Heat of the Night (18 page)

Stacey shuddered violently. He was the type of man who enjoyed going down on a woman. Would enjoy driving her crazy and owning her in such a highly personal way. Branding her, making her his.

Today, she wanted to be his.

Clutching the back of the sofa for balance, she came down, biting back the sounds that would have escaped as his hot breath gusted across her wet skin.

"Yes," he purred, his large hands holding the cheeks of her ass and urging her into him. He started licking her, long slow licks, dipping into each groove and crevice, breathing harshly against her. He teased her clit, fluttering feather-light and hummingbird-quick across it.

"Right there," she whispered, rocking into the maddening motion. A firm lick would set her off and she tried to catch it, swiveling her hips, chasing his tongue. Knowing damn well what she needed, Connor moved away from the tiny protrusion, tilted his head, and thrust into her.

"Ah, god!" She was shaking, her fingers white with the strain of gripping the couch back.

Connor growled and pulled her closer, holding her hips and grinding her pussy into his mouth, his tongue fucking fast and deep. Seductive sucking noises filled the air as he drank her down with rough, hungry groans.

The resulting orgasm was devastating, her eyes squeezing shut, her teeth grinding together. Her silence seemed to incite his ardor further. He lifted her and rolled to the side, setting her bottom on the wooden coffee table before looming over her. His lips at her ear, his left hand at her hip, his right dipping between them to position himself at her opening. He lunged hard and deep, pinning her to the surface with the burning length of his thick cock.

She cried out in startled pleasure, her breath caught and held as he thrust one hand into her hair and pulled her head back. He mantled her with his big, hard body. Dominated her. Owned her inside and out. Even his breath was hers. She couldn't breathe without inhaling his exhale.

"Mine," he rumbled, his hand at her hip pulling her hard into him, until there was nothing separating them. He flexed powerfully inside her, as if to say,
I am in you. A part of you
.

The sensation caught the tail end of her orgasm and caused her to clench tighter around him, reigniting the fading convulsions of her climax.

He groaned as she rippled up and down the length of his cock, his sweat-slick forehead pressing tightly to hers. "You were made for me."

The fit was perfect, if a little snug. Prior to meeting Connor she could have sworn she couldn't take a cock that big. But he made her so damn hot and wet. She rotated her hips in a tentative circle, just to get the full effect of his size.

"Oh!" she gasped, as everything tightened up, ready for more.

"Yes," he crooned, his lean hips grinding right back, restlessly, near mindlessly, his heavy balls resting against the seam of her buttocks. "So good… so fucking good…"

Her arms were behind her, palms flat on the coffee table, propping her up. "Fuck me," she begged, rolling her hips into him, feeling every bit like a desirable passionate woman. Something she hadn't felt like in far too long.

"I
am
fucking you, sweetheart." He rose slightly, giving her an eyeful of taut, sweat-sheened abs and revealing the fact that he was still wearing his jeans and boots. That made Stacey even hotter, the look he wore of a man who couldn't bother with getting undressed because he wanted her too badly to spare the time.

It was then that she spotted the strip of condoms on the couch. She glanced down at where they joined with wide eyes. He withdrew then, his cock lined with pulsing veins and shiny from her arousal.

"Condom!" she gasped, as he pushed slowly back inside, raising the temperature of her body enough to make her perspire.

"I'll pull out," he grunted, retreating, then plunging deep again. Harder this time, but not faster. "… so damn good…"

"Oh god!" Her pussy spasmed in helpless delight. His cock was beautiful to look at, even better to ride. It filled her so full that she could feel all the nuances of it. The furl on the underside of the wide flared head stroked over a highly sensitive spot and her toes pointed. She didn't want to dull any of it, but—"I-I'm not on the pill."

He didn't miss a beat. What would have been a cold shower for most guys did something else to Connor. He tugged her closer to the edge and gave her two rapid strokes. "I can't get you pregnant and I'm clean."

She whimpered as he picked up the pace, his abdominals clenching and releasing in steady measured rhythm. He leaned over her again, pushing her back, rising above her. She stared up at him, melting beneath the heat of his gaze, enamored with the sight of his gorgeous body straining over and inside hers.

"You're the only one," he said roughly. "It's never been real with anyone else."

Stacey's back bowed upward as his driving lunges pushed her closer to orgasm. Releasing his grip on her hair, he set both hands on the table by her shoulders and shafted her cunt in fierce, relentless drives. "You're the only one," he repeated, his gaze unwavering, open.

With her legs around his hips, she came with a cry, writhing beneath him, her toes curling with the intensity of her pleasure. He drew it out expertly, rubbing the head of his cock over and over that sensitive spot inside her, murmuring praise.

Only when she begged weakly, "
… no more
…" did he yank free and stand over her, gripping his cock and pumping it with his fist until he groaned and cursed and erupted across her heaving breasts in hot, milky spurts.

