by Sylvia Day
Mindless for more, he used his free hand to fight with the buttons of her simple white blouse, stripping it away. It wasn’t so easy to do her bra one-handed, though, and he wasn’t about to stop touching her, especially not once she started riding his hand.
“Take it off,” he muttered, lifted his mouth just long enough to pluck at the silk and lace. She smiled against his lips, stripped out of her bra, then reached for his shirt, all but tore it away. Even the act of leaning away to pull the material off was too much distance in that moment. “Still wearing too many clothes, damn it,” he said against her mouth.
“You, too.”
He’d have to stop touching her…for a few seconds. Just a few seconds.
Those few seconds took too long, passing in a hot, hazed blur as they fought free from the clothing and then, finally, he could touch her, all of her. He could feel her, all of her. And taste…skimming his lips over her shoulder, then lower, lower, he sank to his knees in front of her, pressing his mouth to the V between her thighs. Mica whimpered and fisted one hand in his hair, the other clutching at his shoulder.
As he caught one thigh and lifted it, she gasped out, “Colby…” And then, when he opened his mouth and licked the tender flesh, a strangled scream escaped her. She groaned, pressing closer.
“Fuck.” Closer…but still not close enough. Too damn long. With the taste of her hot in his mouth, he surged to his feet and leaned against her, his cock cuddling against her middle. “Please tell me you’ve got some condoms or something with you.”
She stared at him, blinking sleepily. “Now what kind of woman would that make me, Colby?”
His brain struggled to process that. She…fuck. She didn’t have anything?
Then she was pressed against his chest. Dazed, he eased away, collapsing against the wall, struggling to breathe. Damn it. He knew he couldn’t die of terminal lust, but he sure as hell felt like he might.
Watching Mica, he frowned as she bent over and snagged her bag. He heard the rasp of the zipper. Then she turned back to him, a smile on her lips and a box in her hand. “I guess it would make me a prepared woman.” Still smiling at him, she tore into the box.
“Let’s hear it for preparation,” he muttered, refusing to think about the fact that Mica was ever practical. Maybe she frequently carried around protection. And maybe…
She returned to him, one foil packet in hand. “I bought these earlier. I can’t look at you without wanting you, and I can’t breathe without needing you. There’s no way I thought we could work together and this not happen.”
Her words hit him straight in the heart. And somehow, it managed to make his stomach go tight and icy, too.
There’s no way we could work together and this not happen…
This—sex? Something more? But he didn’t want to think about that right now—didn’t want to think about anything but her. Having her. Finally. After too many years. Taking the rubber from her, he tore it open. Now it was his turn for his hands to shake. As he rolled the latex down over his aching cock, his fingers trembled. It seemed everything inside him trembled as well, and that sensation only strengthened as he reached for her.
“Come here,” he muttered, catching her hand and drawing her close.
Her body, long and sleek with those subtle, sweet curves, pressed against his. Her eyes, dark and warm, rested on his as he turned, positioning her back against the wall. “Want to move to the bed?” He nipped her lower lip as he nudged her thighs apart.
“No…I want to stay here. Right here.” Mica wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting one knee and rubbing it against his thigh. She tugged him near, stroking one hand down his chest to close around his cock. “Right here…although I do need you a little closer to me now.”
Colby stroked his hands down her back and gripped her hips. “Hold on to me, Mica.”
Hold on to me…
The words echoed deep, deep inside her as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Hold on…That was all she wanted to do. What she wished she would have done years ago. Regret tried to claw its way inside her, but she shoved it down. It had no place here. Not now. And as he pressed the thick, blunt head of his cock against her, it was easier to forget. So much easier, for now, to think about the hot, sleek length of him as he butted against her entrance, as she yielded and opened for him. So much easier to think about nothing except how good it felt as he slowly sank inside her, feeling the stretch of her muscles around him.
Her breath caught, and despite herself, despite the need to stare at him, to watch him, her lashes drifted down.
“No.” Colby tangled a hand in her hair and tugged. “Watch me. Let me watch you.”
Forcing her eyes open, she stared into his dark, turbulent blue gaze. Against her shields, she could feel the heat of his presence in a deeper way, and although she knew it wouldn’t be wise, she wished she could let those shields down, too. So that nothing separated them.
But she wasn’t about to strip herself so bare.
Yet as his mouth came down to brush against hers, Mica’s determination to keep some piece of herself apart from him trembled. How was she to keep herself apart from him when all she’d wanted was to be back with him?
He sank deeper inside, so deep that nothing save herself separated them.
Flesh slicked against flesh. Hunger bloomed, raw and endless. Yet as desperate for him as she was, as desperate as he seemed to be, there was a gentleness to it. His mouth took hers, a deep, drugging kiss, and all the while, he watched her. Like he couldn’t stop. She understood the feeling, because she really didn’t want to stop watching him.
