Dark Embers (12 page)

“Dylan, please.” She trembled and arched against him. “Fuck me. Fuck me now.”

Her words broke the last chain of his control, and he was slamming himself up and into her, burying himself balls deep with his very first thrust. She clamped around him like a greedy fist, and his eyes nearly crossed at the pleasure that shot through him as he became a part of her for the first time.

She was slick and wet and burning hot, and for a second he feared that he’d lose it before he could make her come again. He wanted—needed—to know what it felt like to be inside her when she climaxed.

The dragon roared, as desperate for that final intimacy as he was. He felt it moving through him, felt its need to touch and stroke and nuzzle her.

Gritting his teeth against the need to change that was gathering at the base of his spine, he worked to hold on to the shattered pieces of his control. Then Phoebe whimpered, her hands pulling at his hair, her legs wrapping themselves around his waist, her cunt pulling at his cock, and he knew he couldn’t hold on any longer.

Letting loose, he rode her hard, his hands braced on either side of her hips as he kept his gaze on hers, forcing her to look at him. Making sure that she saw him, that she knew who it was that was making love to her.

Over and over he thrust into her satin heat until the fire threatened to consume him. Flames of pleasure flashed through him, burning him up with the intensity of the emotions and sensations that had taken over his body. The dragon roared, and he wanted to roar with it.

He wanted to come, needed to come with a desperation that bordered on the insane, but at the same time he wanted to stay where he was—buried inside Phoebe’s incredible warmth—forever.

Sweat beaded on his chest, rolled down his back, but still he refused to stop. He thrust into her over and over again, trying to get as close to and as deep within her as he could. Trying to get inside more than her body. His arms trembled under the onslaught, his cock screamed for relief and still he continued to move inside her.

She was sobbing, screaming, her muscles contracting more and more tightly around him with every slam of his hips. Her nails dug into his back, her teeth into his shoulder, and still he kept at her. Her legs circled his hips, her hands clutched at his back and he knew that he couldn’t hold on any longer. She felt too good, too alive, too human, and he wanted to experience every part of her.

He was buried deep, wrapped tightly within her, when he felt the climax tear through her—a deep, dark wave of sensation so powerful that it swamped him, buried him, dragged him under before he could find the will to resist. His own climax welled up within him, the sweet clutch of her body sending him right over the edge and beyond, to a place where nothing existed but the infinite pain and pleasure of their joining. A place where he could do nothing but wallow in the need that arced between them like the most violent lightning.

It started at the base of his spine and spread out from there—through his dick, his stomach, up his back, around to his chest. Pleasure, pain, passion roaring through him, flowing from him to her and back again as he emptied himself inside her in a series of powerful, all-encompassing waves.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
hey landed in New Mexico too soon. A trip that had started out as interminable had turned too short in the space of one measly hour. As she shrugged back into the tank top and skirt she had put on in her apartment that morning, Phoebe tried to block out the ramifications of what she had just done.

But that was easier said than done, especially since she wanted nothing more than to climb back on the bed and go another round—or twelve—with Dylan. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this good, her body loose and well used and more than a little sore, but in the best possible way. Judging from the way he was staring at her as he buttoned his jeans, Dylan’s feelings were similar to her own.

A part of her couldn’t believe she’d done it, couldn’t believe she’d climbed into bed with a man she barely knew. She wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, had had numerous lovers in her life, but every sexual experience she’d ever had had been well thought out. Every partner she’d ever taken, carefully considered. After watching her mother make mistake after mistake with men, she’d made sure not to follow in her footsteps.

But with Dylan, she hadn’t considered, hadn’t planned, hadn’t done anything but react. She had acted impulsively—she, who planned these things out and considered the ramifications from every angle, had thrown caution to the wind and slept with a man because he was hot. And sexy. And made her horny as hell.

Not to mention, gave her so much pleasure that her senses were still on overload.

In the grand scheme of things, she supposed there were a lot of worse, less pleasurable things she could have done.

Still, she had slept with Dylan. Had devoured him, and had let him do the same to her. And now, when she could least afford to be, she was totally and completely adrift. What the hell was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to act? What was she supposed to say? None of the rules she’d spent her adult life living by applied here. Etiquette for situations like this was completely foreign.

No matter how many times she’d had sex in the past, it had never been with a man like Dylan. Never been with a man who had so totally and completely consumed her that she gave him everything, holding nothing back.

Now that it was over, Phoebe felt so vulnerable, so unprotected, that she could barely look at him. Bending down to buckle her sandals, she prayed that he would give her a few minutes to get her game face back before he started in on her.

But her prayers went unanswered as Dylan ran a hot, calloused palm down her bare arm. Even after everything they had just shared—or maybe because of it—shivers worked their way down her spine. Her body trembled, her pussy clenched, as she thought of the incredible pleasure that waited for her in Dylan’s arms. All she had to do was—

Standing up so abruptly she nearly hit him in the chin with the back of her head, Phoebe took a quick step away from Dylan. “So, which airport are we at? I forgot to ask when we got on the plane.”

“We’re at my private airstrip.”

Of course he had a private airstrip—he had the most luxurious private airplane she had even seen. Why was she even surprised? Why wouldn’t he have his own estate somewhere, complete with runway and helipad?

Private plane, private airstrip, the ability to throw around three million dollars like it was pocket change. And the most accomplished lover she’d ever had. She was beginning to feel a little bit like Alice tumbling down the rabbit hole.

