White Hot (Hidden Legacy #2)(108)

The velvet touch of magic between my legs grew warm, then hot, so hot I could barely stand it. It pulled me out of my drowsy bliss into awareness.

He paused over me, muscles tight on his chest and stomach, blue eyes dark, and pulled me to him, lifting my legs onto his shoulders. His warm fingers stroked my skin as he ran his hands down the length of my legs, his touch sending shivers through me.

The last echoes of the orgasm finally faded.

He planted his hands on my thighs and thrust into me.

Oh my God.

I cried out, tilting my hips, trying to take in the whole length of him. He thrust again and again, hard, relentless, dominant, every slide of his cock sending a jolt of pleasure I could feel all the way in the base of my neck. His magic seared me. All of my nerves were on fire. I gasped with each stroke. I was hot and so wet, and he kept pumping, his magic caressing my body in a steady rhythm.

Pressure began to build inside of me.

He pushed my legs apart, wrapped them around his back, and then he was on top of me. I writhed under him, trying to match his rhythm. His muscular golden body caged mine, all those muscles contracting tight, devoted to a single movement.

Ecstasy drowned me. My body contracted, trying to milk his shaft. Climax shook me again.

He growled, holding still. His eyes told me my orgasm was rolling through him and it was about to drag him under into his own release. He fought against it and pulled back.

Wave after wave of pleasure rocked me. I couldn’t even move anymore. I just lay there, limp and shaking, until it faded.

His lips were on my neck. He kissed me and pulled me on top of him, and then I was straddling his hips. He was looking at me as if I were the most beautiful woman in the world.

I reached for his hands, locked my fingers with his, and rode him. We moved in perfect rhythm, making love as if our bodies were meant to be together.

His magic wound around me. I leaned into it, my shoulders back, letting it claim me.

He was thrusting into me.

I felt the climax build. It broke like a wave. I shuddered, feeling the hardness of him inside me, and slumped on his shoulders, boneless, breathing deep, done. Sated and happier than I had ever been in my life.

He locked his arms around me and emptied himself inside me with a short rough growl. A burst of pleasure consumed me, so intense everything else paled before it, and I realized I was feeling the echo of his orgasm.

We stayed like that, pressed together, arms around each other.

Slowly Rogan lowered me onto the bed. I curled into a ball and he wrapped himself around me and pulled a sheet over us. I wanted to stay awake, to enjoy the feeling of him holding me, but instead I yawned and fell asleep.



When I woke up, the first thing I felt was Rogan next to me.

He nuzzled my neck, his hand stroking my stomach. “Are you alive?”

“The jury is still out.” I tried to smile. Pain shot through my face and I winced. “Ow.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, the painkillers wore off.” I tried to gently turn over and instead managed to hurt my whole right side. “Ow.” I finally flopped on my back.

He reached over carefully and brushed the hair from my face. Anger stirred in his eyes. “I’m an asshole.”

“You just now figured that out?”

“I should have waited.”

I gave him my best come-hither look. My puffy eyes probably made it look really stupid. “That wasn’t your decision.”

“Yes, it was.”

“What was the alternative? Leave me standing naked in your living room? Because shoes were only the first step. My clothes were coming off.”

“The alternative would’ve been not jumping you and dragging you into my bedroom like some sort of Neanderthal.”

I kissed him. “Foolish, foolish Rogan.”

“Don’t start,” he warned me.

“You realize that you will never be able to hear me say that without thinking about sex?”

He shook his head. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but that changes nothing. Anytime you say anything, I think about sex. Anytime I see you, I think about sex.”

I caressed his face. “Am I that sexy with my bruised face and messy hair?”

He kissed me, his touch light and tender. “Yes.”

“Let me see your back,” I said.

He sat up and turned. His whole back was raw. He looked like somebody had dragged him across a stretch of asphalt behind a car.

I groaned. “I should’ve put some clothes on you.”

“You should’ve left me.” He turned around and leaned closer to me. “The next time I tell you to leave me, you will go, do you understand?”

“No. I’ll do whatever I think is right.” The next time . . .

“What?” he asked.

“Will there be a next time?”

“There might be,” he said. “This mess isn’t finished. It’s a dangerous game and we’re in it now. There is no backing out.”

The memory of him limp in the circle came to me. I remembered my hands on David Howling’s head. It was too much. I covered my face with my hands.

“Don’t,” he said quietly.

“Rogan, I snapped a man’s neck with my bare hands. I don’t even know how I did it.”

“Well,” he said. “You did it well. Too well even.”