When Passion Lies: A Shadow Keepers Novel (18 page)

“Caris,” he said, his voice as rough as she’d ever heard it. He slipped his hand down between her thighs, stroking her. Sending pleasure ricocheting through her—
God, she was so ready
, and she had to fight and fight so she didn’t come right then. But the proximity of that pleasure—it was like the wolf beneath her skin. Something dangerous just waiting to burst out.

She’d learned to control the wolf, but dammit, she didn’t want to control this.

“More,” she whispered, before she could stop herself, and then his hands were at her hips, and he was peeling her shorts off. Her flesh tingled, like lightning crackling up and down. His touch was memory and perfection.

And she’d missed it horribly.

A support beam extended from ceiling to floor, and he eased her up against it, his hands caressing her, teasing her, making her want more than she should want—not now, not with him.

And yet with who else? This was Tiberius, the man who’d first brought her body to life.

Dear God, she wanted him to do that to her again.

As if her thoughts were wishes, he was on his knees, his hands cupping her rear, his mouth closing hard over her nipple.

He suckled, and she arched back, moaning, desperate
for more, for the sweet pain of intense pleasure that his touch could bring.

His tongue laved her, teasing and flicking at her rock-hard nipple, as her body quivered under his ministrations. Slowly, sensually, one hand slid up her thigh. His finger found her, hot and slick, and he stroked her clit in sweet, sensual motions, bringing her closer and closer, then easing off until she was a melting pile of frustration, her hips gyrating with need.

He trailed kisses down her belly. His tongue edged out his finger for the prize, and he gently spread her legs more, then traced the tip of his tongue over her swollen clit.

The tremor that rocked her body was so tight, so fast and hard, that she had to hold on to the support beam so that she wouldn’t fall.

But he didn’t take her over—he didn’t make her come. That was just a preview of coming attractions.

He murmured something she couldn’t understand, then worked his way up her body, bringing washes of pleasure in his wake. He stood, then slanted his mouth over hers, her taste still lingering on his lips. He pulled her close, the motion rough, pressing their bodies tight so that she felt every inch of him, including the hard length of his cock.

She reached down, her hand encircling it, stroking gently, then harder as he moaned. She kissed him deeply, shifting her legs so that the length of him was pressed between her thighs, her hips shifting, teasing and tormenting him as the friction of skin against soft, male velvet drove him absolutely mad.

It felt good to make him crazy.

“Still with me?” she asked.

He made a low, guttural sound. “Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got.”

Her laugh escaped involuntarily, and she covered by kissing him again. She told herself she wouldn’t think about how it made her feel, the memories it brought back.

This was Tiberius. And with Tiberius there was the good, and there was the bad. And that was just the way it was. This wasn’t make-up sex. This was fuck-you sex.

And she was damn well going to enjoy it.

His hands were on her shoulders, his body tight as the pressure of his passion built. “Enough standing,” he growled, and he pushed her back, hard, onto the mat.

She fell, sprawling, and found herself looking up at him. He was right there, his face in front of hers, his dark eyes gleaming with dangerous possibilities.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, but instead of finding her lips, his mouth closed again over her nipple. Pleasure warred with pain, ripping through her, making her wriggle and writhe as she struggled for an elusive more. As she fought not to plead with him to never stop touching her.

With lips and fingers he explored every inch of her, stroking sweet spots, nibbling in soft areas. Generally driving her wild.

His fingers danced against her, dipping between her legs, teasing her and making her buck, making her crave that final showdown, and at the same time making her never want it to come so that this little slice of heaven could go on and on.

He knew her body so well. For hundreds of years, she’d been his, her body his instrument, and it was clear he hadn’t forgotten. He played her, making shocks reverberate
through her body, so intense that she had no choice but to cling to him and ride it out.

And then his lips were on hers again, warm and demanding. Battering. Taking. Claiming.

Claiming
.

This was supposed to be her party, and yet somehow the tables had gotten turned.

That was something she could remedy immediately.

“Tiberius,” she whispered, her voice dreamy. And then, before he could even ask what she wanted, she hooked an arm and a leg around him and flipped him over.

She straddled him, laughing, the slow sensuality replaced by a hard and fast demand.

She didn’t mind. From the look on his face, neither did he.

Between her legs, his erection twitched, hard and ready. She reached down and stroked him, then guided him to her. He was velvet steel beneath her fingers, and she wanted him. Had to have him.

And so with the whisper of a single word—
Tiberius—
she impaled herself on him, arched her back, and reveled in the pleasure of this man’s touch.

Tiberius thought he would lose his mind.

He held on to her as she rode him, their bodies rocking together. Hard and hot. Demanding and intense.

He’d understood what she was doing—sex, nothing more. But he’d also seen the softness beneath. He saw it now in the passion on her face.

