, and I'm showing you mine. I'm just following my instincts. That's all there is under the mask, Erin. Instinct. Appetite. We're all just selfish, hungry animals underneath."