Chapter Thirteen
This wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing. He had lost track of exactly what he was supposed to be doing. The moment she had come down the stairs looking like that . . .
He’d lost himself.
The thing was, she had been sick the whole time she was here. He wasn’t that big of a bastard that he was obsessing about
her body while he was taking care of her. No. He had his limits. But he also wasn’t blind to the fact that she was beautiful.
And the memories of their night together had played havoc on him while he was sleeping, every night. So in fairness, it had
been every night since they’d been together.
All the while they were working together, all the while he was supposed to be putting all that behind them. He was stuck on
her in a way he had never been stuck on another woman. And then . . . when she’d gotten weak-looking in the barn he had . . .
All he wanted to do was rescue her. Take care of her. All he had wanted to do was scoop her up into his arms and take her
home where he could give her hot tea and feed her with soup.
So he had.
And it had been . . . the perfect torture having her in his house like that.
But this . . . this was exquisite. Having his hands on her again, her shapely hips, that small waist, her breasts . . .
She took her T-shirt off, revealing all that bare skin, all that glorious ink, for him to gaze at openly.
He loved how confident she was in her beauty. In his reaction to it.
She stripped his shirt off quickly, and he moved his hands down her bare back, pushing them down beneath the waistband of
her panties.
“You’re so beautiful,” he growled.
It felt like not quite enough.
It felt like an inadequate description of her.
Insufficient for all the light and glory that she contained. She was more than beautiful. But the beauty, in the face of all
the ugliness that she had experienced, seemed like a miracle.
A woman who had been through the sorts of things that she had would have good reason to want to hide her body. To want to
move through life without confidence, for fear of drawing attention to herself again.
But not Sheena.
She put the blame where it was due. On the bastard who tried to hurt her.
She rejected shame. And she rejected the idea that her body was the enemy. It made him feel . . . overawed, really.
Because she was something. She really was something else.
One more time . . .
He didn’t know if he could take one more time. He also couldn’t refuse her. Couldn’t let it go.
He didn’t know if he could stand to stop after tonight. No. He couldn’t.
He wanted her. For more than just once.
He didn’t say that, didn’t say anything, as he kissed her neck, down her shoulder, sucking one glorious nipple into his mouth.
He arched his hips up off the chair, and grabbed his wallet from his back pocket. He had a condom in there. Thank God.
Maybe you weren’t supposed to thank God for that kind of thing.
He wouldn’t know. He was half feral, after all, so how could he possibly have any idea what he was supposed to do in a situation
like this.
So he figured a prayer of thanks wasn’t too far outside the realm of the acceptable.
He took out a packet and tore it open, then she went to work on his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, freeing him
as she rolled it on his hard length.
He brought her down slowly on top of him, filling her, watching her head fall back as pleasure took her.
And then he couldn’t keep his eyes open, because he was so overwhelmed by it. The feel of her, tight and hot, wet and perfect.
She rolled her hips, and started to ride him, her eyes glowing with ferocity as she continued.
He was never one to surrender control, but he did it here and now. With her. With Sheena.
Because this was perfect, and so was she.
Because it was the hottest sex he’d ever had in his life. Except the last time he’d had sex with her.
Everything in him was on fire with molten heat.
Everything in him was ready for release.
But no. Not until she had hers. He put his thumb right at that delicate bud that was the source of her pleasure, and stroked her. She gripped his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin, and he could feel her mounting desire. Could feel her internal muscles gripping him hard.
“That’s right,” he said. “Come for me.”
She bit her lip, like she was trying to hold back. Like she was trying to . . .
“Don’t be a brat,” he said. He reached back and gripped her hair, tugged gently. “You do what you’re told.”
That did it. It sent her right over, a harsh cry of pleasure, the punctuation mark on that climax.
And then he followed her over. Pounding up inside of her as he chased his own release.
Then she collapsed against his chest, breathing hard.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
“How did I do what?”
“You’re not supposed to be able to make me come by being a commanding bastard.”
“Some consider it a feature not a bug,” he said.
She shifted, and he groaned, because the feel of her naked body pressed against him was just about too much to take.
“Well, it’s not my thing,” she said.
