Rogue Rider

Fourteen

It took Reseph a full forty-eight hours to get the hinky feeling out of his gut. Something had triggered his internal alarm when he’d seen the demon investigators, and he still didn’t know why. Except he got the distinct impression that they were a danger to him. But why the hell would he be of any interest to them?

The sense of danger was growing, and some of it was coming from within himself. It was as if he was dangerous, a bomb fuse waiting for a spark, and he was terrified that Jillian would be the one to take shrapnel.

He and Jillian had spent two days bouncing between town, where they scoured the library and the Internet trying to figure out who he was, and her farm, where he did shit Jillian needed done. He’d repaired a hole in the siding of her barn, strung barbed wire along a section of droopy fence, cleaned stalls and the chicken coop, and he’d even folded laundry.

Folding laundry was the worst. Matching up socks was like some sort of monotonous torture. Give him heavy lifting any day.

But Jillian made it all worthwhile with her cooking, her hot cocoa, and best of all, her stamina in the sack.

Smiling at the memory of what they’d done in the shower and then again in bed, he rolled over on the mattress and tucked her against him, her back to his chest. She snored delicately, and while the erection probing her backside made it tempting to wake her up, he let her sleep. She worked so hard during the day, and he kept her busy well into the night, so yeah, she needed the rest.

It was strange, though, how he really didn’t need sleep. A couple of hours of shut-eye, and he was good to go. Sometimes he’d get up and prowl the property like some sort of animal surveying its territory, or he’d hit the computer to see if he could find out anything more about himself, but other times, like now, he’d lay in bed with Jillian, just to be with her.

He wondered if he had been so sappy before.

He’d even, during the nights when he’d hung outside in the crisp silence, fashioned her a gift. It wasn’t much, and he wasn’t even sure where he’d gotten the talent to take a knife to wood, but every discovery about himself was a clue.

And it was awesome when the discovery wasn’t something horrible, like finding out he didn’t know how to use a condom or could recognize human blood by its odor.

Closing his eyes, he buried his face in Jillian’s hair, taking in the fresh scent of her fruity shampoo, which never seemed to wash away the underlying scent of crisp mountain air. She always smelled like the outdoors, like sparkling streams and green trees. He liked that so much better than the cloying perfume the women in the department store had worn. Besides, he somehow knew that perfume tasted bad on the skin. Jillian’s skin tasted clean, with a tang of spice when she was aroused.

His cock jerked, appreciating the direction of his thoughts. Yup, he needed to get out of bed and get away from Jillian before he did what he swore not to do and woke her with his mouth between her legs.

Groaning silently, he rolled onto his back and started to swing his legs over the side of the mattress, but in a flash of motion, Jillian flipped over and took his shaft in her hand.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her voice was husky, drowsy, and so fucking sexy he damned near came in her palm right then and there.

He fell back into the pillow and hissed at the slow pump of her fist. “You’re insatiable.”

“You’re the one with the hard-on.”

He slid his hand between her thighs and spread her open. “You’re the one who’s wet.” He eased his finger inside her, testing her readiness, because he was so ready to mount her. She was silky and hot, and yeah, she was ready.

Shifting to give him more access, she dropped her hand to cup his balls. Her fingers worked him aggressively, massaging, pinching. He loved how sometimes she was sensual and tender in bed, but at other times she liked it rough and raunchy.

Right now it was rough and raunchy, and he didn’t hesitate to give her what she wanted.

He dipped another finger inside her and pumped them hard and fast. “What do you think? Another sixty-nine?” He brushed his thumb over her swollen clit, and she bucked. “Nah, we did that earlier. You on top, facing away from me? I loved that.” He arched up and tongued her nipple, enjoying how it made her gasp. “No, I’m going to take you from behind this time. First, while you’re on your hands and knees I’ll lick you there, fill you with my tongue and fingers. Then I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t sit in a saddle for a week.”

“Yes,” she breathed, pushing against his hand.

“But I’m not going to come that way.” Reaching up, he twined his fingers in her hair and brought her mouth to his, but he didn’t kiss her. He teased with his tongue and teeth, nipping and licking. “I’m going to lay you on your belly and pin your legs tight together while I’m inside you. Ever done that? Makes my thrusts shallow, just teasing your entrance. Only the head of my cock will be fucking you, and you’ll be begging for more, isn’t that right?”

She was panting now, on the edge, and truth be told, so was he. The graphic, raw words meant to work her up had taken their toll on him, and he was close to spilling in her hand.

