The Psy-Changeling Series, Books 6-10 (111 page)

Turning off the shower only after her skin was pink from the heat, she got out and used the spare towel to dry herself, then picked up Max’s shirt and brought it up to her nose. It had been laundered, but she could sense echoes of Max’s innate scent beneath the freshness of the detergent.

It slipped easily over her body, hanging to midthigh. The color was white, but the fabric was thick enough that she didn’t have to worry about her lack of underwear being embarrassingly obvious. Not that Max wouldn’t already be aware that she was naked beneath his shirt. Feeling her cheeks color, she put her dirty clothes—and gloves—in a neat pile to the side, then stepped out into the bedroom.

It was empty.

Glad for the reprieve, she found herself walking to the dresser. A plain black comb lay on the surface, along with a wallet and a keycard. The austere nature of it suited him, she thought, because for all his masculine beauty, Max was a cop through and through. Taking the comb, she lifted it up to her hair. It felt wonderfully intimate to run it through the damp strands, and she imagined what it would be like to have him stroke her scalp with those strong fingers of his instead.

“Sophie.”

Startled, she dropped the comb on the dresser, turning to find him leaning against the doorjamb. He’d changed into faded blue jeans and a plain black T-shirt that caressed his lithe frame with soft ease. “You look so young,” she said. With his hair sliding over his forehead and his expression outwardly relaxed, he could’ve been a college kid . . . but there was too much knowledge in those uptilted eyes.

“Look who’s talking.” With that, he pushed away from the doorjamb and closed the distance between them with that inherently masculine grace. “You look good in my shirt.”

She tugged at the cuffs she’d rolled up to her wrists, nervous in a way she couldn’t explain. “Max, I—” The words stuck in her throat, hard, jagged.

Eyes of near black met hers as he bent his knees to bring himself down to her height. “What do you need?”

The dam burst. “Will you hold me, Max?”

Max stepped closer. “Always. But are you sure? Your shie—”

“Please.”

His arms came around her, gently, so gently, as if he was afraid she’d shatter. But when she locked her own around his waist in an iron-tight embrace, his hold turned unbreakable. The electricity of their contact arced through her, but beneath it all was a tranquil, pure silence.

A sigh rippled out of her, as she found sweet relief from the unremitting pressure of the millions of minds in the vicinity, the billions of thoughts pressing down on her. When Max shifted his embrace to cup the back of her head, she shuddered.

He froze. “Sophie?”

“All I feel is you,” she whispered against his body, the warmth of him making her want to rub her face against him, rub her skin against him until he was a part of her. “Just you.”

“More?” A husky question.

“More.”

Bending his head, he touched his lips to her temple, one of his arms moving up to curve around her shoulders, his fingers tangling in her hair. She expected him to speak, but what he did instead was drop a line of kisses along her cheekbone and down over her jaw. Shivering from the sensation, from the near-painful pleasure of the contact, she stood on tiptoe, trying to get closer. A raw male chuckle.

And then Max kissed her.

This was no brush, no teasing taste. He took her mouth with the contained intensity she could feel thrumming beneath her fingers, his muscles taut, his entire body held barely in check. And she realized he was savagely angry, a tiger no longer on the leash.

His tongue swept against hers, buckling her knees. She gripped his shoulders, tried to hang on, drowning in the dark, masculine taste of him. Her heart was a rapid beat within her rib cage, her mind a place of splintering chaos. The only anchor, the only reality, was Max. His shoulder muscles shifting beneath her grasp, he moved one arm down to clamp over her lower back, his hand scrunching up the material of the shirt.

Air brushed the backs of her thighs, and she remembered she was standing in front of a mirror. But the thought was gone in the next instant as he tugged at her hair to angle her head for a deeper, hotly sexual kiss. Wet and open and demanding, it was the most intimate contact of her life. Her chest grew tight, so tight.

“Breathe.” A harsh order as Max broke the kiss.

Sucking in a gasping breath, she pressed her mouth back to his. Kissing was . . . wild and exhilarating and so shockingly intimate, she wasn’t sure she could handle what came afterward. But she would. “No.” The protest was rasped out as he broke the kiss a second time and gripped her arms, holding her hands from him.

