by Angie Sandro
His eyes smolder with unleashed passion as he kneels in front of me, holding the towel in his hands. “Do you want me to stop?”
Do I want this? Him? My lips part, and a plea slips out. “Yes.” His eyes lower to his hands, and I realize what I’ve said. “I mean, don’t stop.”
His dimple flashes. “If you’re sure.”
I lay my hands on his solid shoulders. This is real. “I’m sure.”
Nudging my legs open, he slides the towel between my thighs; all the while he rubs in gentle circles that make my muscles tighten around his hand. Heat blossoms inside me, spreading fingers of fire along my limbs. My breathing matches the speed of his hand.
Anders groans, pressing his face against my stomach. His hot breath warms the sensitive skin between my legs, sending ripples of sensation through my body. I lean against him, my legs quivering with the intensity building inside, readying to explode. My breath escapes in escalating pants.
“Yes,” he says. “Let go.”
Flames rise within me. I arch my back, pressing into his hand.
The orgasm starts in my center then radiates outward. I bite my lip, holding in my cry of release. My knees buckle and, like always, Anders catches me before I touch the ground. He always seems to know when I need him. He kisses the curve of my stomach and then flicks his tongue into the saucer of my navel.
My fingers dig deep into his hair, holding on for dear life, as he rakes his teeth across the shallow juncture above my hip. “Why?” I whisper. Not that I’m complaining.
Anders’s head tips until he can look into my eyes. “I can’t stand seeing you cry.” His voice vibrates deep within his chest. An echoing vibration runs through my body. His green eyes have a softness I’ve never seen before, a vulnerability he quickly conceals. “Tell me to stop and I will, Dena, but do it quick.”
I shiver at the intensity of the desire reflected in his gaze. “I’m a big girl. If I didn’t want this, you’d know.”
“I thought so. But a gentleman cares enough to find out what his woman wants.” He slides his hands around my hips and stands, lifting me out of the tub and sitting me on the countertop. I shiver from the cold tiles and press against the hard length of his warm body.
“Tell me what you need.” He leans forward and flicks his tongue over the tip of my nipple, and I gasp as it hardens. He takes the nipple in his mouth and rolls his tongue around it. I arch against him. He pulls his mouth away. “What do you want? Tell me.”
He wants me to think. How can I when desire burns my thoughts to ash? Sanity be damned. Protect my heart? It’s too late. No matter how much I fight the truth, I want him.
“Touch me,” I beg, arching my back. “Help me forget.”
“Where?” His fingers clench around my thighs as he steps away from the tub.
My hands fist in his hair as I pull his mouth down to meet mine. “Here,” I whisper against his mouth. I run the tip of my tongue across his lower lip, then slip it between his teeth. His arms wrap around me, holding me tight. The kiss sears any residual thoughts from my brain, burns through all my protective layers, and flays me open. I shove everything I am into him and he takes it, then returns it twofold. All barriers drop between us.
Anders pulls away first, gasping for air. He kneels over me, propped on his hands, and I realize I’m lying down. When the hell did we reach the bed? He still wears clothing while I’m naked. Somehow this doesn’t seem fair. Before I have a chance to make things more equal, he captures my mouth, and I lose myself again.
When we pull apart this time, we’re both struggling for air. Anders tugs the towel from my hair and lets it fall to the floor. He tenderly brushes aside the wet curls sticking to my cheeks. “You’re beautiful, like a phoenix rising from the ashes,” he murmurs. “The first time I saw you in that hospital bed, looking so vulnerable but fierce, your face was burned into my thoughts. I can’t get you out of my head.”
“I’m sorry.” I trace my fingers over his cheeks.
He pulls my hand from my face and kisses my palm. “That’s not a complaint.”
“Oh—”
His mouth captures my words, and I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I sink beneath the wave of sensations crashing over my body. Each caress of his hands on my sensitive skin makes me feel like I’m about to explode. The pulse between my legs calls for more than his fingers, dipping and sliding between the folds of my sex. I want the length of him, pounding deep within me, touching a place long neglected.
