Page 46 of Hunted

She didn’t have to move much at all to press her mouth to his.

He shuddered. His entire body trembled, but he didn’t turn away. His lips parted when she nudged them. He lay very still, allowing her to kiss him. To taste his mouth. He didn’t move when her hands kneaded his shoulders, or when her fingers threaded into his hair.

It was an instinct as old as time that made her hips arch against him. And it was then he came alive.

He rolled her onto her back and urged her lips wider, his tongue digging deep. She felt his body grow hotter, heard the rasping of his breaths. And she knew, without being told, that it had been a long time for him. Longer for her, though. Far longer for her.

He moved his hands between them, to cup her breasts. She stiffened, a little afraid of what was happening.

He lifted his head very slightly, his fevered eyes probing hers. “I’ll stop,” he rasped. “If you want me to stop, I’ll?—”

“No,” she whispered. “I’m fine, and I want you. I need you.”

“I think I might need you, too,” he said. And then he resumed kissing her, stroking her, touching her everywhere, until she was sure she’d die if he didn’t make love to her soon.

There was fire in his eyes as he covered her body with his, and yet he was gentle. His hands crept beneath her hips, and he held her tight to him, and he made love to her. And it was that, making love. Not just sex. But emotional, exquisite, healing lovemaking. She felt it in every part of her. It was in his tenderness, his superhuman restraint, his every gentle touch.

They moved together, in a dance that melded them as one. Her pleasure built until she was no longer a sentient being, but purely a feeling one. And he kept stoking the flames with every movement, every tender touch of his lips along her jawline, over her neck. He played her like the most fragile instrument, until she reached a shattering crescendo.

He held her as she pulsed around him, her entire body alive and awake and in ecstasy.

And then he moved a little faster, and joined her there.

When he sank to the mattress beside her, never letting her bear his full weight, he pulled her back into his arms, and cradled her there, his powerful heartbeat strong and steady beneath her head. And she knew right then that she loved him. Somehow, she had fallen in love with this tortured, wounded soul.

And so she had to heal him. She had to.

Romano looked at her, lying there with the cold morning sunbathing her naked shoulders, painting the soft smile she wore even in her sleep. The cat had curled up near her head again, sleeping and purring and apparently not half-starved as she’d feared he would be.

He’d done something idiotic. He’d had sex with Lexi. And she was going to think it meant more than it did. More than it could. One look at that soft smile was all it took to confirm that. She’d think it had been some kind of fate thing. But she’d be wrong. His heart had been blown to microscopic bits by one of White’s bombs, and Humpty Dumpty stood a better chance of healing than he did.

She stirred a little, snuggling closer to him, one arm wrapping around his waist. Thick black lashes whispered open, and huge dark eyes gazed up at him. The image of the timid woodland creature was back. Only this time it wasn’t wary. It was trusting and content.

He was the animal here. He’d used her like a toy, and now he had to make that clear to her. He had to wipe that damned smile off her face before…

Before what, Romano? Before it gets to you?

His throat went dry, and he heard someone whisper, “I’m not ready for this sort of thing.”

“Hmm?” she asked.

The way she asked it made “hmm?” sound erotic. And it wasn’t until she asked it that he realized he’d spoken aloud.

“Nothing.”

She bent her head to kiss his chest. Romano slid to the far side of the bed. Finally her dazzled expression cleared a little, and she looked at him, waiting, and he knew that she knew what was coming.

“Is something wrong?” she asked slowly, her probing eyes like pins, pricking him everywhere they landed.

“No. It’s just …” He shook his head, looked around the room for a metaphoric hiding place. “I need to throw some more wood on the fire.”

“No, you don’t.” She sat up, leaning her back against the headboard and tugging the covers up with her. “I get the feeling you have something to say, and I think your first three words are going to be ‘about last night.’”

Romano sat on the edge of the bed, looking with regret at the soggy ball of denim on the floor. What the hell was he supposed to wear?

“We had sex. What’s there to talk about?” This as he got out of the warm bed, wincing at the cool floor against his bare feet. He pulled on his shorts, then hunkered down in front of the fireplace and made a huge production out of poking the coals and arranging more wood atop them.

“Just sex,” she said softly.

---