Which was why when Dylan took a step toward her, covering the distance she had put between them, she retreated a few more steps, desperate to keep some kind of barrier between them—even if it was just three feet of space.

His eyes narrowed dangerously at her rebellion, and he continued his advance. Too late, she remembered her earlier thoughts—that he was a predator at the top of the food chain. As with any powerful beast, retreat only made him want to pursue.

Locking her knees, Phoebe forced herself to stand her ground when all she really wanted to do was flee. Dylan saw too much—wanted too much—and she didn’t know whether she had it in her to give him what he demanded. In fact, she was pretty sure she didn’t. Yet he didn’t seem to care.

“Where are you going?” His voice was poison soft, his body language so aggressive that she had the instinctive urge to just give in.

“I thought we were getting off the plane. It stopped a couple of minutes ago.” Phoebe made a show of looking out the window. When she did, she realized for the first time that they weren’t at a private estate. Instead, they were on an isolated airstrip in the middle of the desert. There wasn’t a building within sight, just miles and miles of sand and cacti and sharp, rocky hills.

“We’ll get off the plane when we’re ready.” His hand circled her upper arm.

“I’m ready now.”

“Are you?” His eyes were black and bottomless and very, very dangerous. She didn’t know what she’d done that had set him off so completely, but she had the very distinct feeling she was about to find out.

“Of course. The sooner we get off this plane, the sooner I can get to the lab you’ve set up. I want to see it.”

Her answer seemed to placate him, some of the tension melting from his shoulders until he looked almost normal again. “It’s about ten minutes away. We’ll head straight there, if you want. Or I can take you back to the house, let you get cleaned up and get something to eat.” He glanced outside. “It’s almost sunset.”

“I want to get started,” she reiterated. She’d been poring over the information he’d given her for hours—on the plane trip and even before it, when she should have been focusing on getting her bills paid and finding someone to water her plants.

But the notes and case studies had been fascinating, totally engrossing, as she studied a disease unlike any she had ever run across in her career. The scientist inside her was champing at the bit to get started, while the woman was counting on the cool reprieve science would give her from the fever of the last hour.

“All right, then. That’s what we’ll do.”

“We—” She started to ask him what he meant by that—surely she would be working alone—when the hand on her arm tightened just a little bit. Not enough to hurt, but definitely enough to let her know it was there and that he was the one holding her.

Then Dylan gave one solid jerk, and she was suddenly back where she didn’t want to be—up against his chest, with sultry heat blazing between them. With his breath warm against her cheek, his hands tight around her waist, it suddenly didn’t seem such a bad place to end up.

“I don’t know where you’re going inside that brilliant head of yours, but stop now.” When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper, but the low, deep cadences of his voice somehow carried more power than if he’d yelled. “This wasn’t a one-off,” he continued. “It
will
happen again.”

“Do I get a vote in that?” She arched an eyebrow, struggled to keep her voice calm.

“You got your vote when you came three times before I ever got inside you. I’d say that’s more than enough proof that you enjoy what I do to you.”

Phoebe felt her cheeks flush, but she wouldn’t back down. She didn’t know how. And besides, some feminine instinct she’d hardly been aware of before she’d met Dylan warned her that to do so now would be total disaster.

Which was why she used every ounce of concentration she had to keep a careless smile on her face when she answered, “I enjoy a lot of things—Cherry Garcia ice cream, Aerosmith concerts, scary movies. That doesn’t mean I want to repeat the experiences on a regular basis.” She reached up and patted his cheek with her free hand. “But don’t worry. The next time I get a craving, I’ll give you a call.”

A growl—she swore that was the only thing she could call it—rumbled from Dylan’s chest. She took a shallow breath, held it, waited for the explosion she could see lurking behind those hell black eyes.

It never came. Instead, he leaned down until they were face-to-face, his mouth level with her own. His lips curved in a wicked grin seconds before he brushed them against hers. His tongue darted out, traced her lower lip, her upper one. Licked at the corners of her mouth until she gasped and opened for him.

This kiss was different from all the ones that had come before; it was slow, leisurely, exploratory. And arousing as hell. His tongue tangled with her own, stroked back and forth so slowly that she thought she might go insane.

Her knees, usually so steady and dependable, buckled for the third time in twenty-four hours. She would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her. For long seconds, Dylan held her against him, the powerful heat he radiated burning her through the thin cotton of her tank top.

And then he was moving away, setting her aside, his smile dark and sinful and so delicious, she wanted to wrap herself around him and hold on for dear life. “Yes, Phoebe.” His voice was a perfect imitation—a perfect mockery—of the one she had just used on him. “Do be sure and tell me the next time you get a
craving
. I’d be happy to help you out—if I’m available.”

He walked away with a wink and a cocky-as-hell grin, and she couldn’t even be mad. She was the one who had started the battle, after all. Still, as Dylan bent to pick up her backpack, she couldn’t help admiring his fine ass—even as she wondered whether she’d finally met her match.

Dylan was pissed, his dragon even more so. Worse, he was on fire, his body burning for Phoebe’s though he’d had her less than fifteen minutes before. It hadn’t been enough, hadn’t been close to being enough, especially now that he knew what it was like to be inside her, to have her strong, lithe body close around him like a fist.

Making love to Phoebe had been better—and worse—than he’d imagined it could be. Ecstasy and agony and everything in between, loving her had marked him in a way nothing ever had before. And it had only made him hungrier. Usually he couldn’t get away fast enough after being with a woman, but with Phoebe he wanted to linger.