The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(56)

There was a front clasp.

Which, in his current frame of mind, was a clear sign that the Creator was a benevolent force in the world.

“I have to see you,” Assail groaned as he released the fastening.

The cups fell off to the side and he gasped as he ran his palm down the center of her body. His mouth was a greedy seeker as he pleasured her, sucking her tips in and giving himself up to the sounds she made, and the taste of her, and the fact that that scent of her sex was making his head hum—in a good way.

She was wearing blue jeans and he took his time stripping them and her panties off her long, muscled legs. His hands traveled the length of her, stroking her as he went back to attend to her breasts. And he stopped only when she tried to get under the loose scrubs that covered him.

“I don’t…I want to keep those on,” he said in a rough voice.

“All right. But not on my account.”

He shook his head, thinking about what he’d seen in the mirror at the clinic. “How can you say that?”

“Because it’s you.” She smiled up at him, and touched his face. “It’s still you.”

“Fates, Marisol, there is so much more that I want to do with you—but I do not know how long I’ll have my energy.”

“Don’t worry. Anything with you will be amazing.”

A sudden wellspring of emotion made him tear up, but that was so not sexy. Just like his body, his bald head, his…

And yet Marisol was lying back in his pathetic, scrawny arms, staring up at him as if he were a god.

That was love, was it not.

When he couldn’t speak and didn’t move, her brows tightened. “What is it?”

Assail cleared his throat. “There are so many ways to tell someone that you care for them.”

“Yes”—she stroked his face some more—“there are.”

Marisol brought him to her mouth, pulling him on top of her. As he settled between her thighs, he could feel her heat, and he fumbled to get the waistband of the scrubs down over his erection. His sex kept getting in the way, however, the one thing on his body that had not been subject to shrinking size.

Thank Fates.

“Goddamn it—”

“Here, let me help—”

The two of them went for the tie on the scrubs like the thing held the key to the gates of paradise, their hands tripping and tangling, him leaning back until he fell off of her. Sometime along the way, the absurdity of it all hit him and he started to laugh—and then she joined in.

“What did you tie this with?” she said. “A winch and a crane?”

“Scissors!” he a-ha’d. “We need scissors!”

“Where?”

“Bathroom?”

Marisol scrambled naked off the bed, and he twisted so he could enjoy the view as she went into that bathroom on a mission from God. He had an impulse to will the lights on over the sinks to help her, but he caught himself. Besides, watching her naked body move was the most beautiful dance he’d ever seen, whether it was in the light or the shadows.

When she came back, triumphant, he smiled. “You know, I suddenly am glad I didn’t do a bow.”

Marisol straddled him at his thighs. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I know. And I can assure you, I am enjoying this.”

Placing his hands behind his head, he had a momentary lapse as his palms got a tactile reminder that he was now bald—but then she was using those sharp, steel scissors on the tenacious fabric knot.

“This is a huge turn-on,” he drawled.

“I agree.” She winked at him. “Almost got it—there!”

As she stretched to put their rescuer on the bedside table, he took the opportunity to find her nipple with his lips—and she ended up dropping the scissors just short of goal.

“Do we care they’re on the floor,” she gasped.

“No,” he said around his mouthful.

This time, when he went to push the scrubs out of the way, they went without a problem, and Marisol sat back.

As they both looked at his erection, he said dryly, “May I just point out that my weight loss appears to have had no effect on that portion of my anatomy?”

Marisol laughed, and then she took him in hand—and now he was the one gasping and rising up for more of her touch.

“Please…” he groaned.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Straddling his hips again, she angled his arousal…and sat down, impaling herself in the most marvelous way.

Assail’s eyes rolled back, and his body drank in the sensation of completeness. “My Marisol…”



* * *



—

It was true, Sola thought as she began to move up and down. Assail had most definitely not lost any girth or length. He filled her and then some, the stretching so incredible, the possession so total, her body was alive in the pleasure.

But she was gentle with him. She kept the rhythm a slow rocking—it was more than enough, though. And he was right there with her, moving to the pace, his arousal sliding in and out of her, the friction so good, it made her pant.

“Marisol…” he said again, his fingers biting into her thighs. “Oh, God…”

His orgasm reverberated up through her and she was not far behind, her own release rippling outward, coloring her with a joy so great she wanted to weep.