Secrets and Sins:Raphael(46)

Slim thighs wrapped around his hips, embracing as snugly as the arms  around his neck. She slid her hands up his nape and into his hair. The  tiny pinpricks on his scalp as she pulled on his hair were another  erotic sensation.

"I can't go slow," he whispered, grinding against her clit, and rewarded  with another of those breathy whimpers in his ear and a milking of his  cock. "God, baby. You're so wet and tight for me, I can't go slow."

"Then don't." She buried her face in the crook between his neck and  shoulder. And it was all the permission he needed. Grasping her ass, he  leaned back, pulled out until only half his dick remained buried inside  her, then plunged inside her. He widened his thighs, dragged her higher  over his, and went wild. He rocked into her, rode her, driving so high  and deep he almost feared losing himself. Damn, he lost it. Became lost  in her. In the fire and rapture of her.                       
       
           



       

She spasmed around his cock, her muscles rippling like a hot pond. Her  cries caressed his ears, spurred him on to take her harder, faster. Just  to take. And hell, he did. With a wild rawness that shook something  loose inside him. That splintered a wall deep in his soul that had kept a  part of him separate from his partner. Greer-her abandonment, her  selflessness, her trust-fractured the barrier into so many pieces, he  would spend the rest of his life trying to gather them up.

With a broken cry, she came. Her sex clamped down on him so tight he  grunted. Fuck, she was beautiful. Head thrown back, she came with a  freedom he envied. Craved more of. A guttural growl vibrated in his  throat as he continued to fuck her through orgasm, and only when the  quivers started to abate did he let go.

Ecstasy crashed over him, through him, and he vaulted over the edge, incinerated by pleasure only she had been able to show him.

His breath soughed in and out of his tortured lungs. His hips slowed,  his cock still twitching from the orgasm that by all rights should have  left him dead, his toes pointed toward the ceiling. Chuckling hoarsely  at the image, he lowered to the bed, pulling her into his arms, careful  to maintain their physical joining.

"What's so funny?" she asked, her soft pants bathing his chest.

"I was just thinking," he said, rubbing a hand over her shoulder and  planting a kiss to her damp forehead. "Pity sex is seriously  underrated."

This time he didn't try to evade the pillow smacking him in the face.

He was laughing too hard.





Chapter Twenty-Three

"Explain to me again what we're doing here," Raphael grumbled as he pulled the SUV to a stop in Noah's driveway.

Greer rolled her eyes, releasing her seat belt.

"You didn't have to come, Raphael."

"The hell I didn't." He snatched the key out of the ignition. "The last  time you were with him, he made you cry. That's more than enough reason  to tag along on this venture. Oh, not to mention there's still a stalker  on the loose. One who's graduated from letters to guns."

"Sarcasm duly noted," she drawled, stepping down out of the truck. He'd  better be glad she found his sarcasm sexy or else her hand would've been  up close and personal with the back of his head already.

"Shit." He groaned, and when she rounded the hood, he dragged her into  his arms. "I'm sorry for being a dick." He propped his chin on top of  her head, rubbed her arms. "I'm just … worried."

Two days had passed since the confrontation with Noah, since he and Chay  had been shot at. He hadn't left her side in that time, but his search  for the elusive Tag had continued. With no success. And his friend Leah  hadn't been able to find anything from her sources, either. Maybe Tag  didn't have a police record or went by another nickname-either way,  Raphael couldn't locate him. And the setback ate at him. Hounded him. He  probably didn't know she'd overhead him on the phone with Chay planning  another trip to find Justin and pry more information about the dealer  from him. A part of her tried to dredge up sympathy for the other man.  But the other side of her argued-and quite effectively-that the hood had  delivered a bomb to her attention. Yeah, sympathy was in short supply.

Perhaps Raphael perceived it, too. The sense that they were running out  of time. After months of letters, suddenly in the last week the acts had  escalated, become more violent and risky. The last being someone firing  on Raphael. This-whatever this was-seemed to be coming to a head  whether they were ready or not. Whether they understood why or not.

She slid her hands under the hem of his hoodie, hooked her fingers on  the waistband of his jeans. Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead  against his chest. The dull pounding at her temples amplified, reminding  her that the headache she'd woken with hadn't abated yet. Last night,  the nightmare came again. It'd lingered so when she jerked awake,  violent images of blood and death had taunted her. Grainy images  loitered right outside the edges of her conscious. Close enough to tease  but vague enough to mock her with their presence.

"Your head still hurts?" he murmured, pressing his fingertips to her  temples and circling. She sighed, the pressure easing the tiniest bit.

"A little," she admitted.

"Another reason we shouldn't be here," he reiterated, but without the irritation this time.

"I need to check on Noah." She raised her head and decided to let his  low "fuck him" pass without comment. "Yes, he hurt me, but he's still my  friend. And he hasn't been answering his phone. I'm worried. No matter  what happened between us, he would answer my call."                       
       
           



       

"All right, fine," he mumbled, back to annoyed. He stepped back,  scrubbed a palm over his nape. A tight, feral smile stretched his lips  as he swept an arm in front of him. "After you."

She headed up the walk of her friend's home, Raphael beside her. When  they reached the door, she knocked. Waited a few moments, then rapped  again. Then again. She glanced toward his driveway. Frowned. His black  Nissan was parked next to the house. Noah should be home.

So why wasn't he answering?

Maybe he was angry with her for rejecting him and allowing Raphael to  throw him out of his house. Or maybe he'd decided to give her space. Or,  she frowned as she knocked again, maybe he'd left the city for a while  and had traveled by something other than his car. While that would be  out character for Noah, what had happened between them a couple of days  ago had been far out of the realm of usual. Her heart twinged. In the  long years of their relationship, there'd never been an estrangement  like this. Yes, Noah had lied to her, had hurt her, but with distance  she saw-if not understood-that he'd acted out of a misguided love. One  act didn't wipe out a friendship, especially theirs. He'd defended her,  supported her, encouraged her, stood by her … loved her.

This morning after her last call to him had ended in another voicemail  prompt, she'd surrendered to the stir of urgency in her heart and  decided to go check on Noah.

"The television is on." Raphael lowered his cupped hands from the big  window stretching across the front of the house. "And I think there's a  plate and glass on the table." That sounded right. Noah enjoyed eating  in his living room in front of the TV. His little form of rebellion  against the formal dinners they'd both been subjected to by their Boston  Brahman parents during their childhood. "But I don't see a sign of him.  Princess"-Raphael turned to her, sympathy softening his voice-"maybe he  just wants some time."

"He's had two days." She yanked a ring of keys from her jacket pocket  and flipped through them, stopping at Noah's house key. They'd exchanged  keys long ago for emergencies.

"You think this is a good idea?" Raphael asked, skeptical.

Warning from Mr. Computer B&E should have given her pause. But worry  overrode caution, and she unlocked the door and pushed it open. The  beep signaling that a door had been opened chimed, but the house alarm  didn't blare. So either Noah was home or he'd forgotten to set the alarm  when he'd left-which was unlikely. Since he'd moved into this home  seven years earlier, she'd never known him to neglect setting it. When  they were fifteen, his family's home had been broken into, and the crime  had stamped an indelible fear on his psyche.

So if Noah was home, hadn't answered her calls or the door, then maybe  he really didn't want to see her. The ache in her chest intensified.  Well, tough shit. He'd hurt her. She was dealing with it. He damn well  could, too.

"Noah." Silence greeted her. Moving farther into the foyer, she called  out his name again and received the same response. Sighing, she headed  toward the living room. "No-"