Kiss of a Dark Moon (13 page)

H
e was kissing her.

Her eyes drifted shut, lost to the sensation of it, powerless to resist. In that instance, her body's needs outweighed her logic.

Too long. It had been too long since a man had his mouth on hers, his tongue dancing along her own. And his hands. Never had a man roamed his hands so thoroughly, so possessively, over her body.

Now, she decided. This moment, she would take what she could get. Just once. It would be enough. She would make it so.

His warm tongue tangled with hers as his fingers slid into her hair, running through the knots and snarls with a fierceness that rivaled the blood hammering through her veins.

A lick of heat curled low in her belly, tightening and twisting until she grew wet.

His hands slid lower, seizing each cheek, lifting her higher against him.

She moaned into his mouth, winding her arms around his neck, marveling at the insistent ache throbbing between her legs. She'd never felt anything like it. Never had she burned.

Her fingers wove through his hair, reveling in the softness, in the freedom to touch.

Her head fell back, eyes closing. A cry rose in her throat as one of his hands lifted, molding her breast. His rough palm chafed the tender skin. He took her nipple between thumb and forefinger and rolled the pebble-hard peak, gently at first, then increasingly harder, faster, until she thought she would fly from her skin. She arched her spine, closing her eyes as shards of pleasure-pain spiked from her breasts directly to her aching sex.

With a growl, he dragged his mouth down the column of her throat, sucking, nipping at the cords of her neck. His breath fired against her throat. She opened her eyes. His eyes gleamed at her, lights dancing in the centers as though lit from within.

He dropped one hand from her ass.

She slid down him, boneless, the backs of her knees bumping the dresser. Still, their lips clung, drinking, tasting, devouring each other as his hands flew to his jeans.

She brushed his hands away, wrenching the snaps open herself. Shoving the denim down, she sought him, sighing as she closed her hand around the hard length of him, warm and pulsing. She stroked him, her thumb gliding over the tip of him, delighting at his ragged moan. Opening her mouth, she dropped down to taste him. He did not let her sample him long.

With a growl, he seized her wrist. Searing her with the hunger of his gaze, he spanned her waist with both hands and planted her on the dresser, the stinging smack of her bottom on the wood exciting her in a dark, primitive way.

He dropped to his knees, wedging his dark head between her thighs before she could speak or move. His finger ran over her folds, gentle, teasing, playing in her wetness. She shuddered, falling backward, the mirror cold at her back, but she didn't care.

He found her clit, rotating his finger over it in slow, hard circles, every once in a while flicking it with his tongue. She clenched a fistful of his hair, arching herself off the mirror.

Suddenly he ceased his teasing licks. His mouth was there, sucking, drawing the tiny nub into his mouth. She shot straight up, pulling his hair, screaming as an orgasm washed over her. Ripples of pleasure swept over her as she crashed back against the dresser mirror.

But he didn't stop. Didn't quit. He rose between her legs in one motion, his hot mouth seizing a nipple as he sank one finger inside her.

She moaned and lifted her heels up on the dresser, flattening her feet on the smooth wood surface and thrusting her hips forward.

Sucking at one breast, he gripped one trembling knee as he worked a second finger inside her—taking her, reducing her to a babbling, incoherent mess with each press of his hand.

She jerked at the fabric of his shirt, thrusting against his hand, desperate to feel him, to run her hands over the chest she had ogled earlier. She needed her hands on him, skin to skin. “Now. Take me now.”

He laughed roughly and stepped back.

She groaned, bereft, naked and wanting where he left her on top of the dresser.

He watched her intently, dark eyes glowing as he discarded his T-shirt and kicked off his jeans.

Panting, she watched him back—his toned, beautiful body effortlessly bending to retrieve a condom from his wallet.

He came back to her then, rolling the condom over his erect penis. Her mouth watered. He fixed his gaze between her legs, jaw locked, a muscle jumping wildly in his cheek.

Reaching out, he teased her sex, stroking her folds.

She whimpered, wiggling on top of the dresser.

“That's it,” he murmured, his finger easing back in her with tormenting slowness, eyes hot and hungry, feasting on her. “So lovely and pink. Wet. Weeping for me.”

“Please,” she begged.

His eyes locked on her. Something passed between them. A shared hunger. A mutual awareness that this was it. The moment had come that began when they first set eyes on each other. No more games, no more pretending the chemistry that burned between them did not exist. No more pretending her body did not crave him more than her next breath.
Sex,
a voice whispered across her mind.
It was just sex
.

His finger slid from her. Her muscles clenched, aching for his return.

It would be good.

He positioned the hard tip of himself at her entrance, teasing, nudging her swollen sex.

Great.

Panting, she braced her palms on the dresser top.

Incredible.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged her closer, until their foreheads touched.

She grabbed a handful of his hair and crushed her mouth to his in a savage kiss, desperate for him, for what only
he
could give her.

He plunged into her then, buried to the hilt, the hard length of him filling her, stretching her. Completing her.

 

Rafe forced himself still, body quivering, needing the moment to check himself. Savoring the sensation of her clinging warmth around his member, he reminded himself that she was so much more fragile than he. He swallowed, fighting for restraint, fighting to hold the beast back.

She whimpered, flexing herself around him, the walls of her channel tightening, a perfect silken fist. A growl erupted from deep in his chest.