Time for action. Rolling, he grabbed her and flipped her onto her hands and knees. He used his own knee to nudge her legs roughly apart, opening her completely to him. She was glistening and swollen, and he was so diving into that. He didn’t waste time with teasing or being subtle. He palmed her ass with both hands and used his thumbs to spread her wide. His mouth watered, and he was about to get down to it when something wrenched on his insides.

He jerked, his body having a hard time shifting from the all-encompassing lust to the focused, sharp prod of danger.

“Reseph?” Jillian’s arousal-sodden voice buzzed in his ears alongside the sudden bleat of goats.

Then came the horse’s screams and the pained squeal of the pigs. He flung himself off the bed and swept his jeans off the floor.

“Stay here!” He didn’t wait for Jillian’s response. He hastily threw on his jeans and tore out of the house. Icy air stung his face and the crusted snow cut into his feet as he ran toward the sounds of terrified animals.

A goat stumbled out of the open barn door, its fur matted with blood. Unable to stop, Reseph leaped over it and landed at the doorway threshold. Heart pounding, he flicked on the light.

And came face to face with a nightmare on legs.

The thing standing in front of him, its crimson eyes level with Reseph’s as it stood on two thick, black-veined legs, let out a bear-like roar and dropped the body of the goat it had been shredding with its serrated claws.

For several tense heartbeats, the demon stared at Reseph, making no aggressive moves. It seemed almost as if it was expecting something from him. What, Reseph had no idea. A chat? Praise? A date?

What it was going to get was dead.

Master?

The word was a raspy whisper in Reseph’s brain. A memory? Or was the thing speaking? Master.

What the fuck…

Master. Master. Master! Gripping his head, Reseph stumbled backward, as if he could escape the voice in his skull.

“Do you know me?” he shouted. “Do you know me, you son of a bitch?”

Master.

Demons filled Reseph’s vision, even behind closed eyelids. They surrounded Reseph, handing him offerings of body parts and wriggling, suffering creatures. Deep inside Reseph, there was a purr of pleasure, as if he’d been split in two and only part of him was horrified at the scene playing out in his head.

Frantic to stop whatever horrific memory seemed to be shaking itself loose, Reseph spun, grabbed the pitchfork from against the wall behind him, and buried it in the demon’s skeletal chest before it even had a chance to flinch. The thing snarled as it stumbled backward, clutching at the handle. Reseph dropped and kicked a leg out, catching the demon behind its knee, sending it crashing to the ground.

Screeching, the demon ripped the pitchfork from its chest and hurled it aside, narrowly missing clocking Reseph’s skull. It leaped to its feet and swung at him with those huge-ass claws. Reseph ducked and struck out, punching the thing in the snout. There was a satisfying crunch as its head snapped back and blood spurted from its mouth and nose.

The demon recovered quickly with a lightning-fast lunge. Reseph wheeled out of the way, snared the pitchfork, and forked the fucker again. The demon threw its body sideways, catching Reseph in the shoulder. Reseph slammed into one of the stalls, his spine taking the painful brunt of the impact. The horse went nuts, but Reseph couldn’t afford to calm the animal. The demon came at Reseph, its jaws gaping and dripping saliva.

Just as it dove for his throat, a shot rang out. Blood and bone sprayed from a tear in its side. It screamed and changed course, hurtling toward Jillian, who stood in the doorway, pistol raised, a skinny tendril of smoke rising from the barrel.

Reseph tackled the creature, slamming it to the ground and driving the tines of the pitchfork deeper into its body. The wooden handle snapped, flipping into the air. Reseph caught it and in one smooth motion, drove it between the creature’s eyes.

The thing grunted and seized, flopping like a dying fish as Reseph climbed off it, going for the machete hanging on the wall. When he turned back around, the thing appeared to have died, but he wasn’t taking any chances.

Here’s your master, you ugly piece of shit.

He brought the blade down on its neck, severing its head.

Damn, that felt good. It also felt familiar, like he’d done it before. A lot.

He looked over at Jillian, who was staring at the body. “That…” She swallowed. “That’s the thing that attacked me. It looked just like that.”

Reseph leveled a vicious kick at the corpse. “I should have made it suffer.”

Her startled gaze lifted to his. For a moment, he thought she was going to chastise him, but after the initial surprise, she nodded.

“You should have.” Carefully, she flipped the safety on the pistol and laid it on one of the barrels before squatting down next to a dead pig. “That monster.” She moved to the goat that had been disemboweled. “Definitely should have made it suffer.”

The image of himself surrounded by demons flashed through Reseph’s head again, bringing with it a streak of pain at his temples. Ruthlessly, he shoved it away, hoping like hell it wasn’t truly a memory. Maybe it was a remnant of a nightmare he’d had.

Keep telling yourself that, asshole.

Jillian was looking at him like she was trying to figure him out, probably because he was standing there like some delicate princess with the vapors. Fuck. He needed to get his head out of his ass.

“If you check the animals in here, I’ll see if I can find the goat that ran out.” Reseph gripped the machete tight and headed outside. He’d check on the goat, but he was also going to patrol the area for more of the fuckers.

He found the goat a dozen yards away, trembling in the snow behind a tree. He performed a rapid exam, feeling for broken bones and bleeding, but all of the blood on the animal seemed to have come from its barnyard pals.

The goat didn’t struggle as he hefted it into his arms and carried it back to the barn, where Jillian was doing her best to calm the surviving animals with treats and soothing caresses.

“This one seems fine.” He settled the little doe in one of the empty stalls and stepped out in time to see the dead demon on the floor fold in on itself and disappear before his eyes. “The demon’s gone.”

Jillian popped her head up from inside Sam’s stall. “Gone?”

“Disintegrated. Guess that explains why the general population didn’t know demons existed until a year ago.”

“No dead bodies to study.” She slipped out of the horse’s stall and joined Reseph, wrapping her arm around his waist. He absorbed her weight, drawing her against him. He’d hold her like this all night if she wanted him to. Hell, he’d do it anyway. The confrontation with the demon had rattled him to his bones. “I’m glad you were here, Reseph. I don’t think I could have dealt with that… thing… on my own.”

“Bullshit.” He ran his palm up and down her arm, noting the slight quiver under her skin. “You were a badass with that gun. No hesitation.”

“Because it was attacking you. If you hadn’t been here—”

“Hey.” He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. “You were amazing and brave. If I weren’t here you would have done what you had to do to protect your animals and yourself. One of those things might have attacked you, but it definitely didn’t destroy you.”

Her smile was shaky. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”

“Right.”

Except that was a lie, wasn’t it? Too often, what didn’t kill you came back to finish the job. He had no idea how he knew that, and honestly, he didn’t want to know. All this time he’d been longing for his memories, scouring the Internet, searching his brain—hell, he’d called out to the empty air for help.

Now he was afraid he’d get exactly what he was looking for.

“You bitch.” Reaver stared at Gethel from inside the quantanum, the plane of existence that was invisible to humans but allowed some beings, such as angels, to travel at accelerated speeds. He’d been hunting Gethel, tracking blips of her signature that he could sense when she channeled Heavenly power. Oh, she’d been smart about it, using it only in short bursts and weak doses, but Reaver had been patient, knowing she’d eventually use a little too much for a little too long.

Today, as she held court with two Soulshredders and a bald fallen angel near a hellgate deep inside the Nicaraguan Masaya volcano, she’d made the mistake Reaver had been waiting for.

She spun around, simultaneously hurling a massive ball of lightning. The crackling sphere filled the tunnel, giving Reaver no room to run. If he flashed out, he’d lose her.

He threw up an elemental shield, which borrowed properties from the area around it. The surrounding volcanic rock absorbed the lightning’s impact, but the force knocked Reaver a dozen yards down the tunnel. He crashed into a stone pillar and crumpled to the ground.

Damn, that hurt.

Gethel’s cackle echoed off the walls. “You can’t hope to defeat me on your own, Reaver.”

Reaver shoved to his feet. “I don’t have to defeat you. Not yet. I just have to stop you from finding Reseph.”

Her smile was cold. “Time’s on my side. From what I hear, it’ll take decades, probably centuries, for his mind to heal.”

“If you’ve got all this time, why are you and Lucifer striking now?”

“Please,” she said. “You’re not that dense, are you?”

Apparently, he was.

“Humiliation.” A miniature lightning ball popped out of her hand and bounced between her fingers. “Satan is extremely embarrassed by his defeat. He’s ordered that everyone who played a role be either destroyed or get involved in restoring Pestilence and neutralizing the other Horsemen.”

Too bad Gethel hadn’t been lumped in the destroy category. Reaver strode toward her, keeping his power skating along the surface of his skin, ready to go in a split-second. “What happened to you, Gethel?”

“I told you. The Horsemen—”

“Yeah, yeah, they couldn’t find it in their hearts to say good-bye when your Watcher duty was taken away. Big deal. You’re either a big whiny baby, or there’s more to the story.” He was pretty sure there was some mental instability written between the lines of that story as well.