It was base and raw. Then he gathered her in his arms and sank with her upon the sofa, and it became beautiful and sweet.

Because his body quivered as hers did and his heart beat with the same desperate rhythm as hers.

With his brogue thick with emotion, he whispered her name. Stacey held on tight and fell head over heels.

"They have the trinity."

Michael frowned and sank onto the stone bench beneath the tree in the Elite Academy courtyard. "That is unfortunate."

Elder Rachel paced as was her wont when agitated. Even in the dream state, the woman was too high strung, yet she remained focused on whatever task was at hand. It was a potent combination—the physical restlessness blended with mental steadfastness.

"It was the damn red hair," she said crossly. "The minions grow unruly and uncooperative within days. Even with the mental chip, they become impossible to control."

"Discard them when they lose their usefulness."

"I know what to do, Elder Sheron. However, one of them dug into their own skull and pulled the chip out. We must assume that the others are capable of such self-infliction."

He knew that, of course. He knew everything stored in her wily brain because he was inside it and because they had colluded for centuries. But he let her talk it out. She hated having him in her mind, so she preferred to act as if he wasn't.

"Leave the completely feral ones to Captains Cross and Bruce," he murmured. "It will keep them busy and you have more important matters to attend to. We need the trinity. You should not have entrusted its retrieval to a minion."

"I had no choice. I had to return to the Twilight for your audience with the Elders. Now that I have 'volunteered' to travel to the mortal plane, we have much greater freedom of movement. I no longer have to pretend to be here when I am actually there."

She spun about, causing her long dark tresses to whip over her shoulder. Michael admired her even as he despised her.

"I cannot trust half the men I took with me," she complained, "because their loyalty is not with you and me, but with the Elder Collective. The minions are wild, but the chip keeps them loyal… at least until the Nightmares completely destroy their minds."

Michael brushed a stray leaf off the cuff of his wide sleeve and looked around them, studying Rachel's dream version of the Elite Academy. It had not aged in her mind, retaining the appearance it once possessed when she was a student there. The center courtyard where they met was circular, lined with gravel, and shaded by immense trees. Surrounding the hub were various open-air amphitheatres where combat training took place and in the large building to the south, classrooms were in session.

"It is time to move to the next stage," he said finally.

Rachel stilled, her green eyes widened. "I began to doubt that you would ever proceed."

She had suggested it weeks ago, but he held off. It seemed a waste to use such a tool without devastating effect. Now, the time was right.

"Never doubt me," Sheron said, pushing to his feet. His gaze stayed locked with hers as he pulled up his cowl.

"It will be done as we agreed."

"Excellent." He bowed and moved to the edge of the slipstream. "Until you dream again."

Connor stared down at the dozing woman in his arms and knew he was in deep shit.

His chest was tight and hot, making it difficult to breathe. Every inhale smelled of sweat and sex, every exhale was a moment closer to when he would have to leave.

Stacey was beautiful in near slumber. The tight lines of stress and strain around her mouth and eyes were eased in relaxation, leaving behind a face of youthful loveliness. Creamy smooth skin, dark arched brows, cherry red lips.

He could wake up every day like this. With this woman. In this house. He'd trained enough young men for the Elite that he had confidence in his ability to help Justin, too. Connor knew the type and was familiar with the effects brought on by the lack of a father figure. He had seen it with Aidan. It wouldn't be easy, but for this—he cupped Stacey's cheek with his hand, caressing the curve of her cheekbone with his thumb—for
her
, it would be worth it.

Adjusting her, he pulled her closer and took her mouth, pressing his lips to her softly parted ones. Her moan made his arms tighten around her. He wanted to keep her, discover her, share himself with her. Perhaps what felt good now would feel as good a month from now. A year from now. Years from now.

Promise. There were signs of promise between them, and the thought that it might never come to fruition was difficult for him to bear. It was one thing to be alone when you knew you were happier that way. It was another to be alone when you had someone you wanted to be with.

Licking the seam of Stacey's lips, Connor made love to her lush, soft mouth. Infatuated with the taste of her, he thrust his tongue deep, plunging long and slow, the way he wanted to make love to the rest of her. If only he could get past the feeling of urgency, the sense that at any moment she would be ripped from him and he would lose this chance to enjoy her.

Her hand lifted and slipped into the hair at his nape. The simple touch moved him profoundly for its sheer artlessness. It wasn't a touch designed to arouse. It was a touch intended only to hold him close, to keep him near so she could decimate him with her returning ardor. Stacey gave as good as she got, her tongue stroking along his, her mouth twisting and sucking beneath his, her lips clinging to his.

He pushed to his feet, lifting her with him, never breaking the kiss even as he moved down the hallway to her bedroom.