God, that rough sound was nice first thing in the evening.
His broad hand smoothed down her spine, and his mouth brushed the top of her hip, then her tailbone, then went lower, to the skin of her bottom. 'You look so beautiful like this. I want to have you like this.'
Her eyes flared. 'You can do that?'
'Oh, yeah. I'll go deeper. You want to try?'
'Yes…'
He pulled her hips up farther and settled her weight on all fours, the bed creaking while he repositioned their bodies. As he came in behind her, she looked through her legs. All she saw was his thick thighs and his heavy, hanging sack and his straining arousal. Her core went utterly wet, as if her body knew exactly what was coming.
His chest eased down over her back, and one of his hands appeared beside her head, planting into the mattress as a fist. His forearm flexed and the veins in it thickened as he leaned to the side and brought the head of his erection to the tender skin between her legs. With a little teasing brush, he worked himself back and forth along the outside of her and she knew he was looking at her sex while he did it.
Going by the way he started to shake, he really liked what he saw.
'Marissa… I want to—' He cut himself off with an indistinct curse.
'What?' She twisted a little so she could look up at him around her shoulder.
As he stared down at her, his eyes had that hard, intense gleam he seemed to get when he was serious about sex, but there was something else in them, a glowing need that had nothing to do with their bodies. Instead of explaining himself, he planted his other hand into the bed, eased onto her back and pushed his hips in tight without penetrating her. With a gasp, she dropped her head and watched his arousal shoot straight up through her legs. The tip stretched almost to her belly button.
God, now she knew why he liked to look. Because… yes, she liked the sight of him all aroused, too.
'What were you going to say?' she groaned.
'Baby…' His breath was hot on her neck, his voice a dark, driving demand in her ear. 'Ah, shit, I can't ask you like this.'
His mouth locked onto her shoulder, his teeth pressing into her skin. As she cried out, her elbows went lax, but he caught her before she fell into the mattress, holding her up with an arm between her breasts.
'Ask me…' she panted.
'I would… if I could stop this… but oh, God…'
He pulled back, then entered her, going just as deep as he'd said he would, the powerful surge making her arch her back and call out his name. He started in with that rhythm that drove her wild, but he was still gentle, moving with so much less power than she sensed he could.
She was loving the feel of him, that fullness, that stretching and gliding back, when it dawned on her that they were going to go to work on his body within the hour.
What if this was their last time?
Tears pooled. Matted her lashes. Blinded her. And when he twisted her chin around so he could kiss her, he saw them.
'Don't think about it,' he whispered against her mouth. 'Stay with me in this moment. Stay right here with me.'
Remember this moment. Remember him here…
He pulled out, turned her over, and joined them face-to-face, brushing at her cheeks and kissing her as he kept up with the sex. They peaked at the same time, the pleasure so great, his head went loose on his neck as if he couldn't hold it up any longer.
Afterward, he rolled onto his side and gathered her against his chest. As she listened to the thumping of his heart, she prayed the thing was as strong as it sounded.
'What were you going to say?' she whispered in the dimness.
'Will you be my wife?'
She lifted her head. His hazel eyes were dead serious and she had the feeling he was thinking the same thing she was: Why hadn't they been mated sooner?
The single word left her on a sigh. 'Yes…'
He kissed her softly. 'I want to do it both ways. Your way and in a Catholic church. Would that be all right?'
She touched the cross he wore. 'Absolutely.'
'I wish there was time to—'
The alarm clock started to go off. With a vicious move, he slapped it into silence.
'I guess we need to get up,' she said, moving away a little.
She didn't get far. He pulled her back down to the bed, pinned her with his body, and slipped his hand between her legs.
'Butch—'
He kissed her full on and then said against her mouth, 'Once more for you. Once more, Marissa.'
His gliding, talented fingers left her liquid, her skin and bones melting into him as his mouth went to her breast and he pulled her nipple between his lips. He drove her quickly out of control until she was flushed and gasping, arching into him, enthralled.
Urgent, electric pressure built up and then snapped free in a blaze of current. With loving attention, he helped her ride out the orgasm as she skipped like a flat stone over water, hitting the surface of the pleasure and flying again, only to land and ricochet once more.
The whole time he was above her, watching her with hazel eyes that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
He was going to die tonight. She knew it with total certainty.
John sat in the back of the empty classroom, taking up space in the far corner at his regular, by-his-lonesome table. Training usually started at four, but Zsadist had sent out an e-mail saying classes would begin three hours later tonight. Which was fine. John had had the chance to watch Wrath in action longer.
As the clock ticked closer to seven, the other trainees filed in. Blaylock was last. He was still moving slowly, but he was talking more easily with the guys, kind of like he was getting used to himself. He took a seat up front, shuffling his long legs around to fit.
Abruptly, John realized someone was missing. Where was Lash? Good God… what if he'd died? But no— somebody would have passed that news along.
Down in front, Blaylock laughed at one of the other trainees, then bent over to put his backpack on the floor. As he came back to level, his eyes met John's across the room.
John flushed and looked away.
'Hey, John,' Blaylock said, 'you want to come sit with me?'
The whole class went quiet. John glanced up.
'View's better from here.' Blaylock nodded to the blackboard.
Silence followed. The kind where the
Not knowing what else to do, John grabbed his books, walked down the aisle, and slid into the empty seat. As he parked it, conversation sprang up again while more books landed on the tables and papers rustled.
The clock overhead clicked, the hands showing seven on the dot. As there was still no Zsadist, the talk got even louder in the room, the guys yanking around in earnest now.
John ran his pen in circles on a blank page, feeling awkward as all get-out and wondering what the hell he was doing up front. Maybe it was a practical joke on him? Shit, he should have stayed—
'Thank you,' Blaylock said quietly. 'For throwing down for me yesterday.'
Whoa… maybe this wasn't a joke.
John surreptitiously slid his notebook over so Blaylock could see it. Then he wrote,
'I know. And you won't have to do it again. I mean, I can handle him.'
John eyed his classmate.