Behind her, the Soulshredders hissed and snarled with every step Reaver took. The fallen angel just watched, his dead shark eyes glued to Reaver.

“Who are you?” Reaver called out to the fallen angel, who seemed to be a big fan of black leather.

The male bared his teeth. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Ah, cryptic. That’s so original.” Reaver rounded on Gethel. “So, which is it? Big whiny baby or more to the story?”

“Fuck you, Reaver,” she spat. “You know nothing. I loved them.”

“I know, but… oh, wait.” Reaver was nearly blinded by the lightbulb that went off in his brain. “You didn’t just love them. You loved them.” He smirked. “Which one, Gethel? Ares? Thanatos?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Limos?”

She threw the lightning ball, and he easily swatted it away. “Did I touch a nerve?” With a snap of his fingers, he sent a boomerang of angelfire at her, aiming for her head, but when she dove aside and it merely scraped her shoulder, he wasn’t surprised. She wasn’t going to just roll over and die, after all. “Let’s see if I can figure this out,” he mused, as she doused flames in her clothing. “You didn’t seem to be causing much trouble for Ares. At least, not that I know of. But Limos, you did send khnives after her husband.”

Cursing, she launched herself at him. He met her midair in the tunnel, and the collision rumbled the very mountain.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” she screeched as she slammed her fist into his jaw. It was like being hit with a sledgehammer, and Reaver grunted, blinking to the tune of cartoon birds circling around his head. “You think you’re so superior.”

He pounded his fist into her chest, a quick double-tap before backhanding her in the face so hard she fell out of the air and landed awkwardly on her neck and shoulder.

“I am superior,” he growled.

She rolled to her feet and blasted him with her favorite weapon, a storm of sparks that burrowed through living flesh. He leaped to the ceiling of the cave, avoiding most of them, but a handful cut into his leg, and agony drilled into him in the form of fine-bore holes.

“You know nothing! I have secrets you can’t even begin to touch, you worm.”

“So bitter,” he ground out. “Just when did that happen?”

“When?” She beckoned the Soulshredders, and they lumbered to her. “When the Aegi whore took Thanatos’s virginity.” Red-hot hatred spewed from every one of Gethel’s pores. “I was supposed to be the one to break his Seal.”

What a bitch. “It must have killed you when his Seal didn’t break and Regan got pregnant.” He inhaled sharply. Of course. That was why Gethel had been so eager to see Logan dead. It wasn’t as much to start the Apocalypse as it was to destroy the physical proof that Regan had taken what Gethel wanted.

Hell hath no fury like a jealous angel with emotional instability and a mental defect.

“Get him,” Gethel snarled.

The Soulshredders leaped at him at the same time that she peppered him with spears of lava. Fire scorched his skin and Soulshredder claws tore at his muscles. He could win this battle with the demons, but even as he summoned a shear-whip, Gethel and the fallen angel vanished.

Damn.

He cut the demons down, slicing one horizontally in half, and then he flashed out of there himself. Despite his burns and various injuries, and the fact that he hadn’t caught or killed Gethel, he was pretty satisfied with the encounter.

As he materialized inside his Heavenly residence, his fingers found the little treasure in his pocket that he’d lifted off Gethel. He opened his palm, amazed that the tiny crimson stone could channel so much power within the depths of hell.

He closed his fist around the sheoulghul and smiled. He didn’t have use for it yet, but he had no doubt that someday, it would come in very, very handy.

Jillian and Reseph had spent the next two hours in the barn, cleaning up the mess. She’d watched in awe as Reseph dug in to help, working tirelessly even when she started to flag. He was amazing, making everything he did seem so effortless. Even the way he’d killed that demon, so efficiently, as if he knew exactly what he was doing, had been incredible. There’d been no fear, no panic. He’d moved like a phantom, so fast she’d been sure she was seeing things at times.

One thing was certain; he knew how to fight and how to kill. Maybe, given how comfortable he’d been fighting the demon, he belonged with the people who had recently come to light as ancient demon-slaying warriors. The Aegis, she thought it was called.

Whatever training had given him the skills to take down a demon so easily, she was grateful for it. She’d been very honest when she’d said she didn’t think she could have dealt with it on her own. Seeing the thing, identical to the demons that had attacked her, had frozen her solidly in place. Reseph must not know that she’d stood in the doorway, paralyzed with fear, for what seemed like hours before she’d finally fired the pistol.

No, she wasn’t a badass or brave. She’d moved here from Florida thinking that her decision to live in the middle of nowhere by herself had been a fearless, bold move, but what if it was the opposite? What if she’d been trying to escape her fears?

Epic fail. She’d run right into them. And seized like an overheated engine.

Shame had fueled her as she’d hauled blood-soiled straw out of the barn while Reseph repaired the door, and then they’d showered—together, but neither one of them had been in a sexual frame of mind. He’d washed her with the greatest of care, taking his time to massage the tension out of her shoulders and back. As the morning sun came up, he’d tucked her into bed and lain with her until she fell into an uneasy sleep.

Nightmares had plagued her. Nightmares of demons and dying animals, of the attack in the parking lot, and worse, of Reseph leaving her.

Any day now, he was going to find out who he was and leave.

Irritated by her obsession with Reseph’s probable departure, Jillian slammed the lid on the grain barrel as the barn door opened and he entered wearing jeans and the blue Henley that matched his eyes. In his hand was a steaming mug.

“Brought you something to warm you up.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “I can’t cook, but I can make a mean cup of hot cocoa.”

“Doesn’t take much to boil water and open a packet.” Even as the words fell from her lips she regretted them, and God, she kicked herself hard at the flicker of hurt in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Reseph. I didn’t mean that.” No, what she’d meant was, “Stop being so wonderful, because I’m falling for you, and I’ll be devastated when your memory comes back and you take off.”

He shrugged and handed her the cup, which made her feel even smaller. “It’s true.”

The rich chocolate aroma filled her lungs and soothed her mood. “You were being nice, and I was an ungrateful bitch.”

“Will this help?” He dug into his pocket. “I made this for you.” Very gently, he took her hand and placed a wooden carving in her palm.

Jillian stared at the tiny bird, its fine features perfectly etched across its graceful lines and curves. The wings, outspread in flight, were so thin and delicate that she was afraid to close her hand.

“Reseph, this is amazing. How long did this take you?”

One big shoulder rolled in a casual shrug. “Few days. Ah… you might want to sharpen your nice paring knife.”

“I think I can manage that.” She stroked her finger over the smooth beak. “Why a bird?”

Another shrug. “They’re free, you know? They can go anywhere they want, whenever they want. They can just spread their wings and go.”

Naturally, Reseph would gravitate toward an animal that wasn’t tied down. She wondered if he felt at all caged in here. No, she didn’t have to wonder. She knew. He was like a panther in a zoo, always pacing the fence line.

He plopped down on the barrel and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, carefully balancing the little bird on a railing and taking a sip of the cocoa to buy some time. She didn’t know how to explain, partly because she didn’t even know why she felt the way she did.

“Cocoa is good,” she murmured. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And you’re stalling.”

Leave it to him to call her out. Still, she sipped again, maybe a little defiantly. Guess she was still feeling bitchy.

Finally, she cupped the mug in her cold hands and looked down at the swirling froth. “I’m afraid, Reseph.” There. She’d said it. “I hate being afraid. It goes against everything I’ve ever lived for. My parents taught me to be strong, and growing up, I was tough. I played sports and got jobs on farms instead of working at fast-food joints like my friends. When I went away to college, I made sure I was the best in all my classes. I never let fear get in the way.” She swallowed. “But now I’m afraid and I don’t know how to handle it.”

“You don’t have to,” he said softly. “I’m here. I won’t let another demon near you. I’ve been researching ways to construct a demon-proof perimeter, and I swear, you’ll be safe.”

Sweet Jesus, he was too good to be true. “It’s not that. It’s not the demons. I mean, they’re scary, but…” She trailed off, the hot cocoa curdling in her belly.

“But what?”

“It’s you,” she whispered. “I know you need to find out who you are, but some small part of me is afraid you will. I know it’s selfish of me, but I like who you are now.”

“I’ll still be the same man, Jillian. I’ll still be me.” He rose and started prowling around the barn, and she got the feeling he was working off frustrated energy. “And you never know… I may never remember my past.”

She watched him straighten the bridles and harnesses hanging on the walls, as if he needed something to do. “You might not get your memory back, but even if we only find out who you are, it could change things. What if you’re something we didn’t expect?”

He swung around to face her. “You said you didn’t believe I was a serial killer or something.”

“I still don’t believe that. But what if you’ve got a family? You said you’re sure you don’t have a wife, but what if you’re wrong? Or what if you’re a politician or big media mogul? Or maybe you’re the king of Oompa-Loompa Land. Just knowing where you belong will change things. And you’ll have to go.”

