Shadow Reaper (Shadow #2)(110)
She felt a little wanton and very sexy. The silk sheets under her bare skin slid over her back and bottom like a caress. He crawled up her, looking every inch the predator he was. His cock dragged along her thigh, heavy and full. She found him shockingly sensual. Everything in her responded to him.
"Thank you." His voice smoothed over her skin the way the sheets did. He reached for her right hand, his gaze moving over her forearm and hand while he massaged. "You're certain no numbness? You were in the ropes a long while and you aren't used to it yet."
The way he cared for her, as if she were extremely important to him, made tears burn behind her eyes. She'd never had that caring. Not, at least, that she could remember. "I'm in good physical condition."
His grin was nearly a smirk. "I'm counting on that."
For some reason that made her blush. He placed her arm carefully on the sheets beside her and massaged the other one. He held himself over her, as if it were an easy feat with one hand. She loved that he was so strong. She'd grown up feeling large and clumsy in the very small house with its narrow hallways, and Osamu beating her back with a broom because her body had brushed the table or chairs as she'd walked through a room.
She knew she would never regret this night. Not one single minute of it. Ricco Ferraro would always be her choice. Always.
Mariko was looking at him with stars in her eyes. A man could get addicted to that look, pay any price, do anything to keep that look right there for all time. Ricco placed her arm gently on the sheets and reached behind her head to pull the pins from her lush hair. He loved her hair, all that silk, thick and wavy, framing her face, brushing across her vulnerable neck, spilling on his pillow just the way he knew it would when he set it free. Her hair always seemed as if it had a life of its own. He loved that she looked so feminine, so delicate, and yet each pin he took from all those silky blond waves was lethal.
She was magic to him. All those years of heartbreak, of anger, of no sleep, watching over his family and feeling terror for them, came down to this woman. She was worth every single second of those years. Every moment he felt alone and apart from the others. He had saved her. He didn't need a DNA test to know that Mariko was a Tanaka, and yet it wouldn't have mattered if she hadn't been.
If she were forever Mariko Majo, he would want her. He knew now how important what he'd done all those years ago was.
She was sexy to him. Everything about her. How sweetly feminine she could look and then she'd turn tiger and step into a shadow, snap a neck and return as serene as ever. The moment he saw her, his body reacted. Sometimes, like now, it was a slow burn, but other times, like in the studio when he'd tied her, it was a brutal inferno, but he always reacted to her.
He kissed her because kissing her was as necessary as breathing. When he kissed her, her arms went around him, her hands were on him, moving over his body, claiming him almost without her knowledge. Her fingers moved over his skin and his heart reacted, hammering loudly. Thunder roared in his ears and his cock pounded with hunger.
He couldn't explain joy because he'd never felt it until Mariko. How could joy be wrapped up in the savage, primitive way she made him feel? He wanted to pound into her, be surrounded by her, taken deep. He wanted them to go at it so hard they rolled off the bed onto the floor and didn't even realize it. At the same time, he wanted gentle for her. Tender. He wanted her to feel the love overwhelming him, the joy sweeping through him. He wanted her to know she made him … more. Whole. Better. So much more and better of a man. Every cliché he'd heard and thought was total bullshit. He felt all those things for her.
"God, I love kissing you," he whispered against her throat. "I could kiss you forever." He wanted to watch her undress slowly, or come to him just as she had in the studio. He couldn't get enough of her, clothed or otherwise. She was … spectacular.
The rain started, drumming outside, hitting the roof and the sides of the house as the wind kicked up and drove it into the windows. Tears, he thought. Tears neither of them had shed when they should have. He kissed his way down her throat, feeling her pulse jump under his lips. Tears of sorrow. Tears of sheer joy.
He'd never felt skin like hers, softer than silk. He'd noticed that the first time she'd modeled for him, and he'd found every excuse possible to touch her skin. That was a first for him, too. Always before, with other models, his entire focus had been on his art. With Mariko, he was totally focused on her. Just as he was now. He lost himself in her.