Undercover Hunter(62)

                Naked, his mouth still clinging to hers, breaking only for gasps of breath, he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the bed.

                Rough, ready and impatient. He might regret it later, but every movement she made encouraged him. Her hands grasped him, pulled him ever closer, found his stiff member and squeezed a groan out of him.

                Dimly he remembered a condom, but just in the nick of time. Together they fumbled it on him, then he dove into her depths, warm and welcoming and delightfully tight. Her legs wound around his hips, pulling him in all the way.

                His heartbeat hammered in his ears, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He found enough presence of mind to rise on his elbows and look down at the woman beneath him.

                Her face had softened into new contours; her breaths were nearly quick moans. She was already on the way to the moon. To hell with it, he thought, and pumped harder.

                A cry escaped her and moments later he jetted into her, an explosion of satisfaction that wiped out the rest of the world.

                He collapsed on her, hot and sweaty, and at some level realized they had rutted with less grace than animals in a barnyard.

                And he didn’t feel even a tiny bit bad about it.

                * * *

                The wind still keened. Ice rattled against windows. Cade managed to move enough to cover them with blankets and draw DeeJay into his arms. “Sorry that was so rough and abrupt,” he murmured. His nose was pressed to her hair, and he liked its scent and silkiness.

                A small, quiet laugh escaped her. “I needed it,” she said bluntly. “So much. No apologies.”

                “Next time—”

                But she cut him off. “Shh. I said no apologies.”

                So he held her close, wondering at his own behavior, wondering where this would take him and if it would be the biggest mistake possible.

                But she didn’t seem in any hurry to roll away. Her fingertips traced his back gently, reawakening urges he thought he’d just satisfied. It had all happened so fast he couldn’t believe it. He’d never made love like that before, had never expected to. Yet she seemed content.

                “Sometimes,” she murmured, “when you’re in a foxhole you have to move fast and without thinking.”

                “So this was some kind of instinctive thing?”

                “Wasn’t it?”

                He supposed it was. Lines they couldn’t cross had needed crossing to get here, and he guessed the immediacy and explosiveness had carried them past a whole lot of things that had been inhibiting their desires. Bam! No more lines now, unless they redrew them. He didn’t want to do that.

                “No apologies, no regrets,” she said. “Promise.”

                He could promise that, he decided. “Agreed.”

                “Good.”

                She pushed his shoulder until he rolled onto his back, then straddled him, with the blanket hanging from her shoulders. There was almost no light, but he could still make out her breasts hanging over him like an invitation. He waited, though, wanting to see what she would do. Passion had begun to thrum in him again, surprisingly soon. The woman had a hell of an effect on him.

                Leaning on one hand, she reached for his and drew it downward, cupping it over her dewy cleft. “Here,” she whispered. “Touch me here.”