The Vanishing Stair (Truly Devious #2)(63)

“I told you this morning you are so damn hot you could probably set the house on fire,” Slater said. “I was wrong.”

“Were you?” she asked.

“We’ll be lucky if the whole damn town doesn’t go up in flames tonight.”

She laughed and tightened her grip on him. He gave a low growl and came down on top of her, flattening her onto her back and pinning her to the bed. He took her mouth again, insisting on a response. She dug her nails into the skin of his back.

He stroked one hand down the length of her to the inside of her thigh. She knew she was melting. When he clamped his hand around her core she closed her eyes and lifted her hips off the bed.

“So wet,” he said against her throat. “For me.”

She was beyond speech now so she twisted against his hand, demanding ever more intimate contact. He stroked her until she would have screamed had she been able to draw enough breath. The tension built rapidly deep inside her. She clutched at him, demanding more.

When he slid two fingers deep inside her she convulsed. The climax rolled through her in waves.

He guided himself into her before she had finished, sinking deep. It was too much. She was sure that she would shatter. A second wave rippled through her.

He surged into her again and again. The muscles of his back were granite hard. She wrapped her legs around him. His release slammed through him. She heard his muffled roar and realized that he had buried his face in the pillow beside her to quiet the sound.

They collapsed together into the sweat-dampened sheets.

Catalina opened her eyes and looked up at the shadowed ceiling. They had not set the house or the town on fire, but it had been a very close call.





CHAPTER 28


He lay quietly, aware of the satisfying warmth and softness of Catalina’s curves, the primal scents of lovemaking in the atmosphere and the utter relaxation that was flooding his body. It occurred to him that he could not remember the last time he had felt this Zen-like sense of inner balance. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he had never experienced it, not even before the disaster six months earlier.

“Oomph.” Catalina’s voice was muffled.

“What?”

“You have to move,” Catalina said. “This is a very small bed and you are taking up most of it.”

He realized she was wriggling underneath him.

“Sorry,” he said.

Reluctantly he rolled off her.

… And slid off the edge of the narrow mattress. He landed on the floor.

“Slater.” Catalina sat up quickly, holding the sheet to her throat. “Are you okay?”

“Yes and no.” He got to his feet. “I am definitely awake. You’re right. That is a very narrow bed. Be back in a minute.”

He wandered into the tiny bathroom and spent a few minutes inside. When he returned to the bedroom he saw that Catalina was on her feet, pulling on her pajamas. A wave of regret welled up inside him.

“I take it you’re not into enjoying the postcoital glow thing?” he said.

She flashed him a smile that lit up the shadows. “Is that what you call it?”

“For want of a more eloquent phrase.”

“Just so you know, I am enjoying it.” She slid her feet into some fluffy slippers. “Enormously. How long does it last?”

“What?”

“It’s the first time I’ve experienced it,” she said. She headed for the door. “I’m not sure what to expect.”

She went out into the hall. He gathered up his clothes and went after her.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To your bed. It’s a double. Much bigger than mine.”

His mood abruptly reversed course. Once again he was in his new happy place, the territory that he had just discovered and could not wait to explore.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” he said.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, eyes sultry, mysterious and inviting.

“I just did,” she said.

She went into the darkened bedroom she had given him earlier, kicked off her slippers, removed her pajamas and burrowed under the sheet and the heavy quilt.

His night was getting better by the minute.

He dumped his clothes onto the nearest chair and climbed into bed. He pulled her into his arms so that she sprawled on top of him.

“What did you mean when you said you hadn’t ever experienced a postcoital glow?” he asked.

She folded her arms on top of his chest and watched him with her witchy eyes.

“I’ve always had a problem in this department,” she said. “No, that’s not right. Men usually have a problem with me when it comes to this kind of thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Some of them are convinced that I’m in the dominatrix business, which, while it certainly has some novelty appeal, gets awfully boring after a while, at least from my end. Then there are those who think I should get counseling to help me learn how to have an orgasm. But I actually do know how to do that.”

“Because you’re smart.”

“Right. All it took was a little research online and a small battery-powered appliance. But I think it’s safe to say that the most common reason I’ve had a problem in this department is because a lot of men decide I’m just flat-out scary in bed. They decide I’m a control freak, but that’s not really the issue.”