“Shoes on or off?” he asked.
She laughed when she realized they both still wore their boots. “Off.”
Sitting up, he quickly doffed his own, then turned his attention to hers.
She liked this playful side of him. Liked the feel of his large, warm hands grasping her calf as he removed first one shoe, then the other.
His gaze roved her body, splayed out before him like a banquet, scorching her and making her squirm with the need to feel all of that hard, muscled flesh against her.
And, just like that, all levity was shoved aside by lust.
He peeled a sock off, kissed her ankle, lowered her foot to one side of him. Peeling the second sock off, he kissed that ankle and lowered her foot to the other side of him. He smoothed his hands up her calves, up her thighs, his thumbs coming so close to the heart of her.
Damn, she wanted him.
He growled, exciting her even more. “Now you’re the one projecting.”
Her breath caught as he rose above her and settled his big, warm body between her thighs.
Étienne wanted Krysta so badly he nearly shook with it as he palmed one of her breasts.
Lowering his head, he drew the hard tip of her other breast into his mouth, loving the feel of her writhing beneath him. His fangs descended, as they often did when he experienced strong emotion, but he was careful not to let them pierce her soft skin.
“Are you hearing my thoughts?” she asked, her small hands exploring his back and hips.
“Yes.” They fired his need as much as her touch did.
“Then you know what I want,” she gasped, burying her hands in his hair as he teased her nipple with his tongue.
Fast and hard.
The thought came through loud and clear.
Reaching down between them, he found her already wet and eager for his touch, arching up when his fingers found her clit.
Now, she insisted. Please, Étienne. I want you now.
Hell, yeah.
Positioning his cock at her entrance, he met her gaze and slowly pressed forward. An inch. Then another. And another. Slowly stretching her. Savoring the feel of her.
She groaned. “You’re killing me.”
He winked, struggling to maintain his tenuous hold on control. “But what a way to go.”
She laughed.
He plunged inside to the hilt.
Both gasped.
She was so warm and wet and tight.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked.
Krysta shook her head, catching the concern in his eyes as he gazed down at her. She hadn’t been with anyone in a long time and Étienne was big, but . . . “You feel so good,” she breathed.
He withdrew, almost leaving her entirely, then thrust again. Hard.
“Oh, yeah.” She slid her hands down that wide, muscled back and over his ass as he thrust again. “Yessss.”
He thrust again, sending sparks of pleasure dancing through her.
“Again,” she urged, wanting more, needing more.
And he gave her what she wanted.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, taking her lips in a passionate kiss. “The things I want to do to you . . .”
“Tell me,” she panted, pleasure mounting.
He did. In explicit detail. Making blood rush to her face and her body burn hotter as he explored her flesh with his hands and that wicked mouth, continuing those long, deep thrusts until an orgasm ripped through her, stealing her breath and wringing a cry from her lips.
As her body continued to ripple with sensation, he stiffened above her and cried out with his own. Breathing hard, he closed his eyes and lowered his forehead to hers, those strong arms keeping the bulk of his weight off of her.
Her own chest rose and fell so fast one would think she had just run a marathon. Heart still pounding, peace sifting through her, Krysta was content to just lie quietly and enjoy the moment.
Her hands didn’t quite get the message, though. She couldn’t resist the need to slowly slide them up and down his back, loving the feel of all of that strength above her.
At last he raised his head. The amber glow in the eyes that met hers had lessened, allowing some of the brown to seep through.
He stroked her hair, both his touch and his expression tender. “Okay?”
She didn’t know if he was asking if she was okay physically—it had been a long time and he hadn’t exactly been gentle, giving her exactly what she had wanted—or if she was okay emotionally. But the answer to both was, “More than okay.”
He smiled and delivered a gentle kiss that stole her heart. Then he dipped his head and kissed her shoulder, where she had been shot.
Rolling them to their sides, he settled his head close to hers on the pillow.
His brow furrowed. “No lingering pain from your injuries?”
“No.” Which made her realize . . .
“What?” he asked, recognizing her unease.
She bit her lip. “Is it weird that we didn’t wash the blood off first?” Both had been wounded. And, though their wounds had been healed, smudges of dried blood remained where bullets and blades had marked them.