Page 67 of Edge of Oblivion (Night Prowler 2)
“Stop fighting me,” he said through clenched teeth.
“You stop fighting me!”
“Jesus, woman. You’ll be the death of me!”
He carried her, writhing, to the bed, where he gently laid her down atop the sheets. The towels were still covering her—mostly covering her—but he quick
ly shook out the comforter and laid it over her wet body. She kicked it off.
“Too hot,” she moaned, writhing.
He stood there above her with his hands laced behind his neck—as if that could keep them from reaching for her—while she tossed and thrashed and begged him to put her back in the shower to cool her off.
It wasn’t cold water she needed. Xander knew what she needed. It was the same thing every female in her Fever needed in order to ease the pain.
A male. She needed to mate.
She refused the drugs...
...for not finishing what you started...
Don’t do it, Alexander. Don’t do it. You’ll hate yourself afterward —she’ll hate you afterward.
You know it’s stupid, it’s dangerous, it’s—
She looked up at him—her eyes incandescent, bright as stars—and spoke his name. He’d never seen such raw need, such hunger. It made his legs go numb.
Slowly, feeling like he was outside himself, he knelt beside the bed. He reached for her arm, and it didn’t surprise him at all that his hand shook. His fingers brushed her skin—hot, so hot—and she shuddered, made a little animal mewl in the back of her throat.
It’s just the Fever, she’s not in her right mind—
“I didn’t take the drugs,” she panted. “I didn’t want them.”
“I know,” he whispered, fighting against every impulse in his body to hold her, kiss her, love her—
She rolled to her side and the towels fell away, exposing her breasts and belly, her lovely rounded hips. He squeezed his eyes shut. Her hand, hot and shaking, touched the side of her face.
Very throaty, Morgan said, “You know what I want. And I know you want it, too. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Xander moaned, low, a tortured sound. She inched nearer. Her hand slid down to his chest, her fingers curled around the front of his shirt. She tugged at it.
“I can’t—can’t take advantage of you when you’re like this,” he said, his voice hoarse, his nose filled with her heady scent as she pulled him closer, closer—
“I know,” she murmured, coaxing, “you’re the gentleman assassin. You’d kill me before you’d take advantage of me. But I...” Her hands cradled his face. Her soft lips touched his cheek, his chin, his mouth, and his will began to crack. “...I can take advantage of you. We can hate each other later, Xander, but for one night, just for tonight, let’s be the best of friends.”
She slid her tongue between his lips, and then he shattered.
He crushed her to him. She was velvet and fire and soft curves, shaking in his arms, pulling his head down hard with both hands wrapped around his neck and her body arched against him. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t even think. All he could do was feel, so he let the fury in his heart and body take over.
As another boom of thunder shook the windows in the house above, Xander pushed her back against the mattress, stared down, panting, at her. She stared back with that same hungry look, expectant now, her lips parted, cherry red against her white teeth. Her hair spread dark and curling wet over the pillow; her hands reached up to touch the hem of his shirt, to tug it free from the waist of his pants.
He tore it off. He couldn’t get everything off fast enough. She helped him, shaking, both of them shaking and panting and kissing all the while, touching and exploring while his clothes fell to the floor. He rolled on top of her, and she ran her hands over his back, stroking the scars there with something like reverence.
“My beautiful assassin,” she said against his mouth, her voice so tender it hurt.
“No,” he said, hoarse, his palm cupped around her face. “Tonight I’m not an assassin. Tonight it’s only Alexander and Morgan. Tonight it’s only me and you.” He kissed her, hard and delicious, and her legs lifted to wrap around his waist.
She writhed against him, ready, but he wasn’t ready. He wanted to taste and explore and take his sweet time, because he knew this was only a one-time pass; tomorrow it would be over. Tomorrow she would be back to hating him as she had from the beginning.
