Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The words hung in the air, creating distance while at the same time forging an unbreakable connection. He had just told her he would have preferred to die with Phillipe rather than let him die alone.
Was that love? Loyalty? Insanity?
He’d been an FBI agent. He’d been a Marine. His best friend had died a brutal death. Was his sense of duty misplaced, or was it exactly where it should be?
His words warmed her heart and spoke to her soul, so what did that say about her? What kind of person empathized with that sentiment?
One who had visited death’s doorstep. One who had lain awake too many nights, terrified of dying alone. One whose life consisted of years of illness-imposed solitude. One who was desperate for the type of true, deep friendship Aleksei shared with Phillipe.
At least she was self-aware.
“One time, when I was in an argument with Sage, she told me something profound. It was the second time my cancer came back, and the treatments were brutal. The doctors weren’t even sure they would work.
My labs kept getting worse instead of better.
One of the doctors suggested I stop treatment so I could have more quality of life during my last few months, and I told him I would think about it.
” A wry laugh escaped her lips. “Sage was livid. Absolutely livid. I told her it was my life and my choice, and she said she couldn’t live without me.
That sometimes it’s harder to be the one who lives. ”
Aleksei lifted his hand to her cheek. His fingers were warm and rough with calluses.
“Your bravery shames me.”
He couldn’t be serious.
“You were in the Marines and the FBI,” Rosemary said. “I think everyone you know is brave.”
He leaned toward her until their faces were inches apart. His warm breath danced over her lips, and the sweet scent of beer filled her nostrils.
“You. Are. Brave.” He spoke slowly, enunciating each word.
This fierce, strong, loyal, hot-as-the-sun man thought she was brave.
His lips were so close. All she had to do was lean forward a little, and they would touch her own.
If she’d been brave enough to battle cancer, then closing the gap between them should be no big deal.
But his hand was still on her cheek, the tip of his pointer finger resting on her earlobe.
Leaning forward might shift his hand into her hair.
She couldn’t lose herself in a kiss if she was worried about her wig.
“If I kiss you, will you promise not to touch my hair?”
He didn’t pull back, but she felt him startle. She’d had far too few nights like this one. She didn’t want to ruin this moment.
Firm fingers trailed down her jawline, grazed the side of her neck, then gently gripped her shoulder.
“Is this better?” he asked, his voice husky.
His fingers on her knee and shoulder were hot pokers on her skin.
Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tingled, and her core clenched with desire.
The temperature in the already warm room seemed to jump even higher.
The itchy sensation prickled her scalp, but this time, the itch was like distant music—her body’s arousal muting the sensation.
She swayed forward, erasing the space between them.
The instant their lips touched, electricity arced through her.
His tongue slid into her mouth. He tasted of mint and the spicy sweetness of lager.
He kept their mouths together as he caught her legs in his hand and slid her down the leather couch until they were both prone.
The arm of the couch supported her head, while his lean, muscled body pressed tightly against her.
He was all hard heat, like lying on a hot sidewalk in the summer.
He nibbled her lips, sucking the lower one into his mouth. Then he returned to exploring her mouth with his tongue. His kisses were a drug, stripping her of the ability to think of anything other than the force of his tongue and the steel of his body.
She curved toward him, stroking his back and shoulder muscles. Then she trailed lower. His ass was nearly as muscular as the rest of him. As she squeezed, she pulled him into her, his erection creating a delicious pressure against her stomach, making her ache to be even closer.
His teeth nipped her chin and neck. He alternated languorous licks with gentle bites. Softness mixed with intensity.
Her thigh muscles tightened.
Hot, firm fingers slid under her shirt, up over her ribs, and closed over her breast. He squeezed her nipple through her bra.
The rough lace edge rubbing across such delicate skin, combined with the pressure of his fingers, was exquisite.
He released her nipple and then tugged again, this time adding a flick of his finger.
Liquid rushed to her core. A moan escaped her lips.
Her breasts felt weighty and needy. The muscles in her thighs grew tighter.
Her body was on fire. He was barely touching her, and she felt like she could come from one stroke of his hand. God, how she wanted that stroke. Needed it. With each brush of his lips, each scrape of his teeth, each press of his erection, each tug on her nipple, tension built.
