Immortal (Fallen Angels #6)(38)
Author: J.R. Ward

“You sure about this?”

“God, yes.”

Given how crazy she was as she writhed underneath him, she couldn’t believe how in control he kept himself—but it came with a cost. His jaw was clenched and his voice was rough and fine tremors wracked his powerful body as he settled in between her legs.

She still couldn’t feel him against her sex, though—except for where his thighs pressed into her core.

“I’m going to die if you don’t—”

He cut her off by kissing her again, and then she finally got the contact she wanted. Something blunt and hot brushed against her core—and then he shifted, his hand going between them. He knew right where to put himself, and holy shit, she trembled.

Not from fear.

His thumb found the top of her sex and began to rotate in a tight little circle. The orgasm he’d been toying with for however long sprang back to life with a vengeance, and this time he didn’t stop. He kept her going until the pleasure snapped free and took her for a joyride even higher and brighter than the one down in the parlor.

And that was when he pushed inside of her.

She was in the throes of the release to such an extent that when he hit a barrier, she felt no pain. Not even as he pulled back and then swept through it. And then he was deep inside—and not moving at all.

As Sissy floated back to reality, she became aware of an incredible sense of fullness, one that was at once foreign and so completely right that she felt tears prick in the corners of her eyes. And then she realized … Jim was trembling. From head to foot, his massive body was twitching, the muscles contracting in random jerks and spasms.

“Jim?”

Moving her head to the side, she looked at his face. He was focused on the headboard, his eyes rapt and glassy at the same time, his jaw clenched and grinding, his breathing rough and uncoordinated.

“Jim … what’s wrong?”

When she shifted under him, he hissed. “Don’t move.”

“Okay,” she said slowly.

“Fuck.”

“What—”

Just like that he pulled out of her, but he didn’t go far. He mashed his head face-first into the mattress next to her shoulders and bowed his arms, the great muscles of his biceps bunