Killer Affair. Cindy Dees
she wasn’t making any aggressive move to remove herself from the circle of his arms.
He let her off the hook and announced in a tone that brooked no argument, “You’re lying back down here on the couch, and I’m moving over to that armchair and not budging until I hear you snoring.”
She laughed. “I don’t snore!”
“I bet you do.”
“Do not,” she retorted indignantly.
He grinned down at her. Better. “I’ll let you know.” He let go of her and went to stand. But he hadn’t counted on the lady having other ideas.
“Don’t move,” she whispered, looping her arms around his neck.
“But—”
She cut him off. “I want to listen to your heart beat. It lets me know you’re really alive. When I was swimming to shore—I didn’t know if we would live or die—I was so scared—and it was so dark…”
She’d had some sort of drowning scare? When was that? She was talking as if he already knew about it. Dammit. She’d no doubt confessed all the gory details while he was drunk off his ass. Unfortunately, he wasn’t one of those men who got loud and obnoxious when he was wasted. People often mistook him for being much more sober than he was.
Maybe her big scare was how he’d gotten her into the sack with him in the first place. He’d played the “I can keep you safe, little lady” card. And at one point, that might have been true. Before Arielle got killed—stabbed to death by a stalker fan—when he’d been in charge of her security detail.
Careful not to promise to protect her, he thought and gathered Maddie close. “You’re safe now. Everything’s fine.”
Except apparently, everything was not fine. She wriggled in his arms until he turned her loose. He expected her to climb out of his lap, but noooo…she threw her left leg across his hips and straddled him. Right there on the couch. Groin to groin. Pressing down on him just like she would if they were making love. Only a few pieces of flimsy cloth kept him from plunging up into her wet, tight heat, of sliding her up and down his length until he forgot everything and exploded…
Jeez! What the hell was wrong with him tonight?
She laid her right ear against his heart and stilled, listening intently. And for some reason, it was one of the sexiest things a woman had ever done to him. Maybe because it was real. A reaching out for human connection at the most fundamental level of existence. Confirmation of a simple heartbeat. And it all but pushed him over the edge.
“We’re alive,” she murmured in awe. “Both of us.”
Ohh-kay. Poor kid had definitely had some sort of major fright recently. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbled. “Alive. Miraculous, isn’t it?” More like a nightmare from where he sat, but he wasn’t going to quibble with her about the relative benefits of being alive or dead while she was straddling him like a cowgirl about to ride him until his knees buckled.
“It’s a wild thing inside me, this feeling of having cheated death.”
Oh, Lord. He knew exactly the sensation she was talking about. It tore through a person like chain lightning, making every inch a soul tingle, every nerve jangle on edge, every breath a triumph. Blood pounded through him, hot and thick, and abruptly he could count his pulse in the throbbing of his male flesh, so hard and needy he couldn’t stand it.
Gritting his teeth against an urge to throw her down and drive himself into her until they both screamed, he managed to force out, “Honey, you’re going to have to climb off me or be prepared to do something about where you’re sitting because I’m about to have some serious self-control issues.”
She laughed. She laughed!
A noise escaped the back of his throat. Whether a growl or a groan, he couldn’t exactly say. But it made her jerk her head up off his chest and stare at him, startled, her eyes big and wide and…have mercy…aware.
He actually saw her breath hitch. Her chest started to lift, then hesitated, then finished the breath. He closed his eyes in pain. Must. Not. Do. This.
She made a little sound, a soft, “Oh,” that shot through him like a fifty-thousand-volt taser. And then she leaned forward as if to kiss him. Except the movement also had the effect of rocking her gently against parts of him that didn’t need any more rocking at the moment. She froze, her pupils black in the subtle, and suddenly unbearably sensual, light suffusing the room.
He muttered, “Yeah. That.”
She melted on top of him, flowing over him like warm honey, her body softening and relaxing against his. Her hands slid over his shoulders to toy with the short hairs at the back of his neck. Her breasts came to rest against him, hard nipples cushioned in the gently resilient softness of her breasts. Her thighs opened wider, pressing her even more firmly against him.
He closed his eyes. Threw his head back against the sofa cushions in an agony of need so great he barely noticed his back protesting. And damned if she didn’t lick his throat. She really had to quit that licking bit unless she planned to lick all of him. Soon. Hands tugged at his head, drawing it forward once more. And then she was kissing him, her mouth open and wet and inviting. How could a guy say no to being eaten alive like this?
His own adrenaline rush answered hers. He had no idea where it came from, but it tore through him like a tornado. With her body surfing his, sliding across him with her mouth—with her whole self—he rose up to meet her helplessly.
Her hands fumbled at his waist, untying the drawstring of his shorts. She lifted up enough to slide them down his hips, and then he was spilling into her hands, hard and hot and jumping beneath her touch.
“Oh, my,” she sighed.
She had to quit that sighing thing, too. It was driving him out of his mind. He reached forward, lifting the hem of her—his—shirt off her. She rose out of his lap, a naked nymph called forth from the heart of nature, perfect. Ethereal. Beautiful. Her breasts were high and firm, not large, but beautifully shaped. With a chest like that, she ought to walk around topless all the time. He restrained the urge to reach for the pale mounds and just looked at them, savoring the way they rose and fell with her rapid, shallow breathing. His gaze traced the slim inward curve of her waist, the gentle flare of her hips, the shadowed place where their bodies met.
“Well, touch me, already!” she demanded.
He glanced up at her, startled. And grinned. “Sorry. I was enjoying the view.”
She leaned down and kissed him voraciously, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw his undivided attention to her mouth. Vixen. He slid a hand up to the back of her head under her silky hair, anchoring her in place as he took control of the kiss, plunging his tongue inside her mouth. It tasted of the ocean, salty and primeval. It called him home. He sucked at her, drinking in her sighs, devouring the taste of her, the smooth slide of her tongue against his, the way she surged against him.
He skimmed his fingertips down her body, and she stretched sinuously under the light caress, inflaming the inferno already raging inside him. “Yup, you’re definitely alive,” he murmured.
She arched her back, rocking her hips against his provocatively. Except now there was nothing between them, just hot, slick flesh on hot, slick flesh.
He leaned forward, wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up and away from him. “Are you sure about this?” he murmured.
“I’m not sure about anything except that by some miracle we made it. We’re here. We’re alive.”
He could wait no longer. He plunged into all that vibrant exuberance and groaned when she cried out in joy. His buttocks clenched until they nearly cramped, driving him up and into all that heat and energy, hot and tight upon him and around him. He touched her very core, and it pulsed against him once. Twice. He surged beneath her, drawn into her as if