Burning Dawn (Angels of the Dark #3)(51)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Noooo,” she admitted, drawing out the word. “But that doesn’t change anything.”

The tenderness in her expression roused his jealous side. A side he hadn’t known he possessed until he’d met her. “So…you would honor his memory…but not his wishes?”

Her lashes practically fused as she glared up at him.

He didn’t want her angry; he wanted her pliant. So let’s try this another way. “You attended parties as a couple?”

“Yes.”

“You had fun. Laughed.”

“Yes,” she repeated, her head tilting with confusion.

“I bet he adored your laughter.” I do.

“Ah, okay. I see where you’re going with this. I should live my life the way he’d like. Carefree.”

“Weedless.”

She pursed her lips. “What about you?” She waved her hand to indicate the club behind the elevator doors. “I know you’re some bigwig billionaire sky mogul, but what do you do for fun?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t. As one of the strongest fighters of my race, I fight. I’ve always fought.”

Her fingers abandoned his robe to twirl the curls at his nape. Even better. “Poor Thane. You’ve never had time to play?”

Every muscle in his body clenched. “I seem to remember playing earlier today.”

She sucked in a breath. Apprehension—and desire—danced through her eyes.

“That was a lot of fun,” he whispered. “I’d like to do it again.”

She gulped. “All right,” she finally said, her voice going low and husky. “Let’s play.”

A sense of triumph flared. “Yes. Let’s.” He arched his hips, grinding his erection between her legs, and she moaned. “We’ll play Elin, May I.”

Her breaths came more heavily as she nodded.

“Elin, may I kiss you?”

She nodded again, her eyes wide, and he lowered his head. But he didn’t press his mouth against hers. Not yet. He hovered above her, breathing her in, drinking in her mounting arousal—and letting her drink in his.

She braced her hands on his shoulders, waiting. “Thane. I’m ready. I’m not even going to make you beg for it.”

“You want me to beg for it?” He knew how temptation worked. Knew it was better to chip away at resistance a bit at a time. A taste here. A nibble there. Until the first true craving hit…and it was too late to stop. “Because I will.”

A tremor rocked her.

“May I cup your br**sts? Please.”

“Y-yes,” she agreed softly.

“May I spread your legs and stroke myself against you?” Her mind might want to stay true to her dead husband, but her body did not. “May I bring you to climax?”

Her next exhalation came fast and shallow. “Please.”

Such a sweet capitulation. But still he didn’t rush into action. He grazed the tip of his nose against hers, and gave her the barest of kisses.

She tensed, eager for more, only to deflate a moment thereafter. “Are you having fun?” she gritted.

“Yes.” At last he traced his tongue around the seam of her lips. “Do you like my game?”

She fisted his hair so tightly, several strands pulled free. “No. You’ve asked, you’ve received permission, but you haven’t taken.”

He nuzzled her cheek. “And you want me to take?”

“Yes!”

“Me. Only me?”

“Yes!”

“When?”

“Now!”

Such vehemence. He couldn’t resist.

Thane kicked her legs apart. As he pressed his lips against hers, thrusting his tongue deep, he cupped her br**sts, her ni**les already hard little buds. He ground his erection between her legs, giving her everything he’d promised in one fell swoop.

Everything but the climax.

Soon…

His tongue changed tempo, to one his body matched, thrusting against her…thrusting…faster and faster…harder and harder… Groan after groan left her, each needier than the last.

He fisted her hair and kicked her legs farther apart, and when her body dropped, he was there to catch her with another thrust, hitting her sweet spot with more fervor.

She clung to him. She clutched at him.

When her climax came, it was swift and brutal, just the way he’d wanted it to be, and she cried out. Though he was panting, practically on fire for her, he moved away from her, severing all contact. Her knees almost buckled, and he had to stop himself from reaching for her.

The more she hungered, the more she would seek him. And the less likely she would be to leave him when it was over.

“My resistance is so weak,” she grumbled, smoothing the hair from her damp forehead.

“Or my persuasion is so strong.”

Her grin was slow, but it melted the ice that had managed to meld to his heart. “Yes. Let’s blame you. But what about your needs?” Her gaze lowered to his shaft. “What about that?”

Hot arousal continued to pump through him, clamoring for release. And though he was almost blind with need, he wasn’t giving in. Not yet. “You’ll take care of me, kulta. Don’t worry. Just not here, and not now.”

She trailed her fingertips down his length, the whisper-soft caress making it twitch in response, and making him sweat. “How will I take care of you? Where? When?”

He met her gaze. “The first time, you’ll use your mouth, and we’ll be in my suite.”

A tremor nearly knocked her off her feet. “And the second time?”

“With your body, bent over the couch.”

Another tremor shook her. “When?” Her voice was breathy. “When do I get to do those things?”

She was so warm…so willing…so difficult to resist. “After we chat.”

“But we’ve been chatting,” she complained.

Yes, but he had a very important question to ask her.

He punched a button on the console, allowing the elevator to continue its rise, to stop and open its doors. He ushered her to his suite, careful not to brush against her. One more moment of contact, and he was certain he would forget his purpose.

Bjorn lounged on the couch.

Something inside of Thane eased at the sight of his friend…only to tense back up when he noticed the male’s condition—pale skin, haunted eyes, hair sticking out in spikes, and lips cut from being chewed.

“I’m well,” Bjorn said, noting his reaction. “Don’t worry.”