Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(56)

“Liz.”

“Hurry.”

“I don’t want to hurt—”

She cut him off with a kiss and moved her hips and—

Pain and pleasure speared through her. She gasped and gripped his shoulders.

“Oh, God.” She closed her eyes and surged against him, loving the pressure and the pain and the hot, hard friction of him.

He clutched her hips. The stubble of his beard scraped her tender breasts as he kissed her and nipped at her and she set a rhythm.

“Derek,” she gasped. “Oh, my God.”

“Tell me when.” He said it through gritted teeth, but she couldn’t respond.

She couldn’t do anything but urge him to keep going and going and—

“Tell me.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, rocking her hips against him again and again. “Yes.”

He bucked under her, and there was a white-hot burst, and her body shuddered and convulsed as she crashed against him. And then it was like the earth rose up beneath her, and he flipped her onto her back, and he was driving her up, up, up, all over again. She couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. She could only cling to him and dig her nails into his back as he plunged into her over and over and the tremors started again. They took over her body, and just as she couldn’t take another moment, another instant, he pulled back and gave a final, powerful thrust and fell against her.

She lay beneath him, too stunned to speak or even move. Not that she could have with his weight pinning her against the mattress. She shifted her hips, and he pushed up on his arms and then flopped onto his back with a groan.

She watched him, her pulse still roaring in her ears and her body throbbing.

“Holy Christ, Liz.” He turned to look at her.

She didn’t say anything, and he got up and disappeared into the bathroom briefly. When he rejoined her in bed, she scooted close, resting her head on his biceps. Because it felt natural. It seemed like the thing to do. She flattened her hand on his chest and felt his heart pounding against her palm.

Her mind reeled. For nearly a year, she’d talked herself out of this, she’d stayed away, she’d resisted. And then he’d shown up tonight, and she’d attached herself to him like a limpet. She’d practically jumped his bones, and now he surely knew how pathetically long it had been since she’d had sex with someone.

She looked at the sheen of sweat on his skin. At least, he’d exerted himself, too. He pulled her closer, and she felt a swell of emotion as she traced her finger over his muscular arm.

“Is that . . . glitter?”

He slid a look at her. “Huh?” He glanced at his arm. “Oh, yeah. From Lexi. She had it on when I saw her.”

“And she just . . . happened to shed it on you?”

“It probably rubbed off accidentally.” He squinted at her, then propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at her. “You’re pissed.”

“Not at all.” She hated the snark in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. She was lying here naked, and now all she could picture was some dancer with her doubleD cups rubbing glitter on him. She glanced down at her own chest—perfectly average Bs, thank you very much—and suddenly realized every light in the room was blazing.

“Hey.” Derek smiled down at her, clearly enjoying her petty jealousy. “I didn’t touch her. Not like that.”

“It’s fine. Could you turn off the light please?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s almost four in the morning.”

“You’re not planning to sleep, are you?” His smile widened, and she felt a maddening rush of heat.

She sat up and reached for the lamp herself, bumping her head against his chin.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry,” she said, not sorry at all as she plunged the room into darkness.

He hauled her on top of him and shifted her hips until she was straddling his lap, and she felt his hot mouth close over her nipple.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, making his way down her body. “I can work in the dark.”





Chapter Sixteen





Elizabeth awoke disoriented. Her eyes felt swollen, her limbs heavy. She squinted at the man sprawled beside her, and everything came back in a flood of erotic images.

She glanced at the clock. The room was gray. Light seeped through the gap in the curtains, and she looked at Derek again. He lay on his stomach with his head turned away, but the slow rise and fall of his torso told her he was sound asleep.

She watched him breathing, still dazed by what had happened. He’d woken her up again and again, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Four times in three hours. She hadn’t known men were capable of that. At least, not with her.

In the privacy of the dim light, she sat up and allowed herself to really look at him unguarded for the first time. She studied his muscled arms, his wide shoulders, the deep valley of his spine, where she saw the faint scratches she’d made with her fingernails. He had a scar on his back that she hadn’t noticed before, a diagonal slash beneath his left shoulder blade that had to have been made by a knife.

Her blood chilled. Had he gotten it in training? Or in hand-to-hand combat with someone who actually wanted him dead? The thought of it made her heart squeeze. She silently slipped out of bed and reached for her crumpled blouse on the floor.