J Robb - Imitation in Death

“Spontaneous enough for you?” he asked when she sucked in a breath.

“It might be-” The words tumbled back down her throat when he ripped her shirt open.

“How’s that for uncontrolled?”

It was a little hard to comment when her mouth was being assaulted again. He yanked what was left of her shirt down to her wrists. Her hands were trapped, tripping an instinctive panic that tangled messily with a spurt of excitement as he tugged the tattered material like a rope.

Her hands were behind her back now, and the blood was buzzing in her ears. She couldn’t seem to draw a full breath. The champagne she’d drank began to spin giddily in her head, and her thigh muscles quivered.

“My hands,” she managed.

“Not yet.” He was mad for her. It seemed he spent his life mad for her. The shape and the scent of her, the taste and the feel of her. And now the sound she made as his hand raced over her.

He feasted on her skin, the lovely rise of her breast with her heart raging under his mouth. She moaned again, trembled, losing herself, he knew, as he used his tongue, his teeth.

Let go. There was nothing more arousing to him than when she let go.

She still couldn’t breathe, but no longer cared. Sensations were storming her, too brutal, too dark, to be called something as mild as pleasure.

She let him take, would have begged him to take more if she’d had the words. When he yanked her pants down her hips, she opened for him. And those hands, those wonderful hands, drove her over.

She cried out as she came, as the orgasm flashed through her with such intense heat.

Her head dropped weakly on his shoulder, and she managed one word. “More.”

“Always.” His lips were on her hair, her cheek, then on hers again. “Always.”

His arms came around her, and once freed, hers around him. She locked her legs around his waist and struggled to speak as her breath came in short, strained pants. “We’re not on the floor.”

“We’ll get there.” He nipped at her shoulder, her throat, wondered how he could stop himself from simply eating her whole.

He hitched her off the counter, taking her weight as their mouths fused again, as heartbeat slammed against heartbeat. Her hands had worked their way under his shirt, her short nails scraping over his damp skin.

Then she tugged it up, tugged it off, and fixed her teeth on his shoulder. “God, your body. Mine, mine, mine.”

They were on the floor, pulling at clothes, pulling in air as lungs threatened to burst. And this time when her legs locked around him, he buried himself inside her.

Hot, so viciously hot, she trapped him there, rising up to take more of him, dragging him down to follow her. His hands slid off her slick skin, then found purchase on her hips. They dug in while he plunged.

They were lying on their backs on the floor in a sweaty heap. Her throat was wild with thirst, but she wasn’t entirely sure she could swallow. Just breathing took all the energy she had left.

As far as spontaneous, uncontrolled sex went, she thought they had a winner. She felt his fingers brush hers, and gave him top marks for recovery.

“Is there anything left on your to-do list?” he asked softly.

“No.” Her breath whistled in, whistled out. “That cleans it up.”

“Thank God.”

“We have to get up from here, beforenoon tomorrow,”Eve warned.

“I think it has to be sooner. I’m starving.”

She thought it over. “So am I. I don’t suppose you could pull one of your macho routines and carry me.”

“I don’t suppose. I was hoping you’d carry me.”

“Well.” They lay where they were another full minute. “Maybe we can try this together.”

“On three then.” He counted it off. On three, they managed to pull each other to sitting positions, then just sat there, grinning.

“That was really good. My idea,” she reminded him.

“And one for the record books. We’d better try to stand up.”

“Okay, but let’s not rush it.”

They staggered to their feet, swayed, then held each other up like a pair of drunks.

“Wow. I’d say I got a little trashed watching you lose a round to that grill, but that’s not it. You trashed me. Appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” He rested his head on hers. “Just hold a minute until the blood starts circulating again.”

“Your blood has a tendency to circulate straight to your dick, and I need pizza. And a shower,” she realized. “A shower, then pizza, because, pal of mine, we are a mess.”

“All right. Let’s get what’s left of these clothes.”

She found the rag of her shirt, what used to be her underwear, and other assorted apparel. Together, they carried the evidence out of the kitchen.

“And don’t think you’re going to nail me again in the shower. We’re done.”

He nailed her again in the shower, but only because she’d brought it up in the first place.

They ate pizza in the sitting area of the bedroom. By the time she was working on the third piece, she felt the hollow in her belly might just fill again.

“What did you do today?” she asked him.

“About what?”

She cocked her head. “Every now and again, I like to touch base with what it is you do. It reminds me you’re not just a pretty sex object.”

“Ah, I see. I had meetings.” He lifted his shoulders as she continued to stare at him. “Most often, when I explain what it is I do, you get this glassy look in your eye, or fall into unconsciousness.”

“I do not. Well, okay, the glassy look maybe, but I’ve never lost consciousness.”

“I had a meeting with my broker. We discussed current market trends and-”

“I don’t need every minute detail. Broker meeting-stocks and bonds and blah blah. Check. What else?”

His lips twitched. “A conference regarding the Olympus Resort. Two new areas are ready to open. I’m expanding the police and security force.ChiefAngelo sends her regards.”

“Right back at her. Any trouble up there?”

“Nothing major.” He washed down pepperoni pizza with champagne. “Darcia wondered when we might be coming back for a visit.”

“The next time I pass out and can be dragged into a space shuttle.” She licked pizza sauce off her finger. “What else?”

“Internal staff meeting, a number of security checks. Routine. Discussion of preliminary reports on a sheep farm inNew Zealand I’m considering buying.”

“Sheep? Baa-baa?”

“Sheep, wool, lamb cutlets, and other byproducts.” He passed her a napkin and that made her think ofMrs.Parksy. “I had an extended business lunch with a couple of developers and their rep, who’d like me to come aboard their project. A massive indoor recreation center inNew Jersey.”

“Will you?”

“Doubtful. But it was entertaining to hear them out, and eat on their expense account. Is that enough for you?”

“That was just through lunch?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re a busy guy. Is it harder for you to handle all this stuff out ofNew York than it was when you traveled?”

“I still travel.”

“Not like you used to.”

“It used to hold more appeal for me. Before I had a wife who invited me to nail her on the kitchen floor.”

She smiled, but he knew her too well. “What’s troubling you,Eve?”

She nearly told him about her dream, her memory, but pulled back from it. The subject of mothers had to be sensitive for him yet. Instead she used work. It wasn’t an evasion. Work did trouble her.

“My gut knows who he is already, has from the first time I saw him. But I can’t see him, so I don’t know for sure. Not in my head. He changes, and he’ll change again, so I can’t see him. Not his type, or even his mind. Because that changes, too. He’s good at what he does because he changes. Because he assumes the personality of what he imitates. I don’t know if I can stop him.”