She was one of those little race cars where you kept pulling the wheels backward until they were wound so tight, the car practically jumped when you let go. She wanted to let go, needed to let go. She needed Aleksei to wind and wind and wind until she raced off into oblivion.
She gripped his wrist. He stilled and lifted his head from her neck.
No, no, no. She didn’t want him to stop.
Not now. She shifted so she lay flat on her back.
With her free hand, she grabbed his head and pulled it back down, but lower this time, so his face was at her breast. He exhaled, and his breath on her skin made her back arch.
Her nails were digging into his wrist, but she didn’t release her grip.
Instead, she pushed his hand down her body.
“You want me to touch you?”
“Yes.” The word was almost a moan.
His voice was deeper, his accent thicker. “That’s good, because I want to touch you. I want to feel you hot and slick under my fingers. I want to feel you come on my hand.”
His words were like a lightning strike. Muscles she thought couldn’t get any tighter contracted further. Her body arched. The universe had shrunk to the space between her thighs.
“Please.”
Her plea seemed to strike him like a match.
His teeth sank into her breast. Deft fingers had her jeans unbuttoned and halfway down her thighs before it occurred to her to help him with her clothes.
The idea was a flash, replaced by the divine sensation of her thong pressing against her clit.
He’d slid the thin fabric between her folds and was tugging it slowly back and forth.
But the pressure was too light, too teasing.
“Please.”
She didn’t care that she was begging. She was consumed by the need to feel his hand on her bare flesh.
As if he knew she couldn’t take one more second of his exquisite torture, he slipped his hand under her thong, replacing the material with rough-skinned fingertips. Liquid heat soaked her core. A long finger slid inside her, twisting and pushing gently against her wall.
His nearly buzzed hair pricked her palm as she pushed his head harder into her chest, wishing she possessed magical powers to make the fabric between his mouth and her breast disappear.
Still, each suck and nip sent pulses of heat directly to her clit.
It throbbed against his thumb as he continued to swirl his finger inside her.
She arched her hips again, shaking them. “Please.”
It seemed to be the only word her lust-hazed brain could produce.
Keeping his finger inside her, he pressed his thumb harder into her flesh, separating her folds, bringing his calloused thumb in direct contact with her epicenter of sensation. Each stroke of his thumb fueled the storm raging within her.
“Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes.” The words tumbled from her mouth in mindless encouragement.
She held his wrist, her grip growing tighter and tighter with each brush of his hand. Suddenly, the warmth on her breast vanished, and the spicy-sweet scent of beer filled her nose—he’d lifted his head. She opened her eyes, meeting a gaze that reminded her of a thunderstorm cracking with lightning.
“Come for me, Rose. I want to watch your face when you come.”
He quickened his pace as he spoke, sliding his finger expertly in and out of her.
She closed her eyes again, losing herself in the ever-increasing tension rising within her.
He squeezed her breast with his free hand while increasing the pressure on her hot, swollen clit.
It was too much. It was just enough. It was perfect.
She flew over the edge with one long, jagged scream.
* * *
Rosemary’s core pulsing around his finger had nearly sent him over the edge.
His dick was wedged so tightly against her hip, each squirm made him harder and harder.
He felt like a teenager, ready to erupt from fully clothed contact.
At least her writhing had stopped, giving him a minute to gather himself.
Her sumptuous body was now limp against his, and her rapid breathing was beginning to slow.
Rosemary, in her afterglow, was beautiful, but lying next to her while she orgasmed had been stunning.
Watching her skin turn pinker and pinker as her excitement grew, feeling her buck and squirm, hearing her soft gasps and pleas, seeing her face transform from tightly closed eyes and clenched lips to the lax features of pure bliss—it didn’t get any better than that.
Her eyes fluttered open. She lifted a hand and laid it gently on the side of his face. “That was amazing. My bones have gone liquid.”
Her voice was still husky, and his dick responded with another jerk against her thigh. She wiggled a bit in response, and his balls tightened.
“I aim to please.” His throat was dry, and his voice sounded hoarse to his own ears.