She rolled her eyes—he had a feeling at herself—and got up from his lap. She was there naked in his living room, which was
filled with all this old furniture that had belonged to his great-grandparents. And he had just screwed her brains out on
what he was pretty sure had been his great-grandfather’s favorite chair.
Talk about improving family legacies.
“Seems like it might be,” he said.
“Historically no,” she said.
Then her lips curved into a smile. “I don’t know how you do it. And I don’t really like it. But I like it.”
He chuckled. He suddenly came back to awareness enough to realize that he needed to go get rid of the condom.
He stood up, held his jeans in place while he walked into the downstairs bathroom and dealt with practicalities. Sheena followed him.
“Really?” he asked.
“What? I was talking to you.”
“Okay. Anyway. You say you don’t like that sort of thing.”
“Why would I? The whole thing for me . . . with sex . . . has always been about keeping my own control. It’s for me. It’s
not for them. And I like it a certain way, generally. But you don’t let me have the control. I both find it very annoying,
and very sexy.”
“We’re even then. Because I find a lot of things about you both annoying and sexy.”
“Another way that we’re alike.”
He huffed out a laugh, and gripped the sink, looking at his reflection, and then past his at hers. Behind him. She was leaning
in the doorway, still totally naked.
“Sheena, come on. Who are we kidding? It’s not going to just be that one time. Again.”
Her eyes went round. “What’s the alternative?”
“We do it until we don’t want to do it anymore.”
And then she laughed. Doubled over and laughed, like he had just said the funniest thing in history. “Right. Because that
is a great idea.”
“How would you know? Have you ever done this before?”
She shook her head, her glossy dark hair moving over her shoulders in a wave as she leaned back against the doorframe. “No.
But you haven’t either.”
“No. And I’ve never wanted to. But this . . . It’s not burning itself out. So why make a big drama about it. Let’s just keep
doing it. I don’t want to have sex with anyone else. Do you?”
She looked away from him, and for one terrible moment, he thought she was going to say that she did want to have sex with someone else. Or just that perhaps she wasn’t quite as bewitched by the whole thing as he was.
That was a punch in the gut. He had spent all these years hooking up and never once feeling compelled to see the woman again,
and now that he finally wanted . . . something, maybe she didn’t.
Maybe this was where he got what he deserved for being the son of Elias King. For being his right-hand man.
“I don’t do relationships,” she said. “I don’t have the energy for it. I want to open this bar. I want you to do something
for me. I want to be able to be entirely selfish for once in my life. Can you understand that?”
“I do,” he said. “But I have to tell you, the chance for us to have more sex feels pretty selfish to me.”
“But I just mean, you know, this isn’t . . . This isn’t going to be a thing.”
“Sure,” he said.
“Okay,” she said. “Glad we had that talk.”
She changed her stance then, leaning against the doorframe with a whole different posture, her eyes roaming over his body.
“So let’s go again.”
“You need to build your strength back up,” he said.
Because he didn’t think it would hurt her to suffer a little bit. When it came right down to it, she was as desperate for
this as he was, or she wouldn’t be agreeing. Both of them had a pretty solid fight-or-flight response. And the fight seemed
to come out pretty often when they were around each other. Sheena had just been toying with flight.
If they didn’t want this to end badly, they simply wouldn’t do it. Bottom line. Because it would be easier. It would be easier
to stick to their natural modus operandi. That was what it came down to. So she was desperate.
“I’m fine,” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“Maybe you should drink some orange juice. Get your vitamin C up.”
“Maybe I should come over there and get your vitamin C up.” She lifted her brows. “How about that?”
“Was that a double entendre? Because it was a weird one.”
“You liked it,” she said.
He did. Because he liked every damned thing about her, as it happened.
Irritating. But true.
She came up behind him, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her breasts to his back.
He straightened, and closed his eyes, then put his hand down over hers. They stood like that for a moment, and he didn’t know
what the hell was happening. What the hell had just changed?
“Take me upstairs.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded.
All his heavy talk about how he didn’t follow orders had met a bitter end. Because the way that she was touching him, the
way that she was looking at him, would have any man desperate.
He let her lead him upstairs, to his bed. And then it was Sheena’s turn to take damned good care of him.