Death Angel

After finishing her soup, she left the diner and took a bus across town to the Holiday Inn where she was staying. The route went fairly close; she had to walk only a couple of short blocks. She got into the squeaky elevator alone, and rode up to her floor. A housekeeping cart was parked at the end of the hallway, and from the open door she could hear the drone of a vacuum cleaner.

Inserting her key card, she opened the door and froze, holding it open.

"Don’t scream." Simon loomed in front of her, his expression enigmatic.

She swallowed the sound just in time as he pulled her against him and closed the door, putting the chain in place and then turning the deadbolt. "What are you doing here?" he growled in a very annoyed tone.

"This is my room. I was about to ask you the same question," Andie said, gulping, dropping her purse on the floor and throwing her arms around his neck. Tears stung her eyes and she almost burst out crying, but she blinked them back. If she hadn’t been thinking about him just then, thinking how much she wanted to see him, she could have restrained herself, but the relief at hearing his voice and feeling the muscled hardness of his body against her was too intense, her longing too close to the surface. She might die soon, and she wanted to have him again before she did. Going up on tiptoe, she pressed her mouth to his, moaning a little at his taste and the well-remembered softness of his lips.

He had hesitated before when she kissed him, but he didn’t hesitate this time. His arms tightened around her and he swung her around, half-carrying her and half-pushing her past the bathroom and into the main part of the room-

– where the bed was.

He broke the kiss long enough to lean down and catch the bedspread, whipping it completely off the bed and to the floor, then he took her down across the bed with him.

His kisses held the same heat, the same hunger, that she remembered. He covered her with his heavy weight, pressing her into the mattress, and Andie coiled her legs around him, sliding her thighs up his hips to cradle him between them. Slowly he began rocking his erection against her even as he levered his torso up enough that he could begin taking her coat off. "You’d better be sure about this," he murmured, his gaze meeting hers. "There’s no going back."

The intensity in his narrowed eyes shook her, burned her. She framed his face with her hands, just as she had imagined doing, and took the leap. "I love you, Simon." She wanted to say it at least once, in case she didn’t have another chance to tell him. She wanted him to know that he was loved, that he was cherished, that he wasn’t alone.

He faltered then, his arms abruptly wobbling and refusing to support his weight. He sank down on her, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to hers. "You don’t have to say that," he muttered, something in his tone so humble it broke her heart.

"It’s true. When you wouldn’t take me with you, I fell apart. I cried for hours." She stroked his hair, her hands tender. "I could barely think, I hurt so much, and I had to convince Rafael I was upset because I’d realized he didn’t love me, and that you’d said I was too much trouble and didn’t touch me at all."

His head jerked up a little and he stared at her, nose to nose. "You mean he bought it?" he asked incredulously.

"Of course. I have a talent for lying," she said, her mouth twitching a little with amusement.

"Damn. I knew you were good, but that’s world-class."

"Thank you." She laughed, raising her head for a quick taste of those soft lips again. She felt them curve in a smile, and her heart squeezed.

Gently he nipped her chin, stroked his hand down to grip her thigh and pull it higher. "Let’s get out of some clothes. I really, really need to fuck you for a while."

"How long is a while?" She began unbuttoning her blouse, but abandoned the effort to work at his buttons, because she’d much rather feel his skin than her own. "Want to go for a personal best?"

"You mean more than four hours?" He shook his head, smiling. "I can’t. Not this time. Let’s shoot for twenty minutes."

"Slacker. I know you can do better than that." She didn’t need twenty minutes, she thought, her hips lifting and rubbing against him, seeking the hard ridge of his erection. Five minutes would do it. All her internal muscles clenched as she suddenly remembered how it felt when he entered her, pushing deep. His penis was thick enough to make her feel stretched, even then; how would it feel now, when she had been celibate for months? It was as if her sex drive had dried up, because she hadn’t even thought about sex since the accident-until he showed up in her kitchen, and she realized it hadn’t dried up, it had just been dormant because she was preoccupied with other things.

She got his shirt unbuttoned and pulled it free of his pants. The broad span of his chest, the light sprinkling of hair, enticed her and she spread her hands over it so that the hair tickled her palms and her fingers found the small flat coins of his nipples, centered with tiny nubs that hardened as she stroked them. His cheekbones darkened with color as he braced himself over her, letting her play.

Enough of that. She really, really liked his chest, but what she wanted most was in his pants. Abandoning his nipples, she went for his belt buckle, all but ripping it open. "Watch out for the zipper-" he managed, then rescued his erection from her dangerous eagerness to set it free. She was suddenly frenzied, batting at his hands in an effort to get to him.

"Move," she muttered. "Let me have it."

"Slow down. You can have it-Shit. Wait a minute."

"No. Hurry."

"Get your clothes off, too."

He rolled to the side and impatiently she surged to her knees, tugging and tearing at her clothes and tossing them aside. As soon as she had her jeans and underwear off she tossed them aside and straddled him, concentrating on something that was far more rewarding.