Allison Brennan - Original Sin

“Skye?”

She turned around. Anthony stood there in jeans and no shirt, his skin damp from his shower, his shoulder-length hair brushed slick down the nape of his neck, curling at the ends. The scar from where he’d been stabbed on the cliffs was still dark across his stomach. She’d almost lost him ten weeks ago. She loved him so much her chest ached, and she wanted to break down and hold him forever.

“Skye, honey, what’s wrong?”

She wiped at her damp eyes. She wasn’t crying, she just wanted to. “It’s been an awful day, an even worse night.” She looked down at the glass of whiskey she’d poured but now didn’t want. She pushed it aside.

Anthony pulled out a chair and sat her down on it, then sat across from her. He kissed her lightly on the lips, so light, so sweet, but she didn’t want light or sweet. She wanted hot, passionate sex with Anthony right now. She wanted to pull down his jeans, kiss him everywhere, make love to him on the table, the floor, anywhere as long as they were together, touching, naked.

“Talk to me.”

She shook her head and pulled him to her, kissed him hard and long, pushing her tongue into his, drawing it into her mouth. He met her lust, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke.

His lips were hard and warm against hers, his body solid, fresh soap and a hint of something mysterious on his flesh. He made her wild with need, for him, only him.

His hands moved down her back, up her shirt, hot against her cold skin. She wrapped her arms around his neck, fisting his damp hair in her hands, rubbing his neck, his shoulders, unable to keep her hands still.

“Skye-”

“Don’t talk. Make love to me.”

She pulled off her shirt and felt his bare skin against hers. She was urgent, moaning as her nipples pressed against his chest, as his large hand pushed between them and molded around her breast.

She fumbled with his jeans. He had to stand so she could push them down, along with his briefs, and his semi-hard cock grew under her touch. He knelt in front of her, kissed her, his hands on her breasts. She pushed his head from her lips downward, and he took one small breast into his mouth, his hand cupping and squeezing the other. She gasped as his teeth lightly bit her nipple, then reached down and squeezed him, pulling him closer to her.

“Skye-” he whispered into her chest.

“Shh.” He always wanted to make sure she was comfortable, that she was enjoying herself, so concerned about her that he never really let himself go . She wanted him to lose control with her, to want her so much that he took everything she offered and more. He was too damn restrained, too damn noble .

But she didn’t want to talk about it, not now; she just wanted Anthony in her, over her, any way she could get him. He was hers; she wanted to mark him.

Very unlike her. She swallowed uneasily, then Anthony whispered in her ear, “I love you, Skye,” as he stood, helping her to her feet.

He slid off her uniform pants and panties together, and she was naked. He picked her up to carry her to the bedroom. Always the gentleman. Always chivalrous.

“Right here, right now,” she said, using her body to direct him toward the counter. Uncertain, he sat her on the edge and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was exactly the right height to make love to her like this.

Before he could protest, she guided him into her, then slid forward to take him completely. She gasped, wrapped her arms around him, and his hands moved to support her. His cock involuntarily jerked inside her. He was trying to control it again, to fight the passion, to make sure she was comfortable, that she orgasmed first, that she had pleasure even if he denied himself.

But she knew his body now, knew how to push him over the edge. She kissed his earlobe, her tongue circling, sucking, moving down his jawline, to his lips where she kissed him hard, drawing his tongue into her mouth, mimicking sex. His cock soon followed the rhythm she set with their mouths and they both groaned, so close to the edge, so close to losing themselves completely in each other.

Anthony couldn’t resist Skye when she touched him. She was a siren for him, calling, beckoning, drawing him in. She was his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. As soon as she nipped his tongue he let himself go, pulling out of her, then plunging in, her body open and inviting, her voice a melodious mixture of lust and satisfaction. Her body glistened with sweat as she worked them both up; he kissed her neck, tasted her salty flesh, wanted more. He braced his legs, bending his knees for better control. Her back arched and her head tilted back. He watched her face as her mouth opened on a high gasp of pleasure. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter; her long blond hair fell down her back in damp waves.

He swallowed a grunt, sweat pouring off his skin as he held himself in check, wanting desperately to pump heavily into Skye but not wanting to hurt her, not wanting to deny her pleasure. Then she reached behind him and dug her fingernails into his butt, squeezing as she pushed herself into him. He would have stumbled backward, but she pulled them into the counter. He worried she’d hurt her back, but then her finger touched the tender skin on the underside of his penis and he groaned out loud, pushing himself into her as he came in a powerful, uncontrollable wave of ecstasy. Her body tightened around him and she shook with her own release.

He held her close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Why?” Her breath was short and fast.

“I lost control. I wanted to satisfy you.”

“You did. And I like it when you lose control.”

“I don’t. It’s-” He didn’t know how to say it. It felt primal . Lustful. Wanton and wrong. His discipline required that he remain in complete control of his emotions and his physical needs. There was too much at stake to put aside self-control for personal satisfaction. His love already put Skye in great danger; he was selfish to want to be with her. But he craved this one weakness. He needed Skye.

“You can’t control everything, Anthony,” she said quietly.

Lights from a car coming up the street cast shadows across the kitchen. Anthony stepped back, picking Skye up and putting her on the floor.

“Someone stopped in front of the house,” he said.

She nodded toward his pants on the floor by the table as she grabbed her uniform and underclothes. “Get dressed. I’ll be right out.”

She walked into the bedroom. Anthony knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. He started to follow, but the knock on the door stopped him.

He crossed to the front door and looked out the side window. Rafe.

And Moira. They both had blood on them.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Fiona listened to Ian explain how he-and two other strong, grown men! — had lost Raphael Cooper.

She was beyond furious that Moira-of all people-had found Cooper first.

But it explained a lot.

“Are you certain you shot her?”

“Her arm was bleeding pretty good, and Walter cut her neck.”

“He should have slit her throat when he had that knife on her. He’s a weak fool. Take care of him.”

Ian cleared his throat. “Can you try the blood demon again? We’re ready to go out.”

“No. Now that won’t work.”

Fiona paced, the electricity in the room sparking with her anger.

Serena explained to Ian, “It’s Moira’s blood. If Cooper has any of it on him, it’s protecting him. We won’t be able to find him.”

“What’s so special about her blood?” Ian asked. “She’s not a witch anymore.”

“She’ll always be a witch, whether she uses magic or not,” Serena said.

Fiona interrupted before Serena said more. Not because it was a secret about Moira’s bloodline, but simply because the subject infuriated her. All she’d done to protect Moira as the Mediator was now being used against Fiona.