Murder Game
Page 19

Her mouth was hot and tight and the sight of her enjoying pleasuring him, her eyes soft and loving, was so damn sexy he almost lost every vestige of control. She didn’t look away from his gaze, as her cheeks hollowed and her tongue danced and she followed the graphic instructions in his mind. His language was raw, he couldn’t help it; she was killing him with the tight suction of her mouth. Her nails grazed his sac and he jerked again, the air in his lungs exploding this time in a rush of sensations.
Son of a bitch, baby, like that. Hard. His fingers clutched at her hair and he drew her closer, unable to stop the sudden thrust of his hips.
There was a moment of fear at the loss of control, but he breathed for her. Relax. Let your throat relax. That’s it, that’s my girl. Son of a f**king bitch that feels so good.
He threw back his head, a hoarse groan escaping as he caught the nape of her neck with one hand and held her there, thrusting deeper. He wanted her to drop her hands, to cup his tightening balls in her palms. He gave her that order as well. She blinked, hesitating. Her hand at the base of his shaft was her safety net.
His fingers tightened in her hair and he tugged. I need you to trust me. Keep your mind in mine. Feel what you’re doing to me.
At once fire poured through her body like hot lava, centering in her groin. Every nerve ending was inflamed, every muscle tight, from her calves to her br**sts. She knew she created those sensations in him, that raw pleasure bordering on ecstasy. She wanted more for him, for herself. She wanted it all, everything she could take or give.
She needed to take him deeper, to constrict and massage, to pour more heat over him. Her hands cupped and caressed his sac, her mouth worked, and all the while she could feel his needs, dark and erotic, tugging at her for more, always more. He needed her to give herself to him without restraint. It was the only way he had to combat the ice in his soul. She burned the arctic cold away in a firestorm of lust and passion.
He held her still, drawing back, and then pushed forward, filling her mouth, pulsing along her throat, holding her gaze captive with his. He set the pace, hard and fast until she thought she couldn’t take it, then slow, each stroke long and leisurely, while his voice in her mind, rough and seductive, urged her to suck harder, to bathe him with her tongue.
All the while her body ached, begging for attention, her br**sts heavy and full with need, her core wet and pulsing in time to the shaft in her mouth. She dug her nails into his thigh, desperate for all of him, even though he was intimidating her just a little, controlling her head with a hard hand at her nape and a fist in her hair as his rhythm became harder and faster.
She felt him swelling, and he immediately withdrew, breathing deep. “Not like this, baby.”
“I can feel your need, see it in your mind,” she protested. “I want to do this for you.”
“Another day I want to feel you sucking me dry.” He closed his eyes briefly, the feeling, the image, in his mind of her wanting him to finish in her mouth, her desperate for all of him, anywhere, anytime, all of him. “But not tonight. Tonight I want to be so deep inside of you that you’ll never get me out. I want to brand you mine forever.”
She was fairly certain he already had. She couldn’t imagine doing the things she was doing with anyone else. Her body was still on fire, every part of her aching and needy.
He caught her chin, forcing her to meet his suddenly cold gaze. “I’d kill them.”
“You mean me,” she corrected.
He loved her. She was already in his heart, buried deep in his soul. “Never you. I could never hurt you.” And he couldn’t. She was one of the people in the world—maybe the only person—who was truly safe, even if she shattered his heart.
He pulled her to her feet and walked her backward until they were behind the couch. He spun her around and once again caught the nape of her neck, bending her forward over the high back, pressing her head down so that the shirt road up over her enticing curves. “I think this shirt has become my favorite.” He didn’t wait. Didn’t give her time. He couldn’t.
He slammed into her, hard and deep, through the hot, slick folds, the tight muscles that reluctantly gave way and then gripped him hard, rippling like live silk. Her cry was loud, echoing through the house, but his was hoarse, strangling his throat, pleasure ripping through his body. He couldn’t believe what it was like wanting her. The intensity of his need was so strong he could barely stay in control. She was so damned hot and tight, so silky soft and slick, he had to fight to hold back his cl**ax. Around Tansy, his control went right up in smoke.
Lightning whipped through him, scorching him. He caught her h*ps in his hands, and brought her back to him as he surged forward, needing to plunge deeper into the dark recesses of her tight sheath. Lust and love whirled together until he couldn’t tell one from the other. Emotions surged through him, filling his mind and heart when he barely could sustain feeling any other time. Where he was cold and dark, she was as hot as the sun and bathed him in her light.
He slammed home again and stopped, feeling her tense, throb around him, tighten, and grasp with her silken muscles. Slowly he bent over her, even as he tugged on her hair, bringing her head up. His lips whispered over her ear. “You f**king save my soul, Tansy. Every time.” It was stupid of him to give up so much of himself to her, but he couldn’t stop himself. He needed her to know what she was to him—that he might demand her total surrender, but he was hers, all the way, and he surrendered himself completely to her.
He moved again. Long and slow, taking her to the edge, until he heard a sob escape. He wanted to do a little sobbing himself, his breath hitching, and love choking and clogging his throat. But he held on, pushing her past every limit, poising her on the edge of release, only to pull back, prolonging, building, seeing how high he could take them both.
