Archangel's Shadows (Guild Hunter #7)(103)

When she reached down and stroked him through his jeans, he broke the kiss to press his forehead to hers, his breathing strained. “Ashwini.” A hoarse whisper. “I have no defenses against you.”

Seduced, intoxicated, she tugged down the zipper, wanting to feel him in her hand, to pleasure him as he did her with his every touch. “You’re not wearing underwear.” She used her teeth to tug on the lobe of his ear. “I should’ve known.”

Gripping the back of her neck, he kissed her again as she closed her fingers around the thick heat of his erection. His cock felt like iron, but his skin there, it was so delicate, so fine. Fascinated, her own pulse a hammer and her blood so scalding it was near ignition, she stroked gently to the tip, felt the wetness there. Her next stroke slicked that bead of wetness over him, turned his body even more rigid.

“Harder.” It was a harsh murmur against her ear.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

He chuckled. “There is a reason orgasm is called la petite mort.” Closing his hand over hers, he showed her a rhythm so rough she would’ve never done it on her own. But since he’d asked . . .

Releasing her on a groan when she proved an apt pupil, he locked his hand in her hair, kissed her, deep and voracious and raw. It was mouth sex and it scrambled her neurons. Her hand, though, it knew what to do, did it fast and hard until he broke off the kiss to throw back his head, muscle and tendon standing out in stark relief as his hips pumped into the fist of her fingers.





38


Ashwini looked down, watched him come for her, and it was the most erotic sight she’d seen in her life. When his muscles relaxed, she released him to bite at his throat, over his pulse. He shivered, then nuzzled at her, one hand cupping the side of her face. His eyes were lazy, his body languid as he walked her backward.

When the bed hit the backs of her knees, she fell onto it with a gasp. “My hand,” she murmured to the delicious man above her, one who looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed and was ready to crawl back in—with her.

A smile that was pure male. “I’ll take care of it.” Zipping up just enough to keep his jeans on, he moved with vampiric speed, was back from the bathroom in the time it took for her to inhale, the stickiness on her hand an erotic reminder of their intimacy.

Using a wet facecloth to wipe it off, he dropped the cloth over the side of the bed. “I’m not always so . . . civilized,” he said afterward, lifting one of her legs and pulling off her boot and sock. “Would you wear me on your skin?” Kissing her ankle, he put down that leg and picked up her other one.

Ashwini, her breathing less than even, found herself watching the way the muscles of his abdomen flexed and eased as he took off her other boot and sock. He looked up and, smiling, stepped between her thighs and braced himself with his palms on either side of her. Coming down in an effortless move, biceps taut, he flicked his tongue over her lips in a wet tease.

“You’re hot, sugar.”

“Yes.”

“You should take off your jacket.”

“That’s not the kind of heat I’m talking about.” Her body felt as if it were melting from the inside out, her bones honey. However, when he pushed back into a standing position again, she sat up and shrugged off her jacket, as well as the thin sweater she’d pulled on directly over her bra.

Janvier moved with that dangerous, beautiful speed again, his hands on her waist before she’d pushed the strands of hair off her face. Picking her up, he dropped her higher on the bed, so that her legs were no longer half hanging off the side.

It should’ve scared her, the evidence of his strength. Without her weapons, she’d never take him. But she wasn’t scared, not of Janvier, never of him. She welcomed him as he joined her on the bed, his shoulders blocking out the light. With his jeans barely hanging on to his hips, she had plenty of gorgeous male flesh to explore with her hands while he tasted and licked her throat.

Bracing himself on one forearm, he tugged down the cup of her bra. Her breasts were ordinary size; she’d never win a wet T-shirt contest. But Janvier groaned and dipped his head to suck not just her nipple but part of her breast into his mouth.

Spine arching, she thrust the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle her scream as he sucked. Each hot, wet pull went straight to her core. Her panties were so wet she could feel her arousal threatening to soak through her jeans. She didn’t care. Holding him to her, she undulated her body toward his in an attempt to rub up against the delicious friction of his cock.

When he lifted his head, she said, “No.”

Dropping a kiss to her nipple, he shifted his attention to her other breast and it was just as good. It tightened her stomach muscles, made her thighs clench around him. “Janvier.”

“Let me, ma belle sorcière.”

She gave in, allowed him to do what he would, and was panting so hard by the time he lifted his head again that she had no breath to form words. Janvier stroked his hand down her ribs, then reached underneath and up to undo her bra clasp. When that proved difficult with her on her back, he grinned at her. “I’ll replace it.” Lace and cotton tore and her top half was nude to him.

Stroking her, shoulder to thigh, he kissed her mouth, her jaw, whispering sweet, dirty things in her ear that had her hips rising toward him even before he undid her jeans and slid his hand inside her panties. The shock of contact would’ve lifted her off the bed if he hadn’t been pinning her down with his body.