Falling Light (Game of Shadows #2)(69)

He followed her urging, shifting his position until he lay over her again, his weight on both elbows while she held him poised at her swollen, wet entrance. She rubbed the thick tip of his c**k against her, moistening him and heightening her own pleasure.

He sank both fists into the sheets on either side of her head, shaking all over. “Goddamn,” he hissed. “Goddamn.”

“Don’t you come,” she breathed in his ear. “Don’t you do it.”

Listen to them. They almost sounded like they were arguing. It was the best kind of struggle, the best argument, unbelievably sharp and delicious. He bit at the delicate curve of her ear, the light, stinging nip conveying his urgency.

She raked the fingernails of one hand down the wide, tense curve of his powerful back. At the same time, she lifted her hips and groaned, “Now.”

He surged into her, swearing a low litany in her ears, and he didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt inside of her. Then he froze.

She made a disappointed sound and wriggled against him, longing to reach for that sharp spike of pleasure again.

He gripped her hip and said sharply, “Mary.”

She exploded into laughter, threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. “It’s okay. Just do it.”

He growled, cut loose and f**ked her, driving in long, hard strokes. She slammed back against the mattress, and the wildness was so exhilarating, she stretched both arms over her head and whined high in the back of her throat. She used to have absolutely no interest in sex or making love. How she had ever thought she might be frigid, she had no idea, because this was so bloody fabulous, she could barely stop from screaming.

Then he put a hand between them and found her sweet spot. Still f**king her, he worked her with his fingers, and she lost all vestige of control. She bucked underneath him and clawed at his shoulders. There was light shining in her eyes.

No, that wasn’t light, it was Michael’s spirit. The tiger that lived in his human body roared at her in a wild frenzy.

She convulsed into the most savage climax she had ever experienced. The peak hit her—body and mind—and she froze in incredulity. It was the whitest, purest light. It rolled out of her and into him.

Then he twisted and bucked on her, and his own highest point doubled back on her. They fed it back and forth to each other as they rocked together. It was very slow to die away.

“What the hell,” he whispered in awe.

She was shaking. He was shaking. They were wrapped around each other so tightly, she didn’t know where her skin left off and became his.

Love. In love. The words simply didn’t encompass the reality of this.

“I just have no words for what you mean to me.” Tears spilled out the corners of her eyes.

He covered the back of her head with one big hand, and gripped her even tighter. “Jesus, woman,” he said from the back of his throat. “Neither do I.”

Chapter Twenty-four

AFTERWARD, MARY DIDN’T fall back asleep so much as plunge into blackness.

She was the first one to awaken, and awareness felt pure and new. She opened her eyes to discover light streaming in through a crack between the dark, heavy curtains. The digital alarm clock said that it was close to noon. They had slept the morning away.

Michael lay sprawled on his stomach beside her, his arm lying across her torso. She settled her pillow into a new position and scooted up the bed until her head and shoulders were propped against the headboard.

Michael roused long enough to curl around her body. She tucked the covers around his shoulders, noting the red scratches she had left on his skin. He fell back to sleep, this time with both an arm and a leg draped over her, head pillowed on her narrow shoulder. Alert and at peace, she rested with her arms around him.

She could hear Astra moving around the cabin. Cabinet doors opened and closed in the kitchen.

Then, very quietly, the knob on their door moved. The door eased open, and Astra peered inside. The light from the large central common room shone through the thin white nimbus of hair around her head. There was something poised about that shabby, skinny figure, an alert listening attitude in how she held her head.

Mary led her eyelids fall. She watched the older woman between the veil of her eyelashes with a potent cocktail of emotions.

Astra looked like a shadow puppet, held together by pins and wishes. Was there also a forlorn, wistful air about the little old woman? Or did she project an extrapolation of her own self onto Astra?

Behind that shadow puppet was an entity Mary thought she loved, or at least it was someone she had loved once. Now she needed, respected and pitied the older woman, but she also couldn’t quite bring herself to trust Astra.

I don’t know how you can bear to be who you are, Mary thought, taking care to keep the thought locked within the privacy of her own head. She wondered if Astra could see that her eyes were open. The thought unsettled her even further. If so, they were staring at each other in silence, like two opponents sizing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. A chill washed through her.

Michael’s head rested against the bare curve of her collarbone. She felt the whispery brush of his eyelashes as he opened his eyes.

In a quiet move, Astra closed the door and walked away from the bedroom.

Mary expelled a shaky breath. Michael’s arm tightened around her. He put a finger at the racing pulse in her neck. He whispered, “What’s wrong?”