She worked her hips and he had to move. Pulling back, he buried himself inside her again, this time deeper, harder.

With a deep moan, she parted her legs wider. It was too much. He continued to move, driving into her again and again, watching as her face contorted with the same intense pleasure swelling like a tide though him.

Her moan deepened, and he knew she was close.

“That's it, baby.” Dropping his hand, he rolled his thumb over her little nub. With a strangled cry, her trembling legs gave out, heels sliding off the top of the dresser.

He caught her, lifting her shuddering body and wrapping her legs around him.

Their eyes locked, hers glowing brightly as he gripped her by the hips and pounded fiercely into her.

He could not stop, could not take it slow. The beast clawed free and his fingers dug deeply into her flesh, anchoring her for him.

She cried out, throwing back her head, her sweet body tightening, milking him.

He groaned, the sound reverberating from his body and into hers. He readjusted his hold on her. With one hand on her ass and the other gripping her thigh, he moved powerfully, stroking in and out of her. Again and again. His fingers dug into her thigh, pulling her leg higher for a deeper penetration, for a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.

She writhed against him, shoving him both away and closer, dragging her nails down his back, wild mewling noises spilling from her lips.

“That's it. Let go,” he breathed in her ear, taking the velvety lobe between his teeth and biting down, hard. She quivered in his arms.

Every nerve in his body tensed until he felt on the verge of snapping, exploding into pieces. He thrust in and out of her, filling her in a way that was more than physical. More than the endless stretch of days in his life as he knew it.

His thrusts grew harder, faster, stoking the fire within until—at last—he exploded, bursting from within, shattering everything he thought he knew about himself, about her.

She fell limp in his arms, her cheek dropping on his shoulder in trusting sweetness, her warm breath fanning his skin.

He pulsed inside her, the slightest movement in the still and sudden aftermath. He pulled her closer, her lithe body a perfect fit in his arms.

After his mother died, after he and Sebastian discovered her body, butchered by EFLA agents who had tracked her down at long last, he learned to shut down, to block emotion. He mastered the ability to close himself off from others, sealing himself off in a room deep inside himself, where no light penetrated.

Right now, though, he felt as if Kit had burst into that room, bringing with her a warm, reviving light. He had never felt warmer. Or more exposed.

Shit
.

Carefully, he set her back on the dresser.

She brought her knees together, averting her eyes. She remained just so for several moments as he stepped back, her lovely breasts rising and falling with her deep breaths. Still, she did not move, did not look at him.

A chill chased over his skin, bringing him back to himself. He moved automatically, discarding the condom and dressing himself.

Still she did not look at him. With every second that passed, he could almost see the barriers returning.

“Kit.” His hand reached for her cheek. She jerked away before he could touch her.

“Don't.” The word fell into the thick air, a sharp explosion of sound.

He dropped his hand.

She lifted her chin, spearing him with cold green eyes. “It was just sex, Santiago. Don't go making anything more out of it.”

He felt his lips twist into a cruel smile and could not stop from asking, “Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”

 

Kit watched as Rafe moved to the room's single window in a few swift strides. With his back to her, she felt safer, less vulnerable. Out of his sight, she lifted her hand to her mouth, brushing her bruised and tingling lips, willing her hand to still, to stop its feeble shaking.

He pulled the curtains back, and she squinted against the sudden glare of sunlight. Even in the air-conditioned room, she felt the heat of the Texas sun penetrate the glass, almost as hot as his mouth on her body.

“How are you feeling?”

The suddenness of his voice made her flinch. She slid off the dresser and retrieved the sheet at her feet and wrapped it around herself again.

How are you feeling?

Breathless. Furious. Confused. Hot and aching from his kisses, from his hands on her, from his complete and thorough use of her body.

But mostly furious. With
him
. With herself for letting a would-be-assassin make love to her.

He turned to face her. “Are you up for travel?”

“Travel?” she echoed dumbly, having trouble wrapping her head around any coherent thought.

“Yes.” His dark eyes stared at her with utter coolness, as if nothing had just happened between them.

The mysterious light that had lightened his eyes earlier had vanished. Unremitting darkness stared back at her. Impenetrable. Emotionless. Totally unaffected.

But that was a man for you, she supposed. So able to disconnect from emotion. From the passion that had rocked them only moments before.

“Are you ready to get out of here?”

Swallowing, she fought to gain the same level of composure and indifference he showed. “Definitely.” She hefted the sheet a bit higher, clinging to it like armor. “Only, not with you. We'll be going our separate ways.”

A hint of light reappeared at the centers of his dark eyes. “Do you really want to fight me on this?” He motioned to the bed. “I can tie you up until you change your mind. Is that what you would prefer?”

Her fists tightened, knotting in the sheet.

“Look,” he began with a sigh, holding up one hand in a placating manner. “I promise I'm not out to hurt you. I could already have done that had it been my goal.”

“Right,” she bit out, ignoring the tiny part of her that was inclined to believe him. “You forget that I know what you are. You already told me it's your job to—”

“You forget,” he cut in, his voice razor sharp. “Did I tell you I was going to hurt you? Ever?”

She stared at him intently, thinking over their previous encounters, and mentally answering his question.

No. He had never proclaimed his intent to
kill
her. Not precisely. But the implication had been there. He had not dissuaded her with words to the contrary. Had never once corrected the assumption.
He only helped save your life a few times.