I wrap my legs around his waist and fumble to unbutton his jeans. His hard-on makes it difficult to get a good grip on the button. My angle’s all wrong. “Take it off.” I groan, tugging on his waistband. “I want to feel you.”
Anders leans back, putting his hand over mine. “God, I want you so much.” He pants and his eyes cloud. “But we can’t…do this.”
I tighten my legs around his waist and pull him back down onto his hands and knees where I can reach him. “Can too…almost got the damn button.”
Success comes in the form of an unzipping fly and Anders’s cock in my hand. I grin as I caress the hard, velvety shaft all the way to the base, then back up. I rub my thumb over the wet tip. Anders’s hips jerk, but I don’t let him go.
He falls forward with a groan. “God, Dena. Wait.”
Hmm, Dena, Goddess of Hand Jobs. I kinda like the sound of that. I embrace my new role, adding a slight squeeze at the base of his shaft. Anders breath quickens.
I arch my hips, rubbing his tip through the folds of my sex. “I want you inside me, Anders.”
“And I want to be inside you, but this isn’t right.” Anders pulls himself from my hand and rolls to the side. Since my legs are still wrapped around his waist, I end up straddling him.
I stare into his face. “Oh?” I breathe, pressing my hands on his shoulders. I slide my breasts up his chest until my mouth reaches his neck, and I nibble along his jawline. “I’ve only done missionary style. You’ll have to show me what to do.” I sit up, positioning myself over him. “Do I just slide on?”
“God, Dena,” Anders moans.
“Goddess. I’m all woman.” I give him a smug smile. “As you’re about to find out.”
“You’re killing me.”
“Maybe afterward.” We’ll both pass out from exhaustion by the end, if I have my say. I’ve fantasized about what I’d do if given this opportunity. I won’t waste a second of it.
Anders grabs my shoulders and pushes until I’m upright again. “Listen, Dee…”
I sit on his stomach, nothing between us. All the passion we’d built up slowly drains from us—him, judging by his softening manhood against my bottom. “What’s happening?” I ask. “Did I do something wrong?” My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “Oh, we forgot a condom.”
He scrubs his face with a hand. “I have a condom in my wallet.”
I giggle, leaning forward to peck his cheek. “That’s my Anders. Planning ahead.”
His hand caresses my back then presses against my shoulder again. “I’m sorry; I didn’t plan to go so far. I swear.”
I shake my head. “What?”
“This is my fault. You were naked, and I lost control when I saw you in the shower. I thought you’d be the strong one. I thought you’d get mad and tell me to leave you alone.”
“Well, that’s just stupid.”
“Tell me about it.” He rubs his forehead. “I messed up. Got selfish.”
“Hold up now,” I say slowly to be sure I’m interpreting the situation correctly. “Are you saying you kissed me ’cause you wanted to piss me off?” I scoot off him. “Was this an attempt to make me angry?”
He sits up, face lightening in relief. “It’s just that you were in shock. I mean you were hysterical. I wanted to help, and I thought a distraction—”
“A distraction,” I echo. I want to kick him.
“I hated seeing you cry, and I thought being angry would be better, especially since we still need to figure
out how to find Gabriella.”
“Gabriella,” I sound like a parrot, begging for a cracker. Shit! He’s right. My friend’s out there, God knows where. My priorities are skewed.
I slide off the bed. My face burns, and my head pounds. I can’t form a coherent response. My frustration’s too raw…too thickly tainted with anger at being so fucking emotional. His distraction worked too well. And it takes every shred of dignity I have left not to beat him upside the head with a pillow.
He sits on the bed looking so calm, so pleased that he…what? Seduced me out of being upset over almost getting killed? Sexy, hot Anders—such a stud muffin—worked his mojo. One moment of weakness and I forget everything.
“Dena?” Anders leans forward. “Say something.”
“Idiot!” I grab the towel off the floor, march into the bathroom, and slam the door with all my strength. Which, of course, breaks the damn door.
I stand in the light, my graceful exit ruined, holding the door in my hands. The surprise on Anders’s face would be comical if I wasn’t pissed off. I sniff, refusing to cry. It might cause Anders to feel so bad he’ll try to fuck me better. Idiot.
I prop the door against the wall. “You’d better have enough credit to pay for this, ’cause it’s your fault.”
Anders crawls off the bed. “You tore it off the hinges…”
“I’m well aware of what happened to the door.” I stomp my foot. “Can you please give me some privacy while I get dressed? I’m sure flaunting my naked body is distressing to you since the only reason you touched me in the first place was to piss me off so you wouldn’t have to listen to me having hysterics.”
“Do you not have to take a breath when you talk now either? Because that was the longest run-on sentence I’ve ever heard.” He stands in the doorway. Too close.
“Get out of the bathroom, Anders!” I yell, hugging my breasts. His eyes drop to my chest. I reach out and lift his stubbly chin with the tips of my fingers. “Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you. These breasts”—I motion to the items in question—“are officially off limits. You had the opportunity to have them all to yourself and you got buyer’s remorse. You sent them back without fully inspecting them.”
Anders scowls, staring steadily into my eyes. “I had a taste.”
“I offered more than a taste. Remember it was your choice to stop, not mine. You wanted me angry and focused on the problem of finding Gabriella. It worked. Now leave me alone so I can get dressed. And if you hear me crying again, stay out!” He steps out of the bathroom, and I pick up the door and prop it over the entrance.
I glare at my reflection in the mirror. I look terrible. My bloodshot eyes have dark circles under them, and my skin has a yellowish cast to it, like I’m jaundiced. Maybe from losing so much blood. Whatever the cause, it’s not attractive, and definitely not sexy. No wonder Anders has had second thoughts. He probably thought I’d barf on him in the middle of sex.
Forget it! I don’t have time for self-reflection. Although I’m pissed at Anders’s method, it worked. I need a plan to save Gabriella. Hopefully it’s not too late.
Anders’s knock rattles the bathroom door. He’d better not want another heartfelt talk because, until I can control myself, I plan to steer as far away from his sphere of influence as possible. He isn’t the only one to blame for losing control.
“Dena, I’ve left you alone as long as I could, but I’m covered in Victor’s blood. I need to take a shower. And we need to talk.”
“Fine,” I grunt, figuring he makes a good argument. I’d forgotten he isn’t as fresh as a daisy, any more than I had been. I slide the door along the wall.
Anders blocks the exit, and when I step forward, I stare straight ahead. At his bare chest. I swallow hard, but otherwise refuse to acknowledge his existence, and wait for him to move. His chest rises in a heavy sigh. “Dena, we need to talk about what’s going on, the door…everything you’re still hiding from me.”
“You’re right.” My eyes slide down his tight abs, and I clench my fist. I will not count each muscle to see if he has a six pack. Won’t do it. I inch around him, careful not to touch him, which isn’t easy given his size. Up close, he sort of looms. “We’ll talk later.”
The back of my neck tingles. Is he staring? I chance a quick glance over my shoulder and catch a frown marring his beautiful face, shoot—homely face. He reaches out, fingers brushing my arm. I twist away and watch his hand fall.
“Promise you’ll be here when I come out,” he says. “Don’t go off on your own just because you’re pissed. You attract danger like there’s a homing beacon attached to your backside.”
My lips twitch as I try not to smile at his lame attempt at a joke. “Since you find me every time I need help, I’m glad the beacon works.” I shrug. “’Sides, I’m not silly enough to think I can handle Victor on my own. Especially half-dead from exhaustion.” I glance at the king-size bed. “I’m going to nap while you shower. I just hope I don’t have nightmares…” I stumble on the words, realizing I’ve overshared. I don’t want to force intimacy on Anders. I keep forgetting he’s a cop and protecting me is his job. All I can do is respect his wishes and back off until he’s ready.
Funny thing is, when did I become ready? And why the hell aren’t I terrified?
Anders leans against the door frame. “I promise I’ll wake you if you do. I’ll also hear if you try to leave so don’t worry about the sleepwalking.”
The concern in his voice fills me with warmth, and I sag in relief, knowing he’ll keep me safe. “Thanks. Wouldn’t do to wander out in traffic with the highway so close.”
The huge bed calls to me. I slide beneath the covers on the side farthest from the bathroom and stack the extra pillows in the middle of the bed, separating the sides. As long as Anders stays on his side and I stay on mine, everything will be fine. No more fighting off unwanted attraction, right?
It’s already eight a.m. A couple hours of sleep will help more than hurt my chance of coming up with a plan to save Gabriella. The first step is to find her. Estrada seems to be my only link, unless he’s still missing. Maybe Charles has traced his cell phone. I also need to contact Mala and Ferdinand. The problem is that I’ve lost my cell phone and I never memorized any of their numbers. I’m too tired to think straight.
I roll onto my side, hands cupped under my cheek. I stare at the bathroom door, listening to the soothing sound of the shower. My eyes drift shut, and I give myself permission to fantasize about Anders while I fall asleep. I picture him standing under the warm spray of water with his eyes closed. He tilts his head. Water plasters his hair to his scalp and separates his thick lashes. It runs down his strong, lickable jaw, over his wide shoulders, and across his chest to pool at his feet. He picks up the soap and rubs it in slow circles over his muscular chest. His hand glides lower, sliding back and forth…
Umm…
…nice.
The warmth of a solid chest presses against my back. A hand caresses my right hip then slides past the waistband of my sweatpants, finding the place between my legs that craves more attention. Fingers slip inside with no hesitation, and I moan, back arching. My head dips into the hollow below his chin. A tongue traces along the edge of my ear, definitely an erogenous zone, and I shiver in response.
His fingers move faster, until I moan in tune with the intensity of the orgasm creeping up in a crescendo of sensation. I cry out, throwing my hips forward, then fall back into his arms.
I roll onto my back, trying to catch my breath enough to ask Anders why he changed his mind. And I realize I’ve made a huge mistake.
He’s not Anders.
CHAPTER 23
Death Becomes Him
I should have noticed.
It’s not like I haven’t been licked or kissed by the spirit before, but I didn’t expect Ashmael, or to find Anders beneath the covers on the other side of bed, seemingly dead to the world. The spirit doesn’t seem overly concerned with the whole situation. N
ot normal behavior, true; but he isn’t exactly a normal guy.
But I’m not exactly operating under normal parameters either. Here I am, lying next to one man while making out with another. And rather than running, I’m majorly turned on. This has to be a dream. The ultimate sexual fantasy. Real life can’t be this bizarre.
I suddenly snap out of my head, realizing Ashmael’s hands are doing a thorough job of exploring the contours of my body. Like a sculptor smoothing clay, he kneads my skin with gentle, reverent strokes. His touch warms my skin, turning my muscles pliant and relaxed. Even if I should tell him to stop, I don’t want to.
Of all the times Ashmael and I were together, we never had the opportunity to enjoy each other. I was either bleeding to death or running for my life. Oh, and the whole astral projection incident when I stopped breathing. So if this is also a dream, or astral projection, or whatever, why shouldn’t I enjoy being desired for a change? Would it be so wrong to give in to the pleasure building with each stroke of his hands? All too soon, I’ll wake up and face the real world. We both deserve some happiness, even if it’s not real.
Ashmael caresses my face, oh so gently, like a blind man seeing his partner in the darkness. His fingertips trace across the fragile skin over my eyelids and then brush down the length of my nose. He slides his thumb across my lips, and I kiss it. He stiffens, then shifts over me. He touches my lip again. This time I nip his thumb.
He begins to shake. I freeze, afraid I’ve hurt him. His arms wrap around me, and I’m pulled against his chest. He’s silently laughing.
The conduit of Death is happy. Maybe for the first time in its existence. All the pain and rage he projected in the earlier dreams has vanished. Because of me. I did this.
Raw, unfiltered joy warms my chest, and I hug him back. His lips find mine in a soft kiss. He takes his time, savoring each brush of our mouths. Each tiny flick of his tongue teases. I shut off my mind—it never gives good advice anyway—and soak up the heat filling my body. I float, perfectly content to go on kissing him forever, but then the kiss deepens. His tongue delves into my mouth, stealing my breath and my sanity.