Perfect Gravity (Wanted and Wired #2)(56)

“Shh, princess,” he murmured against her mouth, around the edges of that kiss. “You don’t need to explain anything else to me. And you for damn sure got my permission.”

He was wrong; she did need to explain. She really did. But what she needed even more was this, his hands on her body, his touch. Oh God, the touching. She soaked it up like vitamin D, vital, necessary, the sort of thing that made her ill with its lack. Now an ocean of it poured over her, and she waded through the onslaught of bliss. She let it knock her over and wash all her best intentions away.

He tasted perfect, man and heat and want. Desert sand and library binding glue. Okay, maybe she didn’t really know what binding glue tasted like, but all those delicious things they’d done in the library were seared on her brain, and studies had shown that taste and smell were strongly related, so if she recalled the one, the other followed automatically. Wasn’t that how the synaesthetes all said it worked?

Also…he had stopped. What?

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, still with that nipple-perking slow-sugar smile, but now a shadow of concern had drifted over his face. It fell between them. Well, that was not acceptable.

“You went away for a while,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I do that sometimes. All the thoughts… Know what? Let’s start over. I can do this right.” She could. Had she not been trained in this exact thing? Not in sex performance, per se, but in making her body fit her thoughts and making both of those fit her emotions. Forcing the symmetry. Making others believe. She was good at it. Best of the best. Queen of the world.

“Are you worried about the car still? ’Cause I have it on good authority that letting the control rig take us in is perfectly safe.”

“No, I’m not worried about the car.” Of course she wasn’t. She had been in so many cars in so many parts of the world, she couldn’t list them, not even with her near-perfect memory. Would saying that sound terribly self-important?

“What are you worried about?”

I’m worried because I married a man who broke me. Because I’m no longer complete, definitely not the girl you remember. I can do so many things I couldn’t then, but not the right things. Not the things you would love.

“This is a dumb thing for someone my age to admit, but I just don’t have a lot of experience here. With, you know, sex in a car. Or really sex anywhere.” There. Bald enough? God, honesty was some uncomfortable shit.

“Second thoughts? Because this doesn’t have to happen. Or doesn’t have to happen tonight.”

“Oh, please, Kellen. I want it. All of it. Swears. I’m just a goddamn freak of nature, okay?” Sudden anger zinged through her body, twining with the electric need he lit in her. Sparks frazzled her extremities; her heartbeat thudded. On the edge of that fury and still holding his gaze, she reached up and nudged her hairpiece off its hooks. She pulled it down into her lap, knowing what she looked like without it. Knowing that the metal psych-emitter net made her nearly bald head look mechanical. Look wrong.

It was that scene in The Empire Strikes Back, the original sacred trilogy, where Darth Vader removes his helm and movie-watchers realize that he’s not a badass space villain, just a sad, scarred lieutenant whose magic might not be limitless after all. Had Kellen even seen that old movie, down in the piney woods of East Texas hickville? If she referenced it, would he have a clue what she was talking about?

He inspected her head for a long time, finally raising a hand to stroke the fine fuzz at her temples, along her brow line. She resisted the urge to mewl and lean into his touch. Instead she ground her molars and hoped he couldn’t see how weird this made her feel.

Even uncomfortable, this was touch. Connection. Kindness. And his. She needed it. And feared it.

What if she couldn’t stand it? What if she got the emotions wrong?

She had laughed when mech-Daniel had tried to kill her. That had been, uh, inappropriate. Wrong. Wrong reaction. Out of practice, out of bounds, out of chances. Bad.

“You do know you’re still beautiful, right?” Kellen said, wresting her from the self-flagellation of memory.

“What?”

He warmed her all over with a smile, that smile. The one she remembered. “Well, I figure you were trying to shock me or somethin’, removing your hairdo like that. Just want to let you know that I’m still here. Ain’t running. In fact, can I…” He moved his hand back, stroking her head, metal and all.

Holy shit. “Oh, yes, you can,” she breathed. “If I were a cat, I would so be purring right now.”

He reached half behind his body and tapped something on the control screen. Nothing in the speed or direction of the car shifted, but Angela’s seat hummed low and reclined, elongating her body, laying it down for his perusal. His pleasure. “Go ahead, then. Let it all out. I got you.”

Let what out, though? What was the right response? What was she…

Oh wow. Just wow. He arced over her, dipped his chin in and kissed her again, long and sweet, working his tongue against hers until it felt like her insides were melting, curling toward him, lava going downhill, trailing clouds of fire. The volcano metaphor wasn’t too far off for the rest of it, either, because when his hand dropped to her knee, spread along the sensitive skin right at the back there, and then traveled upward—squirm-inducingly slow and warm and delicious—she could no longer contain the seismic ripples. Her body hummed, vibrated until it was superheated. Molten at the core.