A red flush rode his high cheekbones, and his voice, when he spoke, trembled with the force of emotion, “You’re not thinking straight.”

“I can’t be alone, Max.” She tried to close the gap between them, but he was too strong. “I want you.”

“You had one hell of a psychic shock today,” he said, refusing to budge. “I’m not about to let you cause further damage by overloading your—”

“Stop it,” she snapped out in spite of the fact that her skin was all but crawling with need, and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow. “I’m not a child you have to protect. I know what I want.”

Max hissed out a breath. “Your shields—”

“I don’t know what’s happening with my shields,” she said, blunt in her need, “but I know that right now, I’m an enigma to those in the PsyNet. This is my chance. If that shield fails tomorrow, if my mind is torn open, so be it—but don’t you dare deny us this because you think you’re protecting me. Don’t you
dare
.”

Max’s fingers flexed on her wrists, but he didn’t pull her forward. “What about me?” he asked, anger a vibrating thread in his voice.

She was taken aback by the question, by the glittering emotion in his eyes. “Max—”

“What the fuck do you think it’ll do to me to love you, then watch as your mind breaks?” Veins stood out along his arms, as if he was having to hold himself in vicious check to keep from shaking her.

Sophia’s expression shifted from one emotion to the next with lightning speed, but Max had anticipated her, held her tight when she tried to tug herself out of his grasp.

“No,” he said, “you don’t get to be a coward and back away now.”

Her eyes blazed with fire. “I’m not being a coward. You’re right—it was selfish of me to ask this of you.”

“So you’ll walk away? Just put it to one corner of your Psy mind and forget we ever touched?”

A tremble of her lower lip that she tried to hide from him. “Yes. I’m Psy.” Rote words, her face turned to the side. “I’ve learned to compartmentalize.”

“Liar.” And then he kissed again, unable to stop, whatever remaining barriers he had shredded by her nearness, her scent, her presence, the fucking way she was trying so hard to fight the painful depth of her need because she didn’t want to hurt him.

Her mouth opened under his even as she tried to pull away her wrists. He held her in place for a second before releasing her. Instead of pushing at him as he’d half expected, she wrapped her arms around his neck and met him stroke for stroke, lick for lick. Groaning, he bunched up the shirt she was wearing with one hand, reaching down to cup her buttocks with the other.

Sophia moaned into his mouth, and he somehow found the presence of mind to lift his head, to ask, “Is this hurting you?”

“No.” Pulling him back down, she used the skills she’d just learned to drive him insane.

He felt his fingers digging into her soft flesh, made himself soften his hold. Her response was to scrape her teeth over his jaw, along his neck. His hands clenched again, his eyes flicking to the mirror at her back. The raw eroticism of the image was beyond anything he’d dared imagine. Her skin was delicately flushed, a creamy softness against his rougher, darker hands.

Realizing she’d gone still, he looked down into her face. Her lips were parted, swollen from their kisses. “Is the visual impact very intense?”

It was such a Sophia way to put it that the almost violent edge of his hunger shifted into something different, exquisitely tender. “I don’t think you’re quite ready for it yet,” he murmured, indulging himself by stroking his hand across her lush flesh.

“Later?”

“Later.” Sucking on her lower lip, he nudged her away from the mirror and toward the bed, not sure he could leash himself in the face of such delicious temptation. She didn’t resist, letting him touch her as he would, lead her as he would.

It was a heady sensation, and one that paradoxically gave him more control. Nipping at her lower lip, he pulled back a little. She looked lost for an instant, until he raised his hands to the front of the shirt she wore to undo the top button. Her head dipped, watching him release button after button until the shirt hung completely undone. Lifting a hand, he touched a single finger on the dip of her breastbone, catching her attention.

Her chest rose up and down in a jagged rhythm as he ran that finger slowly down the valley of her breasts and over the softness of her abdomen to circle at her navel. Making an inarticulate sound, she gripped his biceps. “That is not an intimate region.”

It took him a second. “Oh yeah?” Spreading his fingers on her, he just barely brushed the curls at the apex of her thighs.

Her fingers tightened on him, her breaths turning shallow. Leaving his hand where it was, he tugged back her head and took another kiss, but this one was slow, lazy, as he attempted to seduce her into relaxing. She responded like wildfire, but her body remained on edge, almost quivering with tension. Kissing his way along her jaw, he said, “Take off the shirt.”

She went motionless, her breath hot against his neck. For a moment, he thought he’d pushed her too far, and went to back off. But she lifted her hands to the lapels of the shirt at that moment, her fingers bloodless from the force of her grip.

“No?” he asked, nuzzling at her, taking the scent of her into his lungs. “Want to stop?”

The answer was soft but immediate. “No.”

“Want me to help you?”

An almost imperceptible nod.

Forcing himself to keep a stranglehold on his own hunger, he lifted his hands to close over hers. Together, they peeled apart the edges of the shirt to her shoulders. “Let go,” he said against her lips.

It took several seconds, but her fingers opened. He held the shirt at her shoulders for a long moment before releasing the fabric. She could’ve stopped its descent using her arms, but she relaxed them and the material slid off her with the hushed grace of a lover’s caress. Instead of gorging himself on the lush beauty of her, he held her close, placing his hand very carefully on her lower back, his eyes locked with hers, his mouth a whisper’s breath from her own.

There was, he was glad to see, no fear in her. A little trepidation, but that, he could understand. Smiling, he kissed her again, lazy, easy, undemanding. Her mouth opened under him, but her body continued to thrum with tension. “What’re you afraid of?” he finally asked, cupping her cheek with his free hand. “And don’t say nothing.”

A long, shuddering breath. “I just want to get it over with once—then I’ll know what to expect.”

Tenderness swept over him, along with a touch of chagrin. “That’s not exactly the kind of thing a man wants to hear when he’s trying to seduce his woman.”

“Max.”
A worried look. “I feel as if I’m stumbling in the dark. If I knew, then I could . . .”

“Control it?” A gentle tease.

Her hands fisted at his waist. “You think I should just let go.”

“No,” he said, sipping at her mouth between words. “Everyone’s a little edgy their first time.”

“So you’ll—”

“How about instead of rushing it,” he murmured, “we do what feels good? No expectations, no end goal.”

“But I want to finish.” A stubborn look.

Affectionate hunger rocked through him, at once savage and playful. “Yeah?” He couldn’t help his smile. “Alright.”

Her eyes widened, as if she’d read something on his face that worried her. “Max?”

But he was already swinging her up in his arms and placing her on the bed. Coming down over her, he settled himself in the vee of her thighs. “Wrap your legs around me.”

“That feels . . .” Breathy, almost shocked. “Your jeans . . .”

He shifted against her delicate flesh, knowing the rough material would intensify the sensations. Giving an inarticulate cry, she arched her body. It was all the invitation he needed. Dipping his head, he took one dark little nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, even as he insinuated a hand between their bodies, reaching for the tiny bud in the liquid-soft center of her that could give so much pleasure.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she tried to pull him closer and push him away at the same time. Shifting his attention to her neglected breast, he began to play with her clitoris, hard then soft.
There.
He felt it the instant she reacted, modified his stroke to what brought her the most pleasure, lifting himself off her enough that he could stroke downward to rub at the sensitive entrance to her body as well.

She was wet, slick. He couldn’t resist the temptation to dip his finger within. That was all it took.

A choked scream. Her body arching bowstring tight.

He could feel the edge of the pleasure that pulsed through her, wanted only to bury himself inside her, feel those muscles clench around his cock. Sweat beaded along his spine as he stroked her down from the orgasm instead.

The single thing that made it bearable was that
he’d
done this to her, to his smart, sexy, stubborn . . . and vulnerable J.

Rising to brace his palms on either side of her when she slumped onto the bed, her chest heaving, he took a kiss. Another. She gave of herself without hesitation, her body limp beneath his, her skin sheened with perspiration. “Feeling more relaxed?” he murmured.