The world spun around her—no. It was them, Colby pushing away from the wall and moving deeper into the room, still gripping Mica close, his hands on her hips, her legs twined around his waist. Then they were on the bed and she shifted, moving her legs until she sat astride him, her hands braced on his chest.
Their gazes locked as she began to move. A whimper escaped her as the throbbing ridge of his cock rubbed against her in just the right way. The need, the hunger…all of it, swirled tighter, faster inside as she rode him. When his thumb brushed against her clit, she moaned, her head falling back. Back and forth, back and forth, he stroked her and then she shattered, unable to hold back any longer.
With a cry, she climaxed, and as she sagged down, collapsing on his chest, she felt him stiffen and swell inside her. The hands on her hips tightened and he started to move faster, angling her hips until the head of his cock butted up against that same, sensitive little spot with each stroke. She hissed out a breath as it triggered another mini-explosion, her muscles gripping his length, her nails biting in his skin.
“Colby.” His name was a broken, shaken sound on her lips and then his mouth caught hers, one hand streaking up her back to tangle in her hair.
Here, once more, was that raw, desperate need, the tenderness lost, replaced by hunger…deep, endless hunger.
chapter seven
She fell asleep in his arms.
Colby knew the best thing for him to do was to close his eyes and try to get some rest of his own. But he couldn’t. Not yet. And oddly, he felt more rested than he had in days. Rested…at peace, almost. Just because of Mica. She was once more in his arms and it didn’t matter, at the moment, that he knew this wouldn’t last. The job would end, he would leave, and Mica would go back to pretending she belonged in a world she didn’t. A world where the people were normal and they didn’t hear whispers in their mind, or see ghosts, or hear a killer as he sang a death song to his victims.
It would happen, he knew.
If Mica wanted to accept who she was, she would have done it before now, he suspected. His sudden reappearance in her life wasn’t going to change things. Especially as he suspected she hadn’t particularly wanted his reappearance.
But for now, it didn’t matter. He’d think about the heartbreak that awaited him when he had to. For now, all he was going to think about was Mica.
Reali
ty was going to press in soon enough.
He could already feel it—a heavy weight pressing ever close, like a thunderstorm.
Brushing his lips over her shoulder, he settled more comfortably on the bed. She still felt so right in his arms. She’d always felt so right. He’d sensed her before he’d seen her, and when he had seen her that first time, it had all but made his heart stop. She’s the one…He’d known it just by looking at her. The only one. And they’d clicked—damn, had they clicked. Not just physically. Not just emotionally. Even their gifts had meshed in a unique way—they’d made each other stronger.
Then Mica decided she couldn’t belong to that world. Their combined gifts had been too much, and instead of waiting to see if they could work through things, she’d walked away. Because he hadn’t been able to keep enough of his gift inside him. Because he’d spilled too much of it into her.
He might not hang around monsters anymore, but he couldn’t stop himself from being who he was, either. He couldn’t pretend to be normal. Mica wanted to—he couldn’t. No, this wouldn’t last, but he’d enjoy it while he could.
With that thought in mind, he pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck and closed his eyes.
She was too restless to sleep for long. He suspected she sensed some of the same shit he did, even if it wasn’t as clear for her. She felt something and it had her in knots. Even through her shields, he felt that turmoil. So if he wanted to make it through the next few days without being a total zombie, he needed to sleep.
HE’D EXPECTED SOME nightmares. Rarely a night passed for Colby without at least one. And sure enough, the nightmares found him the minute he slid deep enough into sleep.
But they weren’t his nightmares…
Not his nightmares, not his dreams. Not his visions.
It was Mica…her memories. Through her eyes, he could see the victim. Mutilated, pale, and pitiful, she lay on the floor. Her legs were marred by scar after endless scar, forming a macabre sort of map all over her flesh. There was so very little blood around her. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought perhaps she’d died elsewhere—those injuries, there would have been blood.
But he knew she’d died here. He could even hear the faint, ghostly echoes of her screams…through Mica’s ears.
Just as through her ears, through her eyes, he watched, waited, listened while she spoke with the other cops. Watched and waited as she rose and dusted her gloved hands off. Watched as she walked across the dull gray floor to a window. She knew it was there. Waiting for her. All but calling out her name. When she peered through a window, there it was…a grim, nasty little gift left by a killer.
A flower.
A lovely, dark flower.
The dream shifted, narrowed down to tunnel vision, and all he could see was that flower. The air seemed to burn in his lungs and he needed to breathe, needed to move, but he couldn’t.
In the dream, something shattered. Shifted. And when it reformed, he saw what looked like an endless wave of those dark, lovely blooms, drifting gently on a breeze. He heard the low sound of a man singing. And the awful music of a dying woman’s screams.