“Oompa-Loompa Land?” He shook his head. “No way. Orange people give me the creeps. I don’t even like fake tans. I’d never be their king.”

She laughed, but sobered quickly. His humor was one of the things she’d miss after he found out who he was and left her. God, her chest hurt already.

The stray wisps of straw on the concrete floor crunched under his boots as he walked toward her. He took the mug out of her hand and set it on a shelf, and when he swung back around to her, he took her hands. She couldn’t help but notice how small her hands looked in his.

“I can’t promise that you’ll like who I was before you found me. But I can promise that my feelings for you won’t change.” He palmed her cheek, his touch tender, and in that moment, he might as well have reached inside her and stroked her heart instead of her skin. “I know we agreed on no emotional attachments, but I can’t help it; I’m falling for you, Jillian. It’s scaring the shit out of me, because it feels so damned new.” While she stared in stunned silence, he glanced up at the rafters. “It’s strange, because some things feel familiar, like sex and using a computer. And killing that demon. It’s like when you watch a movie and there’s an actor you recognize but can’t place. You know you’ve seen him before, but you can’t remember where.” He returned his gaze to her, his eyes glittering with intensity. “But what I feel for you is so different. It’s like I’ve never seen the actor before. Hell, I haven’t even heard of the damned movie.”

Every word was a prick to the heart. He was falling for her? She should be happy, because like it or not, she was falling for him, too. But this was going to end badly. She’d never been a pessimist, but she’d danced this dance before. Not with an amnesia guy, but with every other guy she’d dated.

“You can’t promise your feelings won’t change,” she rasped. “You could love someone else.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t. I know I don’t. What I feel for you is too foreign. I’d know if I’d felt it before.”

She wanted to believe him, but there just wasn’t enough for her to go on. He didn’t remember his past, so maybe he didn’t remember emotions, either.

“Jillian, if I could guarantee that my feelings wouldn’t change and that I’d stay here no matter what, would that be a good thing?”

“You can’t—” His finger came down on her mouth, shutting her up.

“Hypothetically.”

Reaching up, she wrapped her hand around his and pulled it away. “Hypothetically, yes. It would be a good thing. I’m falling for you, too.”

In a smooth surge, he backed her against a stall and kissed her. Kissed her hard. “Jillian,” he murmured against her mouth. His voice was pained, urgent, and she knew exactly how he felt.

“Shh. I don’t want to hear promises you can’t keep or hollow assurances that everything will be okay. Let’s just make the best of the time we have.” She needed a distraction. A rough, fun escape. And Reseph could give her that. “Remember what you said a few days ago, the first time we had sex? That there would be time for fucking on the hood of my truck or… other things?”

“Oh, yeah. I remember.”

“Good.” She dragged her hand down his chest to his fly, behind which a pronounced bulge already indicated that he was game. “I think it’s time.”

“Yeah?” A wicked smile ruffled his mouth as he leaned into her and put his lips to her ear. “How long has it been since you came so hot, so furious, so fucking intense, that you forgot your own name?”

Oh, God. She’d just forgotten it. “Never,” she whispered. “You?”

“I can’t remember,” he murmured huskily, “but ask me in a few minutes and I’ll have an answer.” He tugged her against him and kissed her. His lips were firm but soft as they melded with hers. She opened to him immediately, but he teased her, taking her bottom lip in his teeth in a gentle show of dominance. A shiver of pleasure skated over her skin. He was an explosive combination of playful but aggressive, tender but strong, commanding but caring… and so very, very male.

Reaching up, she cupped his jaw, savoring the feel of his warm skin under her palm as he kissed his way down her neck. He nuzzled her throat, and with a moan, she rocked her head to the side, granting him more access for that talented mouth. One of his hands remained tamely around her waist, holding her against him, but the other slid beneath her shirt. When his fingers came into contact with her bare belly, she hissed in pleasure.

“I love the sounds you make.” His voice was a smoky drawl. “I’m going to wring them from you until you’re out of breath.”

Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, as if it were trying to get to his hand, which was sliding torturously slowly up her rib cage. He nipped her shoulder blade as his fingertips brushed the underside of her breast, creating an electric sizzle that shot from his mouth to his hand. Sensation rippled through her, stealing her thoughts, her breath, the moisture in her mouth.

With another moan, she palmed his thigh, digging her fingers into his hard muscles to steady herself. There was the slightest hitch in his breath at the contact. He eased his hand up to cup her breast, and they both groaned.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “I want to feel more of you.”

Oh, yes. If he wanted more, he could have it.