Tansy heard the sob in her voice as she pleaded with him for release. He was relentless, burying himself deep and hard, and then just when she was certain she couldn’t take anymore and she’d find release, he’d pull back, slow down, change his pace, all the while putting pressure on her most sensitive spot. Her legs shook, and her body shuddered with urgent need, aware of every inch of his thick shaft buried deep inside her.
“Hold still.”
She couldn’t. He couldn’t possible think she could, when she was on the verge of mind-numbing pleasure. He held it just out of her reach, and she writhed and bucked in a desperate attempt to impale herself.
“Not yet. You’re going to take me with you and I don’t want to end this.” He pressed kisses down her spine, his hands caressing her br**sts, her belly, flexing at her hips. “Not yet. I want to stay here awhile.”
“Please, Kadan, I can’t stand it.” She felt almost crazy with need, her body on fire, her insides swollen and aching and desperate for release. She couldn’t help herself, pushing back, twisting her hips, finding a frantic rhythm, grinding hard against him.
The breath slammed out of his lungs. Inside his throat—in his mind—he sounded wild, feral, a demon possessed. He buried his fingers deep in her hips, holding her still, his grip hard. He surged deep and she screamed. He pistoned forward, hard and deep, each thrust driving through the bundle of inflamed nerves so that she bucked and cried out, the sensations swamping him as her sheath tightened, strangling him, clamping down so hard he thought he’d go mad with pleasure. An explosive orgasm tore through her and took him with her, destroying all control so that he speared into her harder and faster in a frantic attempt to prolong the tidal wave that ripped up his thighs, down his belly, and centered in his shaft where her body continued to tighten around him, milking him dry. He jerked convulsively and then shuddered with pleasure as he filled her with hot se**n.
He stood behind her, buried deep, his arms wrapped around her waist now while she hung exhausted over the couch. He didn’t even know how they’d gotten started in the first place, only that he would never be sated. He wanted to spend every waking minute just touching her, filling her.
Kadan rested his head on her back, drawing in great deep breaths. “You know, for me, you’re my woman. My wife. Whenever you’re ready, say the word and we’ll do it legal. There’s no way you weren’t meant for me.” Hell, he’d never believed in God; there were too many sick, perverted people in the world, too much crime, and too many natural disasters for him to believe anyone who cared was really out there in the cosmos watching. But Tansy was a miracle. For the first time in his life, it occurred to him that if there was really such a being, Kadan owed big-time—for Tansy, because he believed absolutely that she was created for him. And he knew he’d been created for her.
“Damn it, woman, you’ve even got me thinking spiritual crap.” How pathetic was that?
Her body shook. He straightened up, allowing his shaft to slip out of her, enjoying the ripple that ran through her belly, telling him she was having delicious little aftershocks.
“Are you laughing at me?”
She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him, a small smile teasing her mouth. “A little, yes.”
“I have what could be a revelation and you’re laughing.” His hands were gentle as he helped her straighten up. He drew the edges of the shirt together and rebuttoned it.
“And your revelation is what?”
“You don’t deserve to know.” He leaned down to kiss her because he couldn’t resist her beautiful mouth. “We’ve got work to do. Stop distracting me.”
“You can set up the game pieces while I take a bath. If I don’t, I’m going to be too sore to walk.”
“I like that idea.”
“You’re so bad, Kadan.” She tossed another grin over her shoulder and left him.
Kadan listened to the bathwater running as he pulled on jeans and padded barefoot into the war room. He didn’t want her here, not where the photographs of the dead would surround them. He took the pieces out into the dining room and, wearing gloves, positioned them on the table in the order of the murders on the East Coast and then the West. He hated that she was going to do this, but he was going to make damned certain she didn’t have the same repercussions as she’d had the time before.
Tansy surveyed the ivory pieces Kadan set on the table. The game pieces were beautifully carved. Whoever had made them knew what he was doing. Each figurine was detailed meticulously. She held her palm over the pieces, an inch or so above the tallest, and passed her hand over them, feeling the waves of excitement and violence embedded in the ivory. Taking a breath, she dipped her hand lower.
Kadan’s hand slid beneath her wrist so fast it was a blur, his fingers circling hers and jerking her hand away before she could pick up one of the ivory carvings. Standing behind her, he held her wrist away from the game pieces. As he placed a proprietary hand on her shoulder, his body curved over hers so that his heat enveloped her.
“Wear gloves.”
“But . . .” She frowned at him over her shoulder. “I won’t pick up the details you need unless I touch the objects with my skin.”
His grip tightened, fingers digging through the thin material of the silk shirt, into her soft shoulder and into the sensitive skin of her wrist. “Gloves.” His voice brooked no argument. “See what impressions you get. We’ll start there. If we’re lucky, it will be enough.”
“You know better, Kadan.”
He pushed a pair of gloves into her hands.
“Do the men on your team ever tell you that you’re a tyrant?”
She pulled the material over her hands and felt some of the tension leave his body. He’d already grilled her for an hour on the layout and security of the house, going over every single detail a hundred times, until she considered hitting him over the head with something. He was very thorough when it came to questioning—no, interrogating—someone.