Bone Deep(43)

He barked out a laugh. “June.”

“Huh?”

“It was June Cleaver,” he told her lifting her chin and placing a light kiss on her lips.

“See, I know so little about good mothers, I can’t even get that venerated American example of motherhood correct.”

“You are searching for information. What is on your mind?” he asked her pointedly, trying to ignore the chill in his blood.

She met his gaze. “I want to know all things about you. It is an upsetting discovery and not one I understand. If you’re going to question me about my motives, we can end this.”

Bone made to get up and he halted her, holding her hips tightly and nuzzling her neck.

“I have searched for her out of duty. I’m sure I loved her and looking back she was a decent mother, if a bit distant. There, I answered your questions.” He grinned at her.

She frowned.

He kissed her and it turned hot quickly.

He turned her so she straddled him, his cock hard and jutting between them.

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

She glared at him but eventually she did as he’d demanded. She licked his lips and rolled her hips, the wetness of her * coating the length of his cock in her warmth. His woman was tentative at first and he allowed her to play a while before he became more aggressive. That slow roll thing she did with her hips was stealing his mind. He ground his teeth against the softness of her skin under his palms, the smell of her in his nostrils and the tightness of her clutch so close to his cock. He gave her time to explore and when he could take it no longer he teased her, using his thumb to bring her over before he tapped her hips and she rose.

He placed his cock at her juncture and she impaled herself on him. She was a fast learner and she rode him slowly, thoroughly, lifting up and coming back down slow to grind herself on him. The flex and play of her body would be forever emblazoned in his mind. The ecstasy she stirred with her movements would be something he craved the rest of his life.

She ignored his demand for a kiss and he did not try to force it realizing it might be too much right now. He wrapped an arm around her back and lowered his head instead to her breasts, plumping and suckling the globes until her movements became faster and faster.

The pull of her internal muscles became more than he could bear and by the time she exploded in his arms he was begging her to finish him off. She did and then she gave him her sweet mouth.

He laid them down, side by side but facing each other. Fatigue tugged at him, and he wrapped a hand in her hair to secure her to him. He would never admit to the fear, but he was afraid she would leave him while he slept.

It was what Arrow and Bullet had both done and Dmitry knew Bone had more work to do in Russia.

“Just a little longer, Bone,” he pleaded sleepily.

She snuggled into him and his heart clicked into place before the darkness took him.





Chapter Twelve


She had stayed. Knowing it was past time to leave, she stayed. For him.

“Tell me of Arequipa,” Dmitry whispered at her shoulder.

She woke in his arms, on her back, he on his stomach, one of his legs blanketing both of hers, his arm a delightful weight across her body. It seemed he sought to secure her to him as if he knew she was leaving soon. She had watched him sleep, the light of a full moon caressing the sculpted planes of his face.

He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Everything about him was so perfect as to be chimera. Even his snores endeared the man to her. As she watched him now, his blue eyes went dark, his smile sexual. She tsked him and he rose, pulling her back against his chest and seating her between his legs.

He stroked her all over—there was not a piece of her that had not been marked by Dmitry Asinimov. Both inside and out.

“What is there to tell?” she asked, her stomach tightening and her mind shutting down.

“I would hear it all, Bone. I would know what made you who you are,” he said in her ear.

“Why? I do not understand.”

“So I can fight the demons with you.”

She sighed and the arm around her middle flexed. “Do not let me be important to you, Asinimov. It’s the truth that I will bring nothing pain.”

“That is not all you bring,” he reminded her with a wicked stroke of his tongue up her neck. “Now tell me.”

“You are ever the healer are you not? My sisters told me how you dressed their wounds and cared for them when they were at their weakest. But I am not weak, Dmitry, and I find myself not wanting to hurt you.”

“I trained several years ago as a medic in Russia’s version of basic training. I cannot do much but yes, seeing a woman in pain flips all my switches. I abhor any woman’s pain…but yours makes me violent,” he admitted.

She grabbed his hand and pulled it to her mouth. She licked the knuckles, distraught to find them split, as if he’d recently hit something. He had leveraged no solid punches against her the day before yesterday. “What happened?”

“I hit a wall,” he answered ruefully. “Now tell me what made Bone so hard.”

“You will not let this go?”

“I will not.”

She pushed from his arms and walked to the window.

“Do you want a blanket?” he asked.

She barked out a laugh. “Does my body offend you?”