“Ignoring what you really want.” His lips found the same spot he’d practically devoured just a few hours ago, and much more than just a few isolated muscle groups spasmed. “What you really need.”
God, what was she doing? She wanted him, but she didn’t want to want him. Not like she did. “What if I don’t need what you think I need?”
His lips, already moving against her skin, curved into a smile. She could feel it just as surely as she could feel the heat pooling in spots he’d already touched. Spots that would kill for another touch.
When he spoke, the reverberations followed the fever south. “What if you do?”
An unexpected thumb flicked over her nipple, and her knees buckled. She opened her mouth to tell him to stop, to tell him that they couldn’t, that Nobody or even Albert would pop up and turn on the lights and honk horns and then she’d never be able to look anyone in the face again because she couldn’t admit to anyone, most especially herself, that he was the one person in this world she needed. All that came out was a whimper that sounded like he was hurting her, when what was hurting was that frustrated orgasm that was begging, just begging, to be unleashed on her in the middle of a dirt road.
He caught her in a hard kiss, which only made the pain that much more acute. Another whimper clawed its way out of her throat, but this time, it was matched with a moan from deep in the back of his throat. “Can you drive?” he all but growled at her.
“No.” She couldn’t even shake her head. It hurt far too much.
“Keys?”
With unresponsive hands, she swatted around at her pocket until she somehow got them out. “But—your horse?”
He flung the passenger door open and backed her into it with another kiss that rendered her incapable of doing a damn thing to stop him. Then he turned and let out a whistle that was in serious danger of shattering glass.
The results were immediate. Blue Eye came cantering up so quickly that Madeline was sure the mare had been watching them—again. Voyeuristic horse, she thought limply. Go away.
“Go home,” Rebel said sharply. Blue Eye nudged him with her head. He said something in Lakota, which must have been the same thing, because Blue Eye shook her head and then trotted off into the darkness. Rebel watched her go before he turned around and shut her door. Seconds later, the car was barreling down the road.
She knew she lived about twenty miles away from where she thought Albert lived, but Rebel took the roads with a white-knuckled speed that took away what little breath she tried to grab. And then they were squealing to a stop in front of her studio cabin and she couldn’t get the seat belt off fast enough, so he did it for her.
God, she’d been horny before, needed the release of a good, old-fashioned climax to make everything all better—hell, Saturday was a prime example. But even with that recent memory still seared in her mind, she could honestly say it didn’t compare to the hot, heavy weight between her legs that pulsed with spasm after painful spasm. She could barely freaking walk.
Rebel pulled her out of the car and then she was up against the door and all that heavy weight was riding something equally hot and a whole lot harder.
“Mad-e-line,” Rebel growled into her neck, rocking those hips that never stopped into her with each and every syllable. “My Madeline.” But they didn’t move away from the car.
He was making her crazy, plain and simple. He was intentionally not giving her what she so desperately needed because—because—because he was waiting for something, she realized. He was waiting for her.
She shoved him back, trying to buy enough space that she could say something—anything—without losing what was left of her mind. “Rebel.” It came out thin and weak, but at least she hadn’t whimpered, right?
“Madeline.” His chest heaved with the effort. Her medical mind couldn’t help but note that his pupils were completely dilated, his skin flushed. At least she wasn’t the only one suffering right now.
“Supplies?” One word at a time was, apparently, all that was happening right now. Verbally, anyway.
He whipped his wallet out of his back pocket. “Three here. Nine back at camp.” But still he hung back, waiting.
Waiting for her.
Three here. Would it be enough? “I...” God, she wanted him, but the words were stuck somewhere between the last whimper and the next one. Nothing else came out.
“Tell me.” He moved in close again, but instead of another scorching kiss, he touched his forehead to hers. His body trembled. Was he nervous? “Tell me what you want. What you need, Madeline.” She saw his Adam’s apple bob. “Please.” It wasn’t a question. It was a prayer.