Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(77)

Violent spasms of pleasure jerked and shuddered through her.

She didn't open her eyes for a long time afterwards. It was the only privacy she could maintain, with her body so penetrated, his eyes so intent upon her face. He waited patiently, curved over her body.

The ripples widened, spread, softened to her chest, her throat, her eyes, and suddenly she was weeping, a soothing rush like a summer rainstorm. The enigma had been solved, but the solving of it had uncovered an even bigger mystery, one that mere love games could not resolve. She draped her arms around his neck, pulling his face to hers. "That's enough of that," she whispered. "Be gentle with me now."

He stiffened, and hid his face against her neck. "Oh, no," he muttered. "Erin, I thought this was what you wanted. I thought—"

"I did. I did want it," she reassured him. She grabbed a hank of his hair and pulled him up so she could pet the anxious furrow between his brows with her fingertip. "And you gave it to me. And now I want something different, that's all. No big deal. Just ease off."

"Did I hurt you? Do you want me to stop?"

She kissed him. "Would you relax? There is no hidden message here. No code to decipher. I do not want to stop. Read my lips, OK?"

He jerked his head away, but she wound the hair around her fingers, trapping him. "You are so f*cking complicated," he snapped.

She sighed. "Just keep making love to me. Gently. And stop being ridiculous and anxious. What's complicated about that?"

He pried her fingers out of his hair and pressed his face against her neck, burrowing closer. "I just want to please you."

She was moved by the ragged tremor in his voice. "Oh, but you do," she soothed him. "Didn't you feel what happened? What you did to me? It was intense, but it worked. Just like you knew that it would."

"I thought I went too far," he admitted. "With that stupid lord and master crap. I thought I'd screwed up."

"No. You didn't. I trust you, Connor." Her words softened to a senseless croon as she covered his hot face with kisses. She moved beneath him, caressing his shaft with every delicate, clinging muscle inside her sheath. It was a lazy, licking, tender kiss between their sexes. Their lips joined to match it, hungry for sweet reassurance.

Their power games had transformed into something infinitely more beautiful and treacherous. His dominating energy was rendered down to desperate, shaking need. Now she was the strong one who clasped and held, with the power to give or to withhold. But there was no question of withholding. He was inside her mind, he was everywhere. Her heart glowed for him. Every part of her was liquid and soft, merging with him, surging and heaving like the sea.

Much later, he murmured and lifted himself off her body, and stumbled away into the dark to dispose of the condom. She didn't have the strength to turn her head and tell him where she kept the trash basket. He lifted the quilt, slid into bed again, rolling her on top of him.

"I'll squish you," she protested, without much force.

"Nah. This is another one of my classic Erin fantasies. Sleeping with your naked body on top of me. Your hair draped all over me, your hand against my chest, your breath mixing with mine. Your skin…"

The rest of his whispered words blended into her dreams like a swirl of melting honey.

Kurt Novak and Georg Luksch were not worth this pain and humiliation. They had used him, and thrown him away. He could feel it.

The police flung Martin into the holding cell, and the gate clanged shut. He fell heavily to his knees, retching.

Just his luck, that he should get rough, brutal types for his interrogation, but he had been prepared. He had been very strong. He had told the police exactly what his employers had ordered him to say. He had made the police torture it out of him, as instructed. He had held back as long as he could before finally gasping out where he had last seen Novak and Luksch, and when. He had been desperate, very convincing.

Then he had repeated the same story, no matter how hard they hit him. He had been strong, but there was no one to bear witness to his loyalty. Novak and Luksch would never know or care how brave he had been for them. No one would ever know. He was sure of this.

He was disposable, and they had thrown him away.

His bosses had told him that if he did this for them, that his parents and his uncle would be spared, and that two million euro would be transferred to a private numbered account for him in a bank in Zurich upon his release. His very rapid release. We own the judges, they had told him. It will be arranged quickly, more quickly than the last time. We need you, Martin. That was why we arranged your escape with Luksch and Novak in America. Only you are strong enough for this task. Do not fear. Be strong, Martin. You will be rewarded.

Rewarded. He laughed, but the pain of his cracked ribs stopped him. He huddled in the fetal position on the frigid concrete and wiggled his teeth, one by one. He would lose some of them. The left front, and the incisor. His mouth was full of blood. His tongue ran over the smooth capsule they had soldered to a filling in his back molar.

A microchip, they had told him. So that we can always find you, always rescue you. Just a precaution. It will do you no harm. It is for your protection, Martin. Trust us.

He suppressed another laugh, wiggling the loose molar with his tongue. Two million euro could replace lost teeth, he told himself. Two million euro could make up for a great many things.