As a crushing sadness came over him, threatening to derail the session, a single moan from her was enough to get him back online: None of that mattered. All he wanted was to make her feel good, so when push came to shove—or rather, when she was going to want something to be pushable or shovable—he was just going to have to get creative.
Lifting his head, he stared into her flushed face and her wild eyes. That hair of hers was loose around the pillow, all wavy and spread out, and her cheeks were the color of Christmas.
Man, she was incredible.
Keeping their eyes locked, he rose up off her so that he was kneeling between her split legs. And in that pause, before things got really serious, he imagined himself as he had been, strong, powerful, his body as dominant as his will was.
As it stood now, he was glad he had the undershirt on. And he felt…really lucky.
She had everything to offer; he had nothing. And yet she wanted him anyway.
It was at that moment that he fell in love with her.
The shift in his heart and soul made no sense, and yet the emotional logic was so persuasive, the center of his chest resonated with a warmth that had never been there before: He knew without the specifics that he had spent a lifetime engaged in complicated cruelty, and yet here he was, naked before her though he was clothed, accepted for who he was on the inside, not for what he didn’t look like and couldn’t do.
The revelation changed him internally, putting him into a gear that was slower than the mad rush that he’d all but tackled her with.
Now he moved deliberately, his hands going to the button and zipper of her slacks, and undoing things at an unhurried pace. Opening the fly wide, he curled down and pressed a kiss to her lower abdomen, halfway between her belly button and the top of her sensible, mind-blowingly erotic bikini panties.
Who needed that fussy lace and satin crap? Simple cotton did it for him, as long as she was the one wearing it.
Man, he wanted to suck on her through the damn things.
“I’m gonna get you naked,” he said in a voice warped with sex.
With another one of those holy-shit moans of hers, Mels cranked her head to the side and watched him pull off what covered her lower body, one hand drifting to her mouth and touching it.
Matthias reached up and edged her fingers between her lips. “Suck on them for me—oh, f**k, yeah…”
She did exactly what she was told, her cheeks drawing in as she complied, then her tongue parting through her fore- and middle fingers before the knuckles disappeared from sight again.
“Like this?” she said after pulling them free.
He had to close his eyes. It was either that or pass the f**k out…because all he could imagine was his c**k in that wet, warm hold, her down at his hips, her head going forward and back as that suction was all around him.
“You’re beautiful,” he growled as he tossed her pants over his shoulder.
Time to get to work.
His lips lingered along the top edge of the panties, tracing the way to one hip while his fingers trailed his mouth, touching lightly, caressing. When he got to the side, he took the cotton off her body, slipping it down her long legs.
He made love to her with his mouth.
It was the best sexual experience of his life. Everything was about her: how she felt, what she liked, how far he could push her before he had to let her climax…and it was amazing. He also had no intention of stopping anytime soon. Cupping her with his palms, he lifted up her hips and tilted them as he stretched out, ready to stay forever.
And it wasn’t like he couldn’t get inside her.
Straightening his tongue, he penetrated her core rhythmically, alternating the surges with great laps that tickled the top of her sex. Quicker. Deeper. Harder. He wanted her to fall apart on him over and over again, to keep coming against his lips, to burst free and twinkle back down to earth for the rest of their natural lives.
“Give me what I want,” he said. “Give me what I need….”
Putting his fingers in his mouth, he slicked them up and sank them in, and oh, man, it was good. Especially as she orgasmed, the pulsing clenches something that seemed to flood through him as if he were releasing along with her.
When it was over, he paused to catch his breath, and she lay there in glorious abandon, her br**sts heaving, her body loose all over, her skin flushed.
It took her a while to recover. She even tried to speak a couple of times, but couldn’t follow through.
Kinda made a guy feel like a man.
“That was…unbelievable.”
Her words were more purr than voice, and wasn’t that just f**king great.
As Matthias smiled, he felt just a little evil—not in a bad way, but in the masculine way—like when you had the woman you wanted naked, on her back, on your bed, and you had every intention of showing her some more attention.
“Would you like me to keep going?” he said on a dark drawl.
30
As Jim stood in that underground hallway, he was ready to rip his wingman a new one.
Of course, to do that, he’d have to peel that waitress off the bastard—and as much as he was a hands-on kind of guy, he wasn’t prepared to get that close to the Saran Wrap situation.
Fucker.
Literally.
And, yup, this happy little bump and grind put him in an even worse frame of mind: He’d come down to the Marriott ready to rip Adrian a new one over those photographs of that prostitute—and instead of finding the angel on the job, outside Matthias’s room? The SOB was nailing this chick in the same hallway where that operative had been killed by Devina the night before.
Like Jim didn’t already have a hair across his ass.
Those photographs, those goddamn photographs…
Adrian had said he’d been to a murder scene with Mels—and now the woman was showing up with pictures of a female victim whose hair had been dyed blond, and whose throat had been slit wide, talking about a pattern of runes that had been in the skin of the abdomen, but was now—gasp!—not there anymore?
That angel had to be the “why” behind the disappearance.
So it was time to have a come to Jesus with Mr. Eraser.
Meeting Adrian’s stare, he dared the guy to keep up with the f**king, and—shocker—the son of a bitch did.
The waitress was having a great time—at least, going from what Jim could see from the rear, her head thrashing, that hair flying, those arms contracting around Ad’s neck. For a moment, Jim thought back to some of his own sexual exploits—but then he settled on memories that weren’t relevant in the slightest: