She pulled herself out of his grip and slid off the bed until she stood in front of him, her spectacular tits bobbing right at eye level. "Too late," she said. "You already ripped my masks away. How was it for you, Connor? You just had sex with a woman you didn't recognize. Did you enjoy it? I sure did. I'll admit it, I'm not ashamed. I loved it. I didn't even recognize myself, and I… loved it."
"I recognized you," he said. "I've always known you. I've had you in my dreams, a million times."
She gazed down, as serene as a medieval Madonna. She cupped his face in her hands, tipped it up. The exquisitely gentle kiss she pressed against his forehead was like a benediction.
"I show you mine, you show me yours," she said. "It's only fair."
She reached for his hands, placing them at the curve of her waist, and swayed forward until her head was bent over him, her hair swirling around his shoulders, her tits swaying right in his face. He smelled the sharp smell of his come, and the hot, rich scent of her female pleasure mixing with it, a rich, heady sexual spell. His swollen cock bobbed in front of him. At her beck and call.
The invitation was obvious. He pressed his face against her breasts with a ragged sigh of surrender, rubbing her tight, puckered nipples against his cheeks, and then cupped her breasts in both hands and suckled her. He wanted to imprint every detail onto his long-term memory. Every shape and shade and contour, every sigh and shudder, every delicate difference in texture; the translucent gold perfection of her skin, the plump, lush curves and hollows, all of it calculated to drive him to screaming sexual overload.
He lost himself. He could do this forever. He wondered if he could make her come just by sucking her tits. He'd read somewhere that it was possible. Now there was a challenge that he would readily embrace. His mouth moved over her, wallowing in her sweet, generous response, her pleading moans, the nails digging into his shoulders.
She sagged over him, quivering, and embraced his shoulders. Her hair draped across his face, and he pushed the thick, fragrant fall of dark satiny hair out of his eyes, his gaze flicking up to her face.
Tears stood in her shadowy eyes.
A chill shuddered through him. His fingers tightened around her waist until she gasped. This wasn't only to please her and make her hot for him, and she knew it. He saw it in her eyes. The witch was on to him, she'd pulled him so deep into her spell that everything was bared to her. And now she'd ripped away a mask that was so much a part of him, he hadn't even known he was wearing it. Hadn't wanted to know.
Beneath it, he was raw, needy. Famished for her female nurturing. Desperate to assuage a child's ancient grief, a loss so deep and huge, it was part of the landscape of his mind.
Her eyes swam with tears. They spilled over, sliding down her face. He was completely naked to her. Wide open. It was unbearable.
Shame transformed instantly into anger. For a moment, he hated her for witnessing his weakness. He shoved her away from him.
She stumbled back, startled. When he dared to look at her again, her gaze was wide and cautious. She was wiping her eyes, covering her breasts with her hands, backing away. Too late for that. Power welled up inside him, sexual and dangerous. His cock jutted toward her.
He advanced on her. "You want to know me, Erin? I'll show you everything I've got. Let's go into the bathroom and get started."
Her eyes were full of tremulous uncertainty. "Connor? I—"
"I want to wash my come off you. Then I want to fuck you in the shower. And I want to do it now. So move."
Her mouth snapped shut, and she gave him a jerky nod. Her slender back trembled as she preceded him into the bathroom.
He'd scared her. He almost relented, and then he thought of that naked moment at her breast. She had tricked him into this. No masks, no mercy. She showed him hers, he'd show her his.
It wasn't his fault if she didn't like everything she found.
The bathroom was still humid and perfumed from her hair goop. He wrenched aside the shower curtain, set the hot water running, and motioned for her to get into the tub.
She was silent and wide-eyed, hot water pounding down and soaking her curtain of dark hair. He grabbed the shower gel, sudsed up his hands and turned her around, yanking her back against him so his cock was pressed against her ass. He washed his sticky come off her belly, her breasts, touching her with proprietary boldness. She reached down to wash between her legs, but he grabbed her hand.
"No. Don't wash your lube away. It's better than soap or water, and you're really tight and small. You're going to need all of it."
She shivered at his matter-of-fact tone. He covered her soapy hands with his and pressed them against her breasts, glad for any excuse to fondle them. He shoved her legs wider so he could nudge his cock between her thighs and set his teeth against the tender curve between neck and shoulder.
"Still want to know what's under my mask, Erin?" He slid his fingers down to tangle in the curls between her legs. "Still convinced?"
He was taunting her. He couldn't help it. He almost wanted her to chicken out, so they would have to stop. So they wouldn't slide down this slippery slope to God knew what.
She pressed her body back against him, clasping his cock between her clenched thighs, and turned up her wet, flushed face to him. Her eyes glowed with primal female challenge.
"Yes," she said simply.
Water pounded around them. If she had been any less heightened, the look on his face would have terrified her. He pushed her until she tipped forward.
"Brace yourself against the wall." His voice was harsh and breathless. "Spread your legs wider."
"Connor?" She caught herself against the cold, wet tile.
He gripped her hips and bent her over. "You want me to put my mask back on? Just say the word if the real me is too scary for you."
"This does not give you the right to act like a prick!" Her voice choked off when he slid his fingers between her legs.
"Oh, I'm not acting," he said. "I thought that was the whole point."
He nudged the head of his penis between her soft folds, and pushed. He seemed impossibly large from this angle. Her body bore down on him, and he slowed, stroking her hips. "Arch your back," he commanded. "It'll make it easier for you."
"This isn't for me, though," she snapped. "This is all for you."
He shoved himself deeper. "You showed me yours, and I'm showing you mine. I'm just following my instincts. That's all there is under the mask, Erin. Instinct. Appetite. We're all just selfish, hungry animals underneath."
That's not true, she wanted to cry out, but she was too overwhelmed by his body, penetrating and invading her. Her arms trembled with the strain, and her hair hung down like a dripping curtain before her eyes. He thrust into her again, and a blaze of startled heat kindled. She quivered, softened around him.
He made a low, approving sound and gripped her hips, pulsing and pressing himself against that hot spot deep inside, a font of sensation so new, her brain barely knew how to process it She pushed against him, seeking more, but he controlled the rhythm completely.
"See? It's not just for me," he said. "You get it now?"
She reached down to touch herself, but a single trembling arm wasn't strong or stable enough to brace her weight against the wall. She had to use both. He slid his own hand around her hips immediately, and found her clitoris with his fingertip, teasing it tenderly.
"I've got you," he said. "I'll take care of you, Erin."
Then he let himself go and took her deep and hard. She cried out and stumbled closer to the wall, bracing herself with her folded forearms. She gave in to it. Every deep, gliding thrust stoked that secret glow inside her, every seductive stroke was slicker, more liquid.
But Connor was angry with her, and she didn't know why. She felt the barely restrained violence with which he was using her body, and thought of how her father had betrayed him, abandoned him to die. The searing anger that must have caused. Rage that had no outlet.
Until now, a voice in her head wh
ispered. She'd offered herself up on a silver platter. Here she was, naked and bent over for his pleasure.
He felt the fear and shame that clutched her, and stopped. He was shoved so deep inside her, she felt him pressing against her womb.
"Had enough, Erin? Want the mask back?"
"No, I don't want masks! That's not what I want at all, Connor—"
"Then what the fuck do you want?" he panted.
I want you to love me. She stopped the words just in time. "I want to turn around," she said. "I need to see your face. Your eyes."
He pulled out and spun her around, pushing her back against the wall. He wasted no time in scooping her leg up to dangle it over his arm.
He drove inside her once again. Water pounded, steam billowed. Erin gasped for breath and hung onto his shoulders, just as she hung onto the piercing comprehension that had come to her when she had held his head at her breast. The pang of grief and empathy for a bereft, motherless little boy. The longing she ached to soothe.
That was the shining truth beneath all this push and shove. She was in love with him. She wanted all of him, every face, every side: the furious demon lover, the grieving child, the tender seducer, the gallant protector. She loved them all, and if surrendering could prove that to him, then surrender she would. She had no choice anyway; he ravished her senses, he flooded her body with wild heat. She melted around him in an endless, shivering climax that embraced everything he was: his body, his passion, his pain, his anger. She wanted it all.
He wrenched himself out of her with a shout, seizing her hand and wrapping her fingers around his shaft. He erupted. Jets of hot semen welled up and trickled over their interlocked fingers.
They sagged to their knees together in the ankle-deep water. After three tries, Connor finally managed to raise his arm high enough to push down the faucet knob. Silence, and then the hollow drip of the shower. They clung to each other, trembling.
Connor was the first to raise his head. He tried to smooth back the soaked hair that clung to her face. "Erin—"
"No," she said.
He frowned. "No, what?"
"No, you didn't hurt me, so stop worrying. It was fabulous."
He looked mystified. "How did you know what I was going to say?"
"Must've learned the mind-reading trick from you," she said, nuzzling his throat. '"You made me angry, but you didn't hurt me. You couldn't. You don't have it in you. You're too sweet."
He stared down at her, incredulous. "After what just happened here, you still think I'm sweet?"
She kissed the scar on his shoulder. "Oh, yes. You're lots of things, Connor McCloud. And one of them is very, very sweet."
Connor wiped the water off his face and reached for her. "You're nuts, Erin. You trust me more man I trust myself."
"It's scary to lose control," she murmured.
His arms tightened around her. "Tell me about it."
He reached for the shower gel and pulled her up onto her knees, sliding his soapy hand between her legs. She gasped and clutched his shoulders. She wasn't used to being touched at all, let alone this intimately, and his hands made free with her body, laving and rinsing, his fingers sliding tenderly into the folds of her sex. As if to tell her that she was all his, to touch and handle as he pleased.
Two could play that game. She soaped her hand and reached for his penis. He caught her wrist and stopped her.
"No more of your sex goddess tricks," he growled. "I have to chill out now. It's a physiological necessity."
"Don't worry," she assured him. "You're safe, at least for a little while. I need to rest, too."
The haunted look in his eyes gave way to a slow, appreciative smile. The water swirled around them, until the drain swallowed all the water. They were tangled together in an empty tub.
"I don't know if I can move," she confessed. "I'm limp."
He hauled himself up until he sat on the edge of the tub. She barely caught the tightening on his face as he rubbed his scarred leg.
"Does it hurt?" she asked hesitantly.
He shrugged. "It worked better before it got smashed to pieces. I'm just grateful that I can still walk on it."
She brushed her hand down the length of the series of surgical scars. She leaned forward, and tenderly kissed every one of them.
He murmured incoherently, and hid his face against her wet hair.
They stayed that way until Erin started shivering. He helped her to her feet, and they toweled each other off in a shy silence.
The room looked as if a hurricane had struck; blankets on one side of the bed, coverlet on the other, pillows on the floor, sheets torn half off the mattress. Erin's clothes were scattered everywhere. She started making the bed. Connor put his hand on her arm.
"Leave it." He picked up the blankets and pillows and tossed them carelessly onto the ravaged bed. "We'll just sleep on the other one."
It was hard for her to leave it messy, but the nagging, neatnik voice in her mind that usually ruled the roost was muted and faraway. She had bigger things to occupy her mind. An unmade bed was the least of her concerns. Her clothes were another matter, though. She repacked them all, and when she looked up, Connor was stretched out beneath the covers, watching her.
She glanced down at herself. Stark naked in front of him, and she wasn't self-conscious at all. She was transformed.
"You're so beautiful, Erin," he said softly. "You blow my mind."
Self-consciousness rushed back in a big, sweeping whoosh.
She let her tangled hair fall forward over her hot face as she shoved her toiletries case into the space allotted for it. That comment merited a graceful acknowledgment, if her throat would only stop shaking long enough to make one. "Thanks," she whispered.
He turned the covers down on her side of the bed and beckoned to her, baring all the rippling, lean muscles of his gorgeous torso in the process. "Come to bed with me?"
"In a minute. I have to try and get in touch with Cindy. Even though she probably won't talk to me."
"What's with Cindy? She OK?"
"I don't know yet." Erin dug her organizer out of her purse and curled up in the space Connor made for her. She tried the cell phone number first. It rang and rang. Then she tried Cindy's group house. Caitlin, one of Cindy's roommates, picked up. "Hello?"
"Hi, Caitlin, this is Erin, Cindy's sister. Is she there?"
"Uh, no. I haven't seen her in a while. But when she gets back, I'll sure tell her you called, OK?"
"Thanks," Erin said. "Ah, Caitlin, this guy she's seeing, this Billy. Do you know where she met him? Or anything about him at all?"
There was an awkward pause. "Uh… I'm afraid I don't. I've only met him a couple times," Caitlin said. "But he seems real nice to me."
"OK. Thanks. 'Bye, Caitlin." She hung up. The cold lump of anxiety in her belly was back.
"What's up with Cindy, Erin?" Connor's voice had taken on a hard, steely note that she had come to recognize.
She started working the comb through her tangled hair, and the task calmed down her trembling fingers. "She's left college during exam week. She's lost her scholarship. And now she's staying down in the city, God knows where, with a guy named Billy who drives a Jaguar and gives her expensive gifts. I called her new cell phone number yesterday. She told me that college was a stupid waste of time, and that her financial problems were over. She'd found new ways to make money."
He sat up, scowling. "Ouch."
"My sentiments exactly," Erin said fervently.
"Did she sound like she was high?"
She gulped. "Couldn't say. I don't have much experience with that. She sounded giggly and euphoric, but Cindy's always been giggly. And I think she's in love. That could account for the euphoria."
"We need to find out more about this guy Billy."
His casual use of the word "we" made her chest ache with gratitude. Not that anyone could help, but at least he cared. She scooted behind him and started combing his hair. "There's nothing we can do u
ntil she answers her phone and tells me more," she said.
Connor winced when she hit a tangle. "Erin, isn't once a night enough for this combing business? You'll comb me bald."
"You can't go to sleep with your hair tangled like that," she fussed. She worked through it till every lock was slicked back from his face. "Her roommates probably think they're protecting Romeo and Juliet by not telling me anything," she said. "Fluff-brained idiots."
He turned around, grinning. "There's more than one way to get information," he said. "I've got an idea."
Connor groped in the pocket of his coat for his cell phone and dialed Sean's number as he slid back into bed, into close contact with Erin's slender, curvy body. Good thing Sean's latest bed toy had mutated into a gigantic bloodsucking insect. Otherwise the chances of getting Sean at this hour would have been next to zilch. Sean's evenings almost always ended up in some woman's bed or other.
"What is it?" Sean's voice sounded breathless and annoyed.
"Jesus, Sean, have you already found a new girlfriend?"
"None of your goddamn business, but if you must know, I'm at the dojo. I just finished teaching my kickboxing class for Davy. What's up? You in trouble yet?"
"Not yet, but I've got a job for you. Urgent. Detective type stuff."
Sean groaned. "Oh, God. You're not unloading one of Davy's duller 'n dirt watehing-the-paint-peel stakeout gigs on me, are you?"
"Nah. I know the exact limits of your attention span. This one's right up your alley. It involves visiting a house full of fresh, juicy, college chicks and prying information out of them."
There was a thoughtful pause. "I'm listening," Sean said.
"I thought that might grab you." Connor related the facts to Sean with blunt concision. "We need to know who this fuckhead with the Jaguar is, and where he's been. And we need to know it now."
"Got it. One thing. The chicks. Are they genuinely cute? Or are you shitting me?"
Connor looked at Erin. "Cindy's roommates. Are they cute? Sean wants to know."
Erin opened and closed her mouth, bewildered. "Uh, I… well, I never thought to… uh—"
"Drop-dead gorgeous, every last one of them," Connor said into the phone. "There's a platinum blonde, and a redhead, and a black chick, and an Asian—"
Standing in the Shadows m&f-2 Page 15