She put her fingers to his lips. “Shhh. Don’t talk.”
He wanted to talk, but didn’t want to lose this connection with her. He’d felt the intense attraction from the minute he saw her, and everything that had happened since only brought them closer. There’d be time for talk later.
He held her wrist, kissed her fingers, and drew them into his mouth. The pain and tension in her face faded away. They shouldn’t be doing this, but dammit, it felt right. He pulled her fingers from his mouth, tilted his head and touched his lips to hers.
There was no way one kiss could satisfy him. He pushed deeper, wanting to give her the warmth and physical contact she needed, knowing there was no going back. This wasn’t going to be an easy one-night stand where he could kiss her goodbye and walk out of her life.
She was already etched in his soul.
He gently pushed her onto the bed and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, returning his deep assault on her lush mouth. Her mouth parted and a moan escaped. He licked her lips, her neck, behind her ear. She tasted salty from her tears. His heart twisted. No one should ever go through what Rowan had. No one. It was amazing she had come so far. She was an amazing woman.
He trailed kisses back to her lips, and plunged in with his tongue. She met him kiss for kiss, entwining her tongue with his, massaging and scratching his back.
Impatiently, she pulled his T-shirt up and he broke the kiss momentarily to whip the shirt over his head and toss it aside. She still wore her little black dress and he reached behind and unzipped it down her back. She slipped out of it and he saw her exquisite body.
She had scars. He kissed an obvious gunshot wound that had grazed her lower right rib. It looked like a knife wound had damaged her upper arm, an old one. He kissed it. Unclasping her bra, he held her breasts in his hands and caressed them. He looked down at her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open. The tears had stopped.
He never wanted to see her cry again.
He kissed one breast, pulled in the nipple to suckle, and she moaned. He repeated the attention on the other breast, enjoying the way she responded to his touch. She’d been like an icicle before; now she was melting, on fire. She pulled at his jeans, and he impatiently slid out of them. He put his full weight on top of her and kissed her again.
He’d never get enough and knew he had fallen for her.
Rowan roamed her hands over John’s tight, muscular body. Every hard muscle rippled beneath his uniformly tan skin. Only a line below his waist proved he didn’t sunbathe in the nude.
She hadn’t intended for this to happen, but as he’d held her earlier, her heart had raced and she’d felt safe. For the first time in a long, long time, she felt safe. He shared her pain and her past now seemed bearable. How that was possible after John had forced her to bare her soul, she didn’t know, but getting the secrets off her chest was a relief. She hadn’t spoken of any of it for twenty-three years.
A small veil had been lifted from her heart. Her burden felt lighter, as if John were carrying it with her. She was freer than she’d ever been before. Because of John.
So she had kissed his neck and asked him to stay. She wasn’t sure he would. If he left, she’d find a way to live without him. She was a survivor, a loner.
But she was glad he stayed. Begging wasn’t her strong suit, but right now she wasn’t above it to keep John with her.
Maybe, for the first time in the two weeks since Doreen Rodriguez was murdered, the nightmares would stay away.
But more than the feeling of security, she felt a companionship and understanding with John that she’d never had before in her life. The way he looked at her, his deep eyes darkening, beckoning, promising that he was trustworthy. That he wouldn’t get himself killed. That he was strong enough to take on her and the world.
He turned her on like no man had before. It was more than his dark good looks and tight, fit body. It was the way he focused on the task at hand, whether it was dragging the past out of her, pursuing justice, or right here and now making her feel whole again. Making love to her.
She had so many questions, wanted to know everything about him. And when she did, she would care about him even more. Care about him too much.
She already did.
Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she reached down and felt his firm buttocks. She dug in her fingers and he thrust forward. He was rigid against her and she wanted him. She kissed him, and he took her mouth deep in his, his hands never stopping, touching her all over, keeping her warm, making her hot. “Make love to me,” she whispered in his ear, then licked the sensitive spot behind the lobe. He shuddered in her arms.
“Not yet.” His voice was low and husky, and he pulled her panties off with his teeth. She grew cold without his body pressed firmly against hers, but then his tongue parted her vagina and she gasped as liquid heat pooled between her legs.
She grabbed the comforter in her fists as his tongue worked magic. She moaned, the pleasure mixed with just a little pain as her orgasm built and his mouth suckled. She arched her back, her hips rose off the bed, and he lightly bit her nub, bringing on a shuddering orgasm that left her panting and hoarse.
Then he climbed on top of her and kissed her hard. She held on to him, bringing him as close as possible. He spread her legs to enter her.
Then she flipped him.
John almost didn’t know what hit him. One second he was about to sheath himself deep in Rowan’s hot body, needing her, wanting her, craving her. Then he was on his back and Rowan’s long blonde hair hung in his face. He spit out a strand and began to say, “What?” when she kissed him hard, then sat up.
He watched as she took him into her elegant hands and guided him into her. She gasped as his head entered, her eyes closed, her mouth parted. It was all he could do not to thrust himself completely into her at once and come. He was so close.
But he loved watching her. She was like a goddess perched above him, her back arched, her breasts firm, her nipples hard and pointed. Her skin was so white, so soft, so perfect, even with the scars.
Then she slid completely onto him and he saw stars.
He reached for her hands and held them tight. She was directing, and it was all he could do to allow it. He wanted to take control, but relished her abandon. She ground herself into him and moaned, then pulled up until he was almost out, then slid back down.
The torture was excruciating and wonderful at the same time.
He felt her muscles clutch him as she slid down and her body quivered, sending shock waves from his balls to his brain. He couldn’t wait.
Grabbing her beautiful ass in his hands, he pushed her down onto him and pumped into her. She moaned and fell onto his chest, quivering. He felt her muscles clamp down on him.
He came with more force than he had ever remembered coming, and then held her close as she rocked with her own orgasm.
He gently, tenderly, turned her over and pulled the comforter around them. He held her, kissing her hair, her face, her lips. He was already growing hard again, still sheathed in her warm body. “Rowan, I want you again.”
She kissed him long and sweet. Together, they explored.
Michael staggered into his apartment, his head pounding and his stomach threatening to rebel. He should never have eaten two cheeseburgers and fries on a stomach full of Scotch and beer. Just get to the toilet, he kept telling himself. Don’t make a mess on the floor.
He made it in time, and bowed to the porcelain god for a good ten minutes. When he stood, he didn’t feel sick anymore, and briefly considered heading back to Rowan’s to help John with protection. Naw, he’d get a good night’s sleep and go back in the morning.
After drinking water directly from the bathroom faucet, he slowly walked back to his living room. His door stood wide open. “Shit,” he muttered, lambasting himself for being so stupid. He crossed over and slammed the door shut.
