Нора Робертс - Chasing Fire

He moaned as she worked her way to his shoulders.

He fixed his teeth at the side of her neck, pressed his own fingers in a line down her spine, then up again until he found points of pain and pleasure at the base of her neck.

“Let me take care of this.” She poured shampoo in her palm, rubbed her hands together lightly as she watched him, then slid her fingers through his hair. While she rubbed, massaged, he filled his hands with her shower gel. The shower filled with the scent of ripe peaches as he glided circles, slow circles, over her breasts, her belly.

Lather foamed and dripped, frothing fragrantly between their bodies as he trailed a hand down, his fingers teasing, just teasing when he cupped her.

Her head fell back, and a low sound of pleasure hummed in her throat. Watching her absorb sensation, he gave her a little more, a little more until her hips, her breath picked up the rhythm.

Not yet, he thought, not yet, and made her groan when he turned her to face the wet wall.

“Gull, Jesus—”

“I need to wash your back. Love your back.” At the small of it, a tattoo of a red dragon breathed gold flame. He ran his lathered hands over her, followed them with his lips. “Your skin’s like milk.”

He indulged himself with the subtle curve of the back of her neck, exposed and vulnerable to his teeth and tongue, and when her arm hooked back to press him closer, he glided his hands around, filled them with her breasts.

So firm, so full.

He spun her around, replaced his hands with his mouth.

Not what she’d expected or prepared for. Never what she expected, she thought as her body quivered. The angry man who’d shoved her against the door should have stormed her. Instead he seduced. She didn’t know if she could bear it.

With steam billowing like smoke, he trailed that mouth down her body, until every muscle trembled, until anticipation and sensation squeezed to a pulsing ache inside her.

Then he used his mouth on her until the hot flood of release swamped her.

When she was weak, in that shivering instant where body and mind surrendered, he plunged inside her.

No seduction now, no slow hands or teasing mouth. He gripped her hips and let himself take, and take, and take. Need raged through him, incited by the harsh sound of wet flesh slapping wet flesh, the pounding beat of the water, the wild thrust of her hips as she gave herself over to what they fueled in each other.

The chains of control shattered; madness broke free.

Through the haze of steam and passion he watched her eyes go blind. Still he drove her, himself, greedy for more until pleasure ripped through him and emptied him out.

She let her head drop on his shoulder until she could get her breath back. Might be a while, she realized, as she was currently panting like an old woman.

“Need a minute.”

She made some sound of agreement to the statement.

“If we try to move now, we’re both going to end up going down and drowning—after we fracture our skulls.”

“We’re lucky we didn’t do that already.”

“Probably. But we’d die clean and satisfied. I’m going to turn off the water. It’s going cold.”

She’d have to take his word for it. Her body still pumped enough heat to melt an ice floe. She managed her first full breath when he brushed his lips over her hair. She simply didn’t know how to react to sweetness—after.

“Got your legs under you?” he asked her.

“Steady as a rock.” Hopefully.

He let her go to reach out and grab towels. “It’s a sacrifice to give you anything to cover up that body with.” Before she could take it, he wrapped it around her, laid a warm, lingering kiss on her lips.

“Problem?” he asked her.

“No. Why?”

He trailed a fingertip between her eyebrows. “You’re frowning.”

“My face is reflecting the mood of my stomach, which is wondering why it’s still empty.” Which was true enough. “I’m starving.” She relaxed again, smiled again. “Between the jump and the shower bonus, I’m out.”

“Right there with you. Let’s go eat.”

She started to move past him to the bedroom, turned. “I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. You’ve got skills.”

“I also work well horizontally.”

Her laugh rolled out as she pulled out a T-shirt and jeans. “I think you’re going to have to prove it.”

“Now or after food?”

She shook her head as she pulled on clothes. “After, definitely. I’m in the mood for... Aren’t you getting dressed?”

“I’m not putting that stinking mess back on. I need to borrow your towel.”

She thought of the state of the clothes they’d both dragged off. “Just hang on a minute. I’ll get you some clothes.”

“Really?”

“I know where your quarters are.” She breezed out, strolled into his room.

He kept it tidy, she thought as she pulled open a drawer. Inside spaces, too. She grabbed what she figured he needed, took another quick look around. When she noticed the photograph, she stepped over for a closer study.

Gull, she noted, with what had to be his aunt and uncle, his cousins, all arm in arm in front of big, bright red doors.

Great-looking group, she thought, and the body language spoke of affection and happy. In front of the arcade, which, she realized by what she could see of it, was a lot bigger than she’d envisioned.

She took the clothes back, pushed them into his hands. “Hurry up and get dressed before I start gnawing on my own hand.”

“Hurry up and get undressed, hurry up and get dressed. Orders, orders.” He sent her an exaggerated smoldering look. “Dominant females make me hot.”

“I’ll see if I can find my whip and chain later.”

“Ah, a brand-new fantasy to explore.”

“Don’t forget to call me ‘Mistress.’ ”

“If you promise to be gentle. By the way, I like the tat.”

“Good-luck charm,” she told him. “If I wear the dragon, the dragon doesn’t wear me. How about yours?” She walked around to tap the letters scrolled over his left shoulder blade. “Teine,” she said.

“It’s pronounced ‘teen,’ not ‘The-ine.’ Old Irish for fire. I guess if I wear the fire, it doesn’t wear me.”

“It just gets to try us both on from time to time. How’d you get that one?” she asked, gesturing to the scar along his left ribs.

“Bar fight in New Orleans.”

“No, seriously.”

“Well, it was, technically, outside the bar. I went down for Mardi Gras one year. Have you ever been?”

“No.”

“Not to be missed.” His hair, still damp from the shower, curled at the collar of the shirt he pulled on. “I was in college, went down with some friends. After the revelry, we hit a bar. This asshole went after this girl. Sort of like the asshole who hassled you, but this one was drunker and meaner, and she didn’t have your style.”

“Few do,” she said with a grin.

“No argument. So, when I suggested he cease and desist, he objected. One thing led to another. Apparently he didn’t like the fact I was kicking his ass in front of witnesses, so he pulled a knife.”

The grin changed to openmouthed shock. “Well, sweet baby Jesus, he stabbed you?”

“Not exactly. The knife sort of skimmed along my ribs.” Gull motioned a careless finger over the spot. “He didn’t get much of me, and I had the pleasure of breaking his jaw. The girl was really grateful, so a night well spent.”

He tied his sneakers. “I have a spotted and unruly past.”

“You’re a puzzler.”

“Okay.” He held out a hand. “How about I buy you dinner and a couple of cold beers?”

“I say since meals come with the job, that makes you a cheapskate, but what the hell.”