Page 64 of Price of Angels

He shook his head. “Not hungry.”

“Coffee then? Another whiskey?”

“Nope.”

“Well…” She looked imploringly at him. “What can I do for you?”

His brows lifted in slight surprise.

“I want…I just want to do something for you. I think I need to.”

Something dark and complicated shifted through his eyes. “All you need to do is get under the covers so you don’t catch cold.”

“But–”

He rolled away and got to his feet, reaching for the top corner of the comforter to draw it down. His hair was disheveled and his jeans hung open, and he looked cute to her, all out of sorts like this.

She climbed off the other side, so he could turn the bed down, folding her arms across her middle. She was cold, if she admitted it, and the sheets looked inviting.

She didn’t move right away, though, instead watching as he peeled his shirt up over his head, stepped out of his jeans.

She’d been right in her guess about the boxer-briefs, but she hadn’t guessed just how spare and chiseled his physique would be. He didn’t look like the college-age barhoppers who spent all day in the gym, bulking themselves up. She could see the framework of bone, and the tight, firm stretches of muscle between. He looked like he had a fast metabolism, like he burned off all the Salisbury steak dinners he ate. Almost too thin, maybe, but strong, distinct, steel-hard calves, and thighs, and abs. She liked his narrow hips. Liked the way his throat was well-defined, his collarbones distinct. He was beautiful.

And that was before he slid into bed and reached out a hand for her, pulling her down to the sheets and bundling her in close to him as he pulled up the covers.

Holly sighed and buried her face in his shoulder.

He reached for the lamp, and then the dark closed over them.

Hands on her, in the dark. Breath against her face, fingers on her breasts, and belly, sliding down her hips. Fear firing in her, her body going still and unresisting out of old habit. Don’t make noise, don’t breathe, don’t show displeasure, and it will be over soon.

But then…

“Holly.” Michael’s voice, through the total darkness, brushing across her lips. She was being turned gently onto her back, weight was settling over her, the hands easing her thighs apart. “Hol, wake up.”

It was night, and she was still in his bed, and he wanted her again.

She was liquid and melting again at once, reaching for him, finding the skin of his sides, his back.

“I’m awake,” she murmured, and he entered her, sinking down, down, down, until their bodies were flush. Joined completely.

“Christ, I need this,” he whispered, and kissed her, ravaged her mouth. “I’m sorry, honey,” he gasped when he pulled back, his hips withdrawing and plunging, the thrusting starting. “But I do, I need it.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She stroked his back, the rippling muscles of it, moving lower, lower, and whimpering when his thrusts deepened in response. “I need it too,” she whispered back, fiercely. “Please…”

He was reaching deep, his cock thrusting against places inside her she hadn’t known existed. She felt the thrusting move through her, going up her spine, pressing at her throat.

Need…yes, she needed. He’d given her ecstasy, and she wanted more, more, more; wanted to take all of him she possibly could. She felt his cock like a hot brand against her womb, burning away all the awful that had come before it, vaporizing the touch of her tormenters.

She found the tight bundled muscles of his ass with her hands and kneaded with her fingertips, holding his hips to hers, urging his savage thrusting.

More, more…

He plunged into her again, and again.

And then the crest came. He banded his arms around her, crushed her to his chest.

She felt the hot spill of release and surrendered to it, thought she might pass out.

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