Page 62 of Trick of Light
He’s not from our world, baby. Save yourself some trouble and shut it down.
No. Some kind of wild determination flooded through her. She didn’t want to shut it down. She liked Barnaby, a lot. Her body wanted him, her heart beat fast for him. Why should she always listen to her mother’s voice in her head instead of her own instincts? She was almost thirty. Enough!
“Come here,” she whispered.
Eyes full of questions, he stepped toward her. She kept beckoning until they were front to front, the hard muscles of his chest so solid against her, like a warm wall of protection. This man would stand up for her. No matter what. She knew it with certainty, loud and clear enough to drown out her mother’s warnings.
She put a hand on his chest and walked him backwards now, toward the couch he’d just left. He dropped onto it, bringing her with him, on top of him, laughing a little. She straddled his thighs and shivered at the sheer pleasure those firm muscles gave her.
In the past, she’d always claimed that for her, sex was more mental than physical, that her pleasure depending on a cerebral connection. But this was nothing like anything from the past. This was pure, one hundred proof, undiluted physical chemistry. She shuddered with pleasure when he put his big hands on her hips. His shirt was in her way, so she went for the top button, popping it off in her impatience to feel the soft rasp of his chest hair on her palms.
“Oops,” she whispered.
“Fuck it.”
His rough voice drove her lust up even higher. She moved her hips to get in closer contact with his swelling erection. Oh God. Right there, exactly there. She wanted to slide up and down that thick flesh, bring it inside her, but the sharp need was already building, and there was no stopping it.
He must have known, because he clamped her hips in a tight grip and ground himself against her, and then she was coming, still entirely clothed, a hard, sharp release that obliterated every sensation except for pure pleasure.
Her heart still pounding from that orgasm, she gave him a hazy smile. “We’re just getting started, right?”
“Appetizer,” he agreed with a grin. “Now let’s get naked.”
With eager fingers, she went back to work getting his shirt off. He did the same to her blouse. His fingers were so deft and in no time it was open and he was finding her nipples through her bra. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he murmured.
“Been doing a lot of that?”
“Imagining? Hell yeah. Can you blame a guy?”
She could not, since she’d been doing the same thing. And when she freed his erection from his pants, she was happy to see that her imagination had been spot on.
After that, things got so hot and heavy the world became a blur of bare flesh and ragged breathing and touches like fire. His hand between her thighs, stoking heat and wetness. Her legs wrapped around his body, hips moving to a drumbeat of need. Naked and wild, they rolled around on the couch until he knelt on the carpet, spread her legs and licked her there until she screamed out loud. Then he scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom with its immaculately made king-size bed.
It didn’t stay that way for long. By the time they were done, the covers had slid to the floor and the sheets were bunched up and sweated through. When he came into her body—sheathed as promised—she shuddered for the third time around that hard rod of flesh. His body arched over hers, muscles like steel, skin dark with sweat, as his own orgasm rocked through him.
When she came back to herself, Gabby was sprawled on her stomach, one knee bent, her arms bent overhead, like some kind of crime scene drawing. Barnaby was on his back at an angle to her, their only contact his hand on her ass. The steam they’d created seemed to hover in the air around them, and they needed to cool off.
Barnaby’s hand on her butt felt really, really good—solid and grounding and reassuring—and she didn’t want it to go anywhere. She didn’t want him to go anywhere. Maybe neither of them would have to go anywhere. Everything in the outside world could take care of itself. They could just stay here and have more sex and more lime soda drinks and neither of them would ever have to worry about anything again.
When was the last time she’d felt this free of stress, of expectations, demands, worries? Never.
“Can we stay just like this for the rest of our lives?” she murmured.
“Works for me.” He traced a pattern on her skin, maybe letters, maybe not. Whatever it was, his touch was so soothing that she drifted off.
What seemed like a moment later, a phone was ringing and slivers of light were slicing through the blinds. Barnaby was gone and the bed seemed huge and empty without him.
She sat up and rolled the knots out of her neck. Her body felt thoroughly satisfied, and try as she might, she still couldn’t detect any bit of stress in her mind or heart. Very unusual, to say the least.
Barnaby came back into the room. The navy briefs snugly cupping his balls made her mouth go dry, as did the black hair scattered across his strong thighs. This man was fine.
“The lab called. We’ve got a problem,” he said soberly.
27
He sure hated to break the mood, but this was important. Still, he nearly lost his train of thought at the sight of Gabby’s glowing brown skin against the tangle of sheets. She was so stunning. Clothed Gabby was distracting enough, but naked? He could barely wrench his mind back to the main point.
“The tea they tested showed no signs of any kind of toxin, plant, chemical or otherwise.”
