Polterheist(49)

I whimpered in frustration upon discovering how heavily clothed he was beneath his coat-a sweater, a shirt, an undershirt, trousers, belt, holster, gun . . . I didn't think I could cope with all this in my fevered, trembling eagerness. Fortunately, though, he'd been undressing himself for years without my help, so we got most of it off pretty quickly. Shoes, belt, holstered gun, handcuffs, and other objects hit the floor around us, the thudding noises they made barely audible above our frantic breathing and the desperate little sounds we made.

He untied the belt of my heavy robe and slid it off my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, too. When he ran his hands over me, I gasped and gave a startled laugh because they were still cold. I let him use me to warm them up as I pressed myself against him, flesh to flesh, sighing at how good his naked skin felt all along my body.

Lopez scooped me up into his arms and carried me into the bedroom, where we tumbled onto the bed together and lost ourselves in passion, in hunger finally unleashed. In each other.

The soft light from the bedside lamp caressed his golden-dark skin and gleamed against his midnight-black hair. The dusting of hair on his chest tickled my breasts as his weight pressed me into the mattress. I had a moment of tense anxiety as I remembered that the last time he had embraced me in this bed (albeit on a different mattress), it had suddenly burst into flames. He felt my tension and went still, lifting his head to meet my eyes. I thought I could drown in the blue depths of that gaze, which was now simultaneously passionate, quizzical, and tender.

I relaxed as I recalled that on that incendiary night in summer, he had been conflicted and angry. Whereas tonight, he seemed absolutely sure of what he wanted. And I was sure, too.

My enthusiastic kiss answered his unspoken question, and he relaxed, too. We rolled over and over together, limbs entwined, exploring each other with rich, uninhibited delight. I had dreamed of him like this, had thought so many times about what it would be like to have him in my bed. Now that he was here, his rough tenderness, his boldly exploring mouth, and his shameless hands were turning my fantasies into ashes, consuming me in flames more intense than anything I had ever conjured in my imagination. I surrendered unconditionally to his heat, his warmth, his fire. We melded and melted into each other, our sighs and inarticulate sounds of pleasure floating around us. We writhed ecstatically together, clinging blindly to each other, consumed by this frantic inferno of desire until, at length, the explosion left us weak, trembling, and gasping for air.

* * *

After I got my breath back, which took a while, I was too sleepily content to feel like talking. I turned off the light and snuggled against Lopez in the cozy darkness, my head on his shoulder, and enjoyed the contrast between his warm, smooth skin and the cool air on my naked back. He stroked my hair, kissed my forehead, and twined his fingers with mine, apparently also content not to talk. When I finally got a little chilly, he helped me pull the covers up, and then we slept for a bit.

While it was still dark, he woke me up to make love again. It was slow and sultry this time-and so steamy I was sure that, for the next few days, I'd succumb to blushing every time I was in a public place and suddenly thought of tonight. He really wasn't the altar boy he pretended to be.

When he was done with me, I fell asleep again almost immediately, limp with satisfied exhaustion. He was snuggled up against my back, his arms around me, his head nestled next to mine.

Dawn was creeping through the window blinds when I felt him ease away from me. The mattress shifted, and I realized he was getting out of bed. I assumed he was just going down the hall for a minute and would come right back to bed. But when he returned to the bedroom, I heard the crisp zip of his fly and the metallic click of his belt buckle, and I realized he was getting dressed.

I made an inarticulate sound of protest, without lifting my head or opening my eyes.

A moment later, I felt the mattress dip beneath his weight as he sat beside me. "Are you awake?" he whispered.

I made a negative sound.

Lopez leaned over to brush my hair away from my face and kiss my cheek. "Now are you awake?"

"No," I grumbled.

I felt his puff of amusement against my skin before he kissed me again. "I have to go to work."

That made me open my eyes. I squinted at him in the dim, gray light creeping through the blinds. "Now?"

He nodded.

"Oh." I sighed in disappointment.

"Sorry." He stroked my arm. "I'd rather stay here."

"So stay," I mumbled.

