“Oh, of that I have no doubt,” I said dryly. “The thief always has a plan, doesn’t he?”
“You can bet your life on it, sweetheart.” He glanced at his watch, then added, “Don’t unlock the door for anyone.”
“Except you.”
“I’ll have the key.”
“Oh. Okay.”
His gaze skimmed my body, then he muttered something and spun on his heel, walking out the door.
Leaving me smiling. The thief definitely wanted me as much as I wanted him.
God, was it only yesterday I was telling myself I had to show a little restraint to honor Egan’s memory?
It seemed restraint and me weren’t exactly on speaking terms right now. I closed my eyes and tried to picture Egan in my mind. But his image was blurred—like a photo in which the subject had moved.
And the image that remained looked an awful lot like Trae.
Egan, I’m sorry I’m not stronger. I’m sorry I can’t honor you as much as I had hoped.
He’d understand. I knew that. We were both sensual beings, but our lovemaking had always been a matter of need rather than desire. And at least now I understood why he had always seemed distant. His soul mate was dead, killed by his own father, and his heart had been shattered in the process.
Mine, however, had not.
And I wanted what he’d had so very briefly. Wanted what my parents had, even now, after all the years of being apart. And I knew, deep down, that it was here for the taking. If I was brave enough. Or maybe that should be if I was foolish enough. After all, my life right now wasn’t exactly sane.
I poured myself a coffee. After taking a sip, I grabbed a microwave meal from the bags, zapped it in the small microwave that was really the only cooking facility provided beyond the coffeemaker and small toaster, then sat down on the bed to watch TV.
An hour later, bored with the TV and growing tired of waiting for Trae, I stripped the covers back and climbed into bed. I was asleep within minutes of my head hitting the pillow.
When I woke, it was to the warmth of the sun streaming across my face and the heat of flesh pressed against my spine. His arm was slung casually over my hip, his fingertips lightly resting on my stomach. He wasn’t moving, and his breathing was soft, even. Asleep, even as I was suddenly, gloriously, awake.
I didn’t move, and as tempting as it was to press back against him, to stir him to life as I was stirring to life, I didn’t. Even a thief needed his sleep, and I had no idea how long he’d been out last night.
So I lay there, wrapped in the spicy, tangy scent of him, listening to him breathe and feeling the warm wash of his breath across one shoulder. My skin tingled, my body ached like crazy, and every little movement he made had shivers of delight flashing across my nerve endings.
Naturally, he slept for what seemed like forever.
In reality, it was probably only another hour or so. Certainly the light streaming into the room hadn’t journeyed very far up the wall as the sun began its daily track through the sky.
His waking was done in several brief, delicious moments that were filled with a combination of growing awareness and desire. The twitch of fingertips across my stomach. His growing erection, pressing ever more forcefully against my butt. The quickening of breath across my shoulder. The butterfly kiss of lips on the base of my neck.
“Morning, sweetheart,” he murmured, and hugged me closer, until his erection was snuggled firmly against my butt cheeks. “What a lovely way to wake up.”
And it’d be even more lovely if he actually got down to business. Good grief, couldn’t he sense I was just about bursting with wanting him?
I reached backward, lightly running a hand up and down his hip. “What time did you get in last night?”
I felt more than saw his shrug. “Fairly late. It took a while to find a new car. You were asleep when I came in, so I didn’t bother waking you.”
“Thanks. I think I needed the sleep.”
“Mmmm.”
His voice was as distracted as any woman could wish, and the thought warmed me almost as much as his touch. His lips found my neck, then my earlobe, kissing them lightly, and the warmth became a shiver of pure delight.
“Anything else you need?” he murmured, his breath washing heat into my ear.
“That depends on what’s on offer.” I let my hand dip past his hip, lightly caressing the heated hardness of his erection. A tremor ran through him, and I smiled. There would be no hesitation this morning, no stepping back from the brink.
“What do you want to be on offer?” His hand began to move across my stomach, his touch so light, so tender. Heat pooled under his fingertips, sending little flashes of desire shooting through every nerve ending. Lord, how I wanted this man’s touch. No, not just his touch, but his scent on my skin, his mouth on mine. His body in mine.
His spirit wrapped around mine.
“Everything,” I said, my voice little more than a tremor of air. “All that you have, and all that you’re willing to give.”
He chuckled softly. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Please.” And before I combusted in sheer frustration.
His touch began to slide slowly upward. When his thumb brushed the underside of a breast, my breath hitched, then became more rapid.
He began to caress, tease, and kiss my upper body and breasts. I closed my eyes, savoring the sensations flooding through every part of me. Loving his firm, hard body pressed against mine, the way he brushed my aching nipples with his thumbs. Enjoying the press of his erection against my hand as I stroked and cupped him. Savoring the rich scent of him, breathing it in deep, until it felt like his essence had flooded through every part of me. Becoming a part of me, in a way that went beyond mere pleasure.
When his caress moved down to that warm, wet part of me that was aching to feel the full length of him, part of me wanted to shout in sheer relief. But I was too busy simply enjoying to waste air like that. He caressed me, toyed with me, until my body was slick with sweat and aching with desire. When he finally slid a finger into me, I could only gasp in pleasure. My inner muscles pulsed around one finger, then two, and the sensation of him delving in and out was incredible. I pushed back against him, riding his hand with increasing urgency, until the low-down trembling bloomed, spreading across my skin like wildfire. But before the orgasm could crest, he pulled away, simply kissing my shoulder, caressing my breasts, until the tremors eased. Then he started again.
This time, when he finally pressed his thumb against my clit, my groan of pleasure could probably be heard in the next room. As he stroked me, caressed me, he let his other fingers slide through my slickness, until he was teasing me inside and out. My whole body shook as pleasure mounted, and my breathing became little more than short, sharp gasps. As the tremors of orgasm began to mount a second time, he finally shifted over me. His flesh was as slick as mine, his body trembling with the effort of control.
But I didn’t want control. I wanted him.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, trying to force him closer, desperate to feel him inside. When only the tip of him slid in, I whimpered, wanting—needing—so much more.
He chuckled softly, then said in a voice that was all smoky desire, “Patience, sweetheart.”
“Patience be damned,” I panted, arching up to meet him.
He didn’t pull away, and the sensation of him sliding so deep had me groaning.
It was a sound he swallowed in a kiss that was fierce and possessive, and so damn hot it felt like I was going to explode.
Only then did he begin to thrust, his movements deep and long. I groaned again, a rich sound of gratification he echoed. His movements became harder, faster, until it felt like he was trying to claim my entire body. But this was more than just a physical act—more than just a meeting of bodies. In this one perfect moment of unity, our spirits soared around each other, until it felt like his soul was trying to claim mine as fiercely as his body. I went there willingly, wanting the possession, needing it. Needing him. Now. Forever.