The sounds mingled and ran together, spinning through his mind in endless, dizzying circles, pulling him under, pulling him in. Darkness danced ever closer, and with a rush of adrenaline, he snapped free of the dream, snapped free of the vision.
Lying in bed, breathing raggedly, Colby closed his eyes.
Those screams. He could still hear those screams echoing in his mind.
The screams of the woman who had just died?
But in his gut, he knew the answer.
No. This was the next one.
The killer had already selected his next victim.
The dream tried to fade—vision or not, it was a dream and they always tried to fade. He clutched the remnants tight, forcing the imprint on his mind. A dream, yes, but so much more, and he had to remember.
Next to him, Mica stirred, a soft, tortured sound escaping her.
Rising up on his elbow, he stared at her, watched as she slid a hand down low, protectively cradling her lower abdomen. A harsh groan, a gasp, then a strangled scream. He wasn’t the only one plagued by nightmares tonight, it seemed.
Whatever haunted her, it was dark, tortured. Terrible. He felt the weight of it pummeling against his shields, threatening to shatter them through sheer force. He wasn’t about to have that happen—nothing good would come of that. Easing his shields down he focused his mind until it was receiving only what he wanted.
Not that he really wanted to take in those dreams, but…
Instinct drove him.
That dark, awful weight had become a dark, awful whisper. There was something important. Something he needed to know…Sorry, Mica, he thought as he rested a hand on her arm. And stiffened as the images flooding her mind reached out to him as well.
The first, clear vivid thought was that of the pain. Horrid and bright as it tore low through his belly.
THE MINUTE SHE woke, Mica knew something was wrong.
The tension in the air was thick enough to choke her.
Swallowing, she sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest as she sought Colby out in the dim room. The shadowy form by the covered windows might have made her heart bump if she hadn’t already known who it was. But she’d know him anywhere. Day or night. Whether she saw him or simply sensed him.
She’d know him anywhere…and she’d also know when things weren’t exactly right.
Things were so far from right at the moment she could feel her hands start to sweat.
The harsh, heavy burn of anger was a slap against her senses, and she winced under the weight. Even as the echo of the emotional blow started to fade, she realized something…she shouldn’t have been able to feel it that heavily. Not unless…
Oh, hell.
Immediately, she slammed her admittedly shoddy shields into place as she clambered out of the bed. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. The strange, jumbled dreams that had plagued her through the night leapt to the forefront of her mind and panic rose in her throat. She hadn’t fully been able to make sense of them. Instinct had been guiding her on these murders, and the dreams were tied to it, she knew, but there was a lot about the dreams she didn’t fully understand.
Somehow, she knew Colby did.
Damn it.
“He wants you dead.”
He wants you dead—
Closing her eyes, she let those words echo through her mind. This wasn’t a shock. She’d suspected it. Felt the malice in those dreams, a malice that wasn’t just directed at his victims. It had felt like…more. She’d been right.
Her hands trembled minutely as she fought to secure the sheet. She couldn’t do this naked. She would have a hard enough time getting through this without breaking.
Oddly enough, she was more scared about the fact that she had to face what was happening within her than the fact that some psychotic might want her dead. She had faced that before. Facing herself was another issue, but somehow, she didn’t think Colby was going to let her hide anymore.
“Maybe he doesn’t want me dead.” Swallowing, she made herself look up, meet his eyes in the dim room. “Maybe I just get in the way.” She shrugged and even managed to give him a fake smile. One he wouldn’t believe, she knew. She didn’t even believe it. Way to face yourself, Mica.
“Get in the way,” Colby said, his voice dry and mocking. “That’s why he decides he’s going to cut out your eyes, cut off your hands?”
The image from that dream, so faint and insubstantial, suddenly solidified in her mind. It was one thing to think about your death—another thing to actually see how it would play out. Closing her eyes, she shook her head.
“It’s not going to happen,” she said quietly, with a lot more calm than she felt. Colby wouldn’t let it. Mica didn’t plan on letting it happen, either.
“Glad we’re clear on that.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Interesting pal you picked up there—wants yo
ur eyes and your hands?”
“Well, it’s easier for him than the brain.” She gave him a faint smile. “That’s the top tool of my trade, but maybe he’s too squeamish to cut that out.”
“You’re smiling about this.” He shoved off the wall and stalked closer, his blue eyes glittering with fury. “I just watched him kill you and you’re treating it like a joke.”
“He didn’t kill me. I’m right here. And as long as I’m right here, and I’m careful, I can avoid whatever he plans.” She didn’t shrink away, despite the weight of his anger as he came closer. Colby was the only one who’d ever connected with her on this level—she saw bits and pieces of the future, and with an anchor, somebody who worked with her, those visions were stronger. But with Colby, her gift became a different beast entirely. It had terrified her once. Now…now she just didn’t know. No, she did know—she was still terrified, but through their connection, those hazed memories from her dreams were becoming more real.