Rhyannon Byrd - Edge of Hunger

But as always, fate had a way of turning around and biting him on the ass.

As Ian pulled himself up from the deep, murky levels of his subconscious, he opened his gritty eyes to a soft, flickering light—and instantly knew something was wrong. Something even more messed-up than before. Than the twisted nightmares that had been plaguing him for weeks.

There was no forest…no gypsy campfire…no sloe-eyed provocative brunette to slake his lust.

Instead, Ian found himself kneeling on a soft, intricately woven Persian carpet, the air around him filled with the intoxicating scents of woman and wood smoke as a fire roared somewhere in a distant hearth, the heat of the flames warm against his naked body. And sprawled before him on her back, her pale thighs spread indecently wide, lay Molly.

“What?” he heard her gasp, surprise softening her husky voice, blurring the edges of her speech, as if she’d only just realized it was happening again. She’d probably been snuggled up in one of the lumpy motel beds, carrying on some warped conversation with his mother’s ghost, only to suddenly find herself there, with him. Her gaze flicked its way down the pale line of her body, velvety brown eyes going wide with shock as she took in the unadulterated intimacy of their positions.

She moaned, and quickly covered herself with her arms.

Lust thickened in Ian’s throat, choking off his ability for speech. He gripped her wrists, pulling her arms away from her body, pinning them at her sides. The red-and-black swirl of the rug accentuated the warm, luminous glow of her skin, while her honeyed scent grew stronger with the rise of her pulse. Atop the delicate swell of her breasts, her nipples hardened like tender berries, lush and beautiful and ripe. He wanted to draw them into the heat of his mouth, suck on them until she came undone. Wanted to run his lips across her fever-warm skin, so smooth and soft and delicious, and work his way down the mouthwatering length of her body.

“Ian?” she whispered, her voice hushed…shaky. “How?”

He shook his head, unable to pull his heavy gaze away from the provocative details of her figure, each exquisite discovery making him ache just a little harder, a little deeper. “I don’t know.”

“Where are we?” she asked, her breasts rising and falling as the cadence of her breathing grew shorter and sharper.

“Don’t care. Just don’t move, don’t cover yourself,” he growled, a grittier edge to his voice than he’d ever heard before, graveled and rough. He released his hold on her wrists and shifted, rubbing himself against her, against those perfect breasts and the soft, slick folds nestled between her splayed thighs, her sex so tender and wet he damn near lost it then and there. There were so many things he wanted to do to her, to take from her. Harsh, explicit intimacies that had no place between strangers—and yet, he’d have taken them if he had the time. Hell, he’d have given her more of himself than he’d ever given any other woman in his entire life—have lost himself in her, content to spend days on end exploring the sensual secrets of her body, drowning in the discoveries…in the breathtaking details.

But time was the one thing he didn’t have.

He knew that with each harsh, erratic breath, the seconds he’d been granted with her were slipping away. Trying to grab hold of them would be like struggling to trap rushing water within his hand. Pointless, futile, and a waste of his time.

The scene was just too perfect to last. At any moment, Ian expected to have it ripped out from under him, leaving him completely destroyed.

He only hoped he didn’t crash and burn when it happened—when he lost her.

Pointless apologies for being such a jackass jammed painfully in his throat, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He choked them back as he caught the hazy, burnished glow of her gaze, saying, “I want to go down on you. I want it so bad I can taste it, Molly. But I don’t know how long this is going to last, and no way in hell am I missing the chance to fuck you again.”

She didn’t recoil at his crass honesty or try to roll away from him. She just lay there against the carpet, beautifully supplicant, arms bent, palms open either side of her flushed face, her hair a tangled fury of golden curls around the violent bloom of color in her cheeks. The luminous depths of her eyes pulled on him, dragging him deeper, as if he were falling into her, completely under her spell.

A log popped, crackling in the fireplace while an ominous bellow of thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance, the harsh pulse of the oncoming storm echoing the violent pounding of his heart. Taking her softly panting silence for consent, Ian pressed closer, wanting to cradle her hands within his own, to rub his thumbs into the humid cups and stroke her skin, but he fought the urge, afraid of where that closeness would take him. It was already scary enough, this wild, unknown emotional no-man’s-land he kept finding himself in every time he got close to her.

Settling deeper between her spread thighs, Ian braced his weight on one elbow, then greedily opened his mouth over the succulent tip of her left breast, so hungry for her, he wanted to eat her alive. He rolled the exquisite, berry-red nipple against his tongue…and fit himself against her. Their gazes locked. Held for a single, smoldering instant. Then he lifted his head and drove his body into her with a thick, grinding motion, having to work at her as hard as he had the night before. Her eyes went wide, white teeth sinking into the pansy-soft cushion of her lower lip…and Ian shoved deeper.

Locking his jaw, he slowly pulled back his hips, the sensations so acute they bordered on that intense precipice of pleasure and pain. When he’d almost pulled completely out of her—his muscles tensed, skin sweat-slick and burning—he shoved back in, harder this time, somehow giving her more of him. His left hand came up to fist in the pale curls that haloed her head, holding her steady as he came down over her. Needing her taste, he claimed her mouth in an urgent, eating kiss, savoring her throaty moans against his tongue like a breathless stream of promises. Wrapping his other hand around her hip, his fingers biting into her flesh, he powered himself into her as if his life depended on it. Each heavy, possessive thrust fed a part of his soul that was greedy for every part of her, as if he could break her open and claim the pieces for his own.

“Look at the reflection,” he commanded against her lips in a dark, husky whisper, sharing her breath, her nipples hard against his chest, dragging against his skin as he moved over her, inside of her.

She panted, shaking her head.

“Look at the goddamn reflection, Molly.”

His fingers tightened in her hair, turning her head for her, and she stared at the explicit image emblazoned upon the wall of windows that took up an entire side of the room.

“I bet you’ve never had that particular look on your face before,” he rasped with a low, wicked rumble of laughter. “Not Little-Miss-Molly-Do-Right. You’re too shy. Too buttoned-up. Except with me. You know how hot that makes me?”

She shook her head again, gasping, and he said, “I get off on knowing that I’m the only man who can crack that cool, pristine surface of yours and make you go wild. Make you scream and claw at me, completely out of control.”

And it was true. At the moment, her small nails were dug into his biceps so hard, he knew crescent marks would be left behind on his skin, a testament of her passion.

Her eyes drifted closed as the intensity cranked higher, her body writhing, drawing closer…and closer to the edge, before she suddenly turned her face away from him. She was holding it back, denying her body what it wanted. Fighting it. Hiding from it. Hiding from him.