He felt it in the stroke of her fingers.

Even her wild bucks and thrusts were a coming together, not just of sex, but of
them
.

She’d gone to Gunnolf’s bed, but she was back in his arms.
His
. He lost himself in her smooth skin, her responsive body. He closed his eyes, her soft moans taking him close to the edge.

She’d brought him to the hilt and he was deep in her core, their bodies so close, so joined, that he wasn’t sure where he stopped and she began.

All he knew was that he wanted to stay lost inside her. That he wanted this feeling to last. Wanted the wild bursts of bodies crashing together, but also wanted the soft strokes of slow lovemaking, touches and caresses and skin against skin.

“Harder,” he demanded, and she willingly complied. “Kiss me,” he insisted, and there she complied, too, bending over so that her breasts brushed his bare chest, and then closing her mouth over his, pulling him up until they were both sitting, both connected, joined like some ancient statue.

“I want more,” she whispered when she broke the kiss. “I want everything.”

She eased off him, and he moaned in protest, since her leaving definitely didn’t fit his definition of everything. But then she pushed him to his back again. She was still straddling him, but she moved higher, then guided his hand so that his finger slipped inside her. “Yes,” she whispered. “Touch me.”

He obeyed willingly, teasing and tickling and feeling and then, when she pulled away and eased closer, tasting as she lowered herself gloriously over him.

He feasted on her, reveling in every tiny twitch of pleasure until finally the twitches added up to an explosion
and she moaned in true passion and collapsed beside him. He rolled over and traced his fingers over her bare, beautiful skin, but she pushed them away. “Not yet. I’m not done with you.”

She crawled down, all the way to his feet, then stroked her hands along his legs as she worked her way up to his hard-as-steel cock.

“Sweet,” she said, then gave it a tentative little lick that just about sent him over the edge.

Slowly, methodically, she tasted every inch of him, so expertly that he stayed on the brink. When she finished that, she flashed a wicked grin, then took his entire cock in her mouth.

He groaned, involuntarily thrusting up to meet her, his body tensing and tightening as she sucked and pulled.

“No more,” he begged. “I want you, Caris. I want to be inside you.”

She eased off him, met his eyes, and said in a tone of voice that alone was sufficient to thrust him over the edge, “Me, too.”

Her words were like a drug, and he flipped her over, his hands exploring every ready inch of her. He traced his fingers between her thighs, slid them over soft skin, and whispered everything he was going to do in her ear.

Her body shivered and quaked, and he stroked and played her, making her even wetter, even more open for him.

And then, when neither of them could stand it any longer, he leaned over her, took his weight on his arms, and thrust deep inside her.

Her hands cupped his rear, and she pulled him toward her, lifting her hips in silent demand that he go faster,
harder. She tilted her head back and moaned. “Harder. Tiberius, deeper.”

He did. Hell, he couldn’t stop. It was as if she was a drug, and he was completely addicted.

He’d missed her. The heat of her body, the sound of her voice. Just having her beside him.

And this. Oh, by the gods, he’d missed this.

He felt her tighten around him, little spasms building to something bigger, and he thrust harder. Beneath him, she bucked as their bodies pistoned together, and then, when he thought he couldn’t hold on anymore, she exploded beneath him, and her orgasm drove him over as well, his body trembling from the pure pleasure of losing himself inside her.

They lay side by side, his fingers idly stroking the curve of her hip.

Silence lay heavy yet comfortable between them, but after a moment, she broke it.

“That was wonderful,” she said.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

She rolled over in his arms, then faced him, her expression serious. “It was … nostalgic.”

He lifted a brow. “Was it?”

“Old times’ sake.”

“I’m pretty sure some of those tricks were new.”

“Tiberius—it felt great, but I don’t think—”

“You think it was a mistake.”

She hesitated. “I think we shouldn’t do it again.”

It was a diplomatic answer, and he forced himself not to analyze it too closely. She was right, after all. They probably shouldn’t do that again.

“It’s just that you’re right,” she said. “The past can’t
be changed. There’s history between us that I don’t know if we can ever truly get around. But …”

There was a hesitancy in her voice that made him look up. “Yes?”

“It’s just that there’s enough real stuff between us without you believing things that are wrong.”

“Such as?”

“I never shared Gunnolf’s bed.”

“I heard differently.” Tiberius spoke cautiously, wondering what the punch line was.

“You were meant to,” she said. “Not just you. Everyone. We thought it was better if everyone believed …” She trailed off. “But he was
—he is
—a friend.”

Tiberius heard the accusation behind the confession—Gunnolf had been there for her when he had not.

And right then, that truth somehow hurt even more than when he’d believed she’d run straight into another man’s arms.

“Seals?” Lihter asked.