Doranna Durgin - Survival Instinct

Take what you can get.

Something must have shown on her face. The wistfulness…the want. And he had it, too. He said, “Hey.” The same way he’d announced himself at her door, but somehow an entirely different word.

“Hey,” she said softly. Had they moved closer together? Yeah. Definitely. With the want growing between them, reminiscent of their connection in the henhouse and quickly going beyond. She said what she’d said then, trusting him to catch it. “You like this with all your witnesses?”

Give the man credit, he didn’t need a Clue Bat. “No,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I’m like this with…you.”

They reached for each other at the same time, fingers tangling in hair, lips meeting with inexplicable familiarity. Her cast rested awkwardly against his neck, but when she ran her fingernails over the skin behind his ear he still froze for an instant. Then he nudged her backward, shoving the box out of the way. She went gladly and brought him with her, no hesitations…just want. She offered him full, hard kisses, half trapped under his body-and she suddenly felt bereft from the waist down. No warmth, no weight…no heat. Then his hand slid down her ribs-carefully, still somehow thinking of her battered state-and up her shirt and already she strained, lifting herself with the expectation until his hand cradled her breast. Oh, yeah. She dropped her head back, giving him free access to her throat.

Mistake. That Dave Hunter integrity was still at work, and she’d given him just enough space to think about it. “Ellen,” he said, and the doubt came through clearly enough.

“Don’t even think it!” she said fiercely. “I’m not even a witness anymore, not really. And you’re not getting away this time.”

He laughed, propped on his elbow long enough to clear her face of the hair that had somehow become tangled between them; gently, he disengaged a strand. “Gee,” he said, amused in his mild sarcasm. “If you’re sure…”

She put his hand back on her breast-as close as she could get it, hindered by her cast-and pulled his head back down. Firmly. His lips barely touching hers, he murmured, “I guess you’re sure.”

In response, she levered herself up and rolled them both over. It was noisy and ungraceful and full of intent, and when she was done she straddled him.

Dave didn’t appear to notice. Too busy helping her yank his sweatshirt over his head, and then too busy hissing through his teeth as she found the flat of his nipple and scratched it lightly; he thrust up against her to create instant lightning in all the places that were rapidly becoming the most important parts of her body. Except…

Too many clothes. She wiggled in a wordless demand and his hands clenched on her hips, his head tipping back and a delightful groan working its way through clenched teeth. A man who knew what he liked…who knew how to let go and enjoy it. But still too many clothes. “Off!” she demanded, reduced to one-word sentences. She unsnapped her jeans, fumbling to unbutton his until he took over. They separated long enough to shuck their jeans and then she was right back with him, sinking into the satisfaction of almost-contact, wrapping herself around the heat of his erection through his dark boxers. She moved against him, body thrumming, and gave no quarter as he reached for his jeans, his wallet-and then arched in helpless reaction as she reached behind herself to give him an intimate tickle.

So she did it again, and then leaned down to nibble the throat he’d just exposed.

“Lord!” he said. “You-”

She laughed into the curve where his neck met his shoulders, taking in the scent of him. But he hadn’t lost himself entirely; he dropped his wallet to grab her hips and lift his own, angling them together so perfectly she cried out at the intensity of it. “Two can play that game,” he told her.

She groped for that wallet. This was what she’d wanted, what her body had been reaching for, each and every time she’d felt the connection between them. Across the room, in a crowded henhouse, over pancakes at breakfast…this was the silent language they’d been speaking to each other. “Now,” she told him. “Now, now, now.”

Panting, his ice blue eyes alight with laughter and desire, he said again, “If you’re sure-”

She knew the only answer to that. She ran her hand up the inside of his thigh, sneaking in under his boxers. He instantly snatched the wallet up, pulled out the condom lurking within and covered himself, not bothering to remove the boxers. Karin did her best to make it a challenge, scraping her nails lightly up his thigh, high enough to make him react and gasp and tighten-but he laughed, too, short and breathless, enjoying her.

And then he didn’t bother with her underwear, which she wouldn’t have predicted anyone could just yank aside like that but who cared, not when they finally came together. Together. They spent a few luxurious moments learning the feel of each other-hard and soft, getting acquainted-and started to move. Nothing slow about that, not with the two of them so explosive, so full of coiling energy. Karin arched into him, braced her hands on his thighs and threw her head back. They danced together, fast and hard and quickly building, until all her strength drained from her fingers and toes and spiraled inward and Dave’s thighs tightened beneath her hands, raising them both.

It was impulse that made her clench her knees to his side, stopping them in mid-thrust. Impulse that made her close down around him so he gave a surprised little cry, neck straining, fingers reaching and needy and headed for the juncture of her thighs. She did it again and he froze, arching upward, trembling, still reaching for her, pulsing in response to her.

A long moment she held them that way, neither of them quite breathing, the intimacy of their connection almost unbearable, a pulsing focal point of-

“Now,” she whispered, and moved. He gave a great cry, a strangled sound…a startled sound. And he finally reached her, a single touch, and she cried out with him.

He should have been spent after that…Karin was, as limp as a noodle and not sure whether to fall forward or simply to finish falling backward to lie like an acrobat atop his knees. He made the decision for her, pulling her forward to kiss her with a surprising intensity. She thought it might be a thank you…she thought it might be his way of making certain he didn’t take her lightly. Either was fine with her and she kissed him back until they had so little breath left there was no choice.

She lay across his chest, taking a brief moment to regret that she’d never gotten her shirt off, never felt his hands on her bare breasts. Next time.

Except there wasn’t likely to be a next time. She was running out of time. She’d have to tell him who she really was…and the man who thought he’d made love to Ellen might well not want to make love to Karin. Karin who’d lied to him…deceived him…

For once, quite suddenly, she was grateful to Rumsey. He was the one who’d taught her to grab opportunities, to rely on her instinct…to avoid thinking things to death when the moment was right. And nothing…nothing could be more right than this. Whatever happened next. Nothing could take this moment away. She kissed his collarbone, drawing on enough energy to run her hand down the crisp of blond hair that covered his chest. “I changed my mind,” she said, lazy and satisfied. “This wasn’t a good idea at all.”

He laughed, as much as he could with her weight on his chest and a slight tremble still reverberating through his body, and he kissed the top of her head. “You’re right,” he said, and his voice tickled her ear. “That didn’t work out well in the least. We should never do it again.”