"Can't," he said with regret. "It's Christmas."

"Huh? Oh . . . right." I'd forgotten. A lot had happened since yesterday, after all. I nodded. "Single guy, no kids. Your shift."

"Uh-huh. I'm already late." Lopez looked sleepy and sounded tired as he added, "And when your colleagues carry guns, you really don't want to be the reason they missed Christmas morning with their kids."

"But you were working all night!" When he laughed at that description of his nocturnal activities, I amended, "Well, until about two o'clock, anyhow. You deserve a break."

"I do," he agreed emphatically. "But that's a card I can't play on Christmas Day."

I reached for his hand, wishing he could stay for a few more hours. "You've hardly slept," I said with concern.

He grinned and squeezed my hand. "Believe me, last night was well worth the price I'm paying for it today."

I smiled, too, and our eyes held for a long moment before he spoke again.

"Luckily, we've got lots of coffee at work." He kissed me softly on the mouth, then rose from the bed. "Go back to sleep. I'll call you later."

"Hmmm." My lids felt heavy, but I kept my eyes open so I could watch him finish buttoning his shirt and then pull on his sweater. I liked seeing him getting dressed in my bedroom. I hoped I'd be seeing it often from now on. "What time do you get off work?"

"Six," he said. "But then I'm going straight out to Nyack. I'm sorry. If it were any other night . . . But I promised my parents, and I'll never hear the end of it if I don't go."

"Ah. That whole . . . Christmas thing again," I grumbled.

Oh, well, I'd see him when he got back.

In fact, I realized as I watched him straighten his sweater over his torso, I'd see all of him again. A little shiver of mingled pleasure and anticipation rippled through me as I remembered him frantically shedding his clothes last night and imagined him doing that again soon.

"Yeah, that Christmas thing." Lopez looked amused as he tugged his cuffs down. "Think you can adjust to my strange gentile customs?"

"Hmph. Well, at least you were circumcised."

He gave me a flirtatious look. "Oh, so you noticed?"

"Last night I was up close and personal with your . . . circumcisedness," I pointed out.

"So you were," he agreed with a grin.

"Though ‘last night' was only a couple of hours ago," I added sleepily, glancing at the bedside clock. "You've really got to go?"

"I've really got to go." He glanced at the clock, too, and added with regret, "Right now."

I sighed again, wishing he were still beside me in bed.

Lopez stood looking at me for a long moment, curled up beneath the covers with my eyes barely open. Then he made an impatient sound, crossed the room, and pulled me into his arms for a long, deep kiss that made my head spin. I clung to him dizzily as he murmured, "I'll call you later."

I nodded in response as I nuzzled his neck. When I tasted the smooth, golden skin of his throat, he made an involuntary little sound and his hands tightened on me.

"No, don't," he said, breathing faster. "I have to go."

"Mmm?"

"Stop that," he whispered.

"I can't," I whispered back.

He kissed me once more, his hot, leisurely mouth and stroking hands turning me into a quivering mass of pulsing desire . . . And then, with a heartfelt groan and a pained expression that made me feel smug about my charms, he left for work.
                       
       
           



       
20


I slept very late, then lay lazily in bed for a long time after I awoke, smiling and daydreaming as I remembered everything about last night.

I pressed my face against his pillow and inhaled. It didn't really smell like him; I supposed he hadn't been there long enough for that. But I pretended it did, and I inhaled again, then laughed with mingled pleasure, excitement, and embarrassment.

Things had happened in this bed in the dark that would make it hard to meet his eyes the next time I saw him . . . and, at the same time, I couldn't wait to see him again. To look into his eyes. To see the way he looked at me. And to . . . Well, yes, to do the same things all over again that were making me blush now as I got out of bed and contemplated going to Max's place for Saturnalia.

I glanced at the clock and discovered I was late for the feast.

I called Max to let him know I'd overslept and would be on my way soon. Then I checked my voicemail, in case I had slept through the phone ringing; but Lopez hadn't called yet. He probably didn't want to wake me. I checked for a text message, but he hadn't sent one.