The Darkness in Dreams (Enforcer's Legacy, #1)(61)

Her gaze shifted to his hard mouth, the angle softening in the evening shadows. The exhaustion and worry had disappeared from his eyes, replaced with something more intense. “You know what I mean.”

“This?” He rubbed his thumb lightly against the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. “We’re finding out.”

“What?” she whispered.

“If there’s anything more than anger left between us,” he said as his mouth came down on hers.




Resistance fled. Christan anchored her head with both hands and there was only the demand of his mouth, his tongue invading, so familiar she parted her lips. Christan responded, pressing hard against her, his weight heavy and drugging. Lexi made a soft sound in her throat. The sound enraged him. He backed her against the wall, forced his thigh between her legs and dragged her wrists above her head. He pinned them with one hand. With the other, he followed the arch of her throat, the delicate wings of her collarbones, the curve of her breast. His kiss deepened, hard until she thought he was consuming her. Sensations rocked through her, both old and new.

Fierce heat, as his mouth traced the line of her jaw, tiny bites left in his wake before he took her mouth again, his tongue deep and stroking. She remembered his taste, so male—she couldn’t get enough. She tried to lean into him. His hand slid beneath her blouse, cupped her waist before moving with intent to the back of her hips. His palm was hot against her skin. He lifted her, bent his leg slightly and pulled her toward him along the length of his thigh, higher, until she straddled him and her feet were off the ground. Lexi didn’t know if he was rocking or if she was, but the friction between her legs had the breath catching in her throat. The torment increased when he released her wrists and dragged her legs around his hips. Her ankles locked, her fingers gripping his shoulders while he braced his knee against the wall. His eyes were filled with intensity, hot and aggressive. He cupped her breast. His thumb and forefinger pinched, tugged, and her hips moved again while a rough sound rose in her throat. An aching sound. He could do whatever he wanted and she wouldn’t care.

Christan dragged her from the security of the wall and she went with him. When his hands slid beneath her blouse she helped him pull it from her head. The lacy pink bra was next and she was a wild thing without control, trembling with need. Wanting to feel the heat of his flesh, run her fingers over the hard, ridged muscles and touch the tattoos in the intimate way he’d touched her memory lines. Christan needed, too. His shirt was gone and he took her mouth again. A demanding erection pressed against her lower belly, and memories of the way they once were exploded like lightning strikes in a night sky. Jagged. White-hot. They fell to the floor and she was arching up beneath him, whispering, “Please… please.”

When his heavy body rolled over her, predatory energy jumped from his skin and penetrated hers. His hips ground her into the floor, and she could feel the fever in him, heavy and pleasingly rough. Her breath was catching in her throat and she thought she was telling him how to touch her when he used his teeth, lightly tugged her nipple, stroked his tongue to sooth the ache that was not pain. They were devouring each other, drinking in the essence and unable to slake the thirst.

But he wasn’t fast enough and Lexi found the zipper on her jeans, released it and shoved the material down past her hips. She tried to kick the jeans free and failed. They tangled around one ankle. She left them there. More, she just needed more, and that need for him was shocking.

He was not a silent lover. Words she didn’t understand rose in his throat—she thought it was Italian but she didn’t know, didn’t need to know, the intent was clear. The weight of him was intoxicating.

She played her fingers along the waistband of his jeans and Christan rolled, took her with him. His fingers tangled in her hair, gripped her head, guided her mouth against his chest. The scent of his skin ignited tangible, desperate needs and she dragged her tongue across the dark tattoos that writhed beneath the skin. Heard his groan when she traced one dark curling line up to his shoulder and nipped him. It was the most erotic sensation she’d ever experienced, touching those tattoos.

Heat consumed her, filled with fascination, lush desire, drawing her into his strength, his potent masculinity. Memories, wild and sensual, rose untamed in her mind, rushed through her veins and into the most feminine core between her thighs. She bit harder and he thrust against her with such a pagan rhythm fire licked across her skin. She needed him inside so badly she whimpered.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his eyes, like his voice, reflecting rough emotion, an impenetrable truth. She was gripping his shoulders, aware that he was pushing her away. Her body cried. Her eyes burned. He released his grip in her hair.

Somehow, she was on her knees beside him, her body bowing in confusion, and she’d never felt more alone in her life.

The low sound he emitted was nothing but violence and rage as he rose into a crouch.

“Christan—” She reached out, but he pushed her hands away.

“Look at me!”

When she did she saw the immortal in his eyes.

“I can’t do this,” he ground out.

“Why?”

“I have lived a long and violent life, without regret until it comes to you. Look at me—see what I am.” The death of something vital was in that voice. He set her farther away, a reminder that he had little humanity left in him while she was too human. “Do not hope for happy endings with someone as far from you as I am.”