Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(79)

"I'm not wearing a condom," he told her. "If you haven't noticed."

She smiled. "So don't come inside me. You have such excellent self-control. I've seen it in action, so you can't pretend you don't. So use it, Connor. Use it… in my service."

She rose up, and took him in again, a hot, slow glide of pleasure.

He panted beneath her. "You know this is stupid," he said. "We've got them, so there's no goddamn excuse for not using them."

She kissed his chest. "Something about you makes me want to play with fire. What an awful bitch I am. Torturing you like this."

He made a sharp, angry sound. "You've been acting strange ever since we got back to town. I'm not saying it doesn't turn me on, but it's starting to really piss me off."

"Oh, no. I'm just terrified." She rocked against him, rising up and sinking slowly back down with a sigh of bliss. "I'm tired of doing the smart thing and being agreeable and sensible and proper. I've been a good girl all my life, and I've only just realized that it doesn't do a damn bit of good. You just get slammed anyway. So why bother? What is the point of all that stupid effort? You just end up feeling like a fool."

He shook his head and opened his mouth. She pressed her finger against his lips. "Ever since I seduced you, I don't want to be a good girl anymore. I want to do naughty things. Get a tattoo. Show my cleavage. Pay my rent late. Drink tequila shots, dance on the tabletops. Blow my paycheck on pretty shoes. Rob a bank wearing a leather mini-skirt."

"Oh, God, Erin—"

"I want to become a cautionary tale for young women. Don't do what Erin did, girls! It's the path to doom! And you know what else I want? I want this. With you. Right now. Give me your hands again."

He offered them, a gesture of surrender, and she placed them gently at the curve of her hips. "Hold me," she said. "Move under me, Connor. Make me come."

His fingers bit into her waist, and his hips bucked as he seized control of the rhythm. All she could do was gasp and hang on for the ride, sometimes deep and pounding, sometimes a sensual dance that slid over and over that glowing ache of need inside her that was wired to everything that mattered, her eyes and throat, her spine, her nipples, her heart, until ripples of bliss overflowed and unraveled her.

He withdrew, panting, and she lost her balance and slid off the bed. He caught her arms, but her legs tumbled off until her knees hit Aunt Millie's braided rag rug. He sat up and pulled her onto her knees.

She knelt between his spread thighs, his penis jutting in her face, hot with the scent of her own pleasure. He wound his hands into her hair, staring into her eyes. "Make me come, Erin," he said.

She took him deep into her mouth without hesitation, gripping him eagerly with both hands and mouth. She followed the cues his body gave her: his sobbing pants, his fingers tightening in her hair, the slick, bursting heat of his penis in her mouth, the salty drops against her tongue. She drew him in as deep as she could, sliding and suckling.

He was primed to explode. In just a few long, luxurious strokes he erupted into her mouth in hot, pulsing spasms.

She hid her face against his scarred thigh. He sagged over her, trembling, and slowly slid off the bed to join her on the floor. He pulled her into his arms and rested his head on her shoulder.

Connor lifted his head a few minutes later. "You feeling any mellower?" he asked. "You work out any of those bad girl demons?"

"Not really," she murmured. "I still feel pretty naughty."

"Oh, God. I'm a dead man."

His tone was light, but dread still chilled her at his careless words. "Don't say that!"

His eyes were puzzled. "Huh?"

"It's bad luck. Don't ever say that again. Please. Ever."

He started to speak, stopped himself, and gave her a brief, crooked smile. He pulled her into his arms again. "OK," he said gently. "Sorry."

She squeezed him tightly, until her arms shook with the strain.

"Let's get one thing clear," he said, stroking her back tenderly. "When you go to drink your tequila shots and dance on tabletops in your leather mini-skirt, I get to come along. With my gun."

She giggled against his chest. "Oh, please."

"I mean it," he said sternly. "No banks, though. There I draw the line. I'm sworn to uphold law and order and all that garbage."

"Don't worry," she said. "One jailbird in the family is enough."

Connor went rigid in her arms. The air in the room was suddenly chilly against her damp skin.



Connor dropped his arms. Erin scrambled to her feet. "I'll, urn, just jump in the shower," she babbled. "I'll be right out."

She scurried into the bathroom. The door slammed.

Connor wandered around the room, trying to breathe away the tension in his gut. He stared at the corkboard over her desk. Photos and postcards were push-pinned all over it. Erin and Ed on a ski trip, squinting and sunburned. His arm was flung over her shoulder. They were laughing.

He realized that he was rubbing his scarred thigh, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw throbbed.

The phone rang. He decided not to touch it. She had a machine. If it was Cindy, he would pick up. Otherwise, it would be suicide to touch the thing.