So he complied, stroking her lips, finding the moist nub of nerves with a touch that made her arch. The blanket slipped lower. He liked that she was telling him what she wanted.
“Don’t stop,” she said thickly.
No way would he stop. He was enjoying this too much even as his groin began to swell with new needs of his own. Hard, driving needs.
She lowered her head, brushing a kiss on his lips, then, supporting herself with one arm, she reached down and enclosed his erection with her hand. He nearly jerked as electricity jolted through him.
“Oh, my...” The rest of his exclamation stopped behind clenched teeth. “You wicked, diabolical woman!”
She gave him a hazy smile as she pressed herself into his hand. “I’m a control freak sometimes.”
“Have at it.”
He was loving it. A sorceress held him in her grip, enthralling him with pleasures beyond imagining. He bucked a little at her touches, and smiles flitted across her face. Their eyes locked, his so blue-green, hers so black, and he felt as if he were being sucked into a fantastic, incredible black hole.
Enslaved to her, he wanted nothing more than to be enslaved forever. She ground herself against his hand, encouraging him to deepen his touches. He complied readily, sliding one finger into her while he rotated his thumb over the swollen knot of nerves.
Her smiles faded. Her breathing accelerated. She rocked. He rocked. Not quite coming together but not needing to. He reached out with his free hand to cup one of her breasts, feeling the hard pebble of her nipple in his palm.
She groaned and suddenly her head arched back. Her movements against his hand sped up, her stroking of his member keeping pace.
They were climbing this mountain with frightening ease, higher and higher until they soared over the pinnacle in an explosion of shuddering bodies, then drifted weakly back down.
When he found strength, he wrapped his arms around her again and held her to his chest.
She continually surprised him. In every way.
* * *
Later, clothed again, they made their way to the kitchen and the inevitable fresh pot of coffee. The atmosphere in the house had changed dramatically, however. The tension that had been between them, alternating from subtle to not so subtle, had vanished. In its place had come a kind of relaxed familiarity. A sense of promises half-made rather than potential declarations of war.
The files and photos still lay on the table. DeeJay gathered them up and tucked them away, out of sight for now. Cade brought them coffee and a couple of sinful slices of Danish.
“What?” she asked. “No doughnut for the cop?”
“This cop deserves more than a doughnut.”
The joke was so old she was almost embarrassed to have made it. But then they were facing each other across the table again, and their jobs were returning to the forefront. Driving away memories of pleasure in worries about the future.
“So was it hard being a woman in the army? Or were there good guys, too?” he asked.
The question was so far from her train of thought that it took her a moment or two to corral her mind and answer. “That depended.”
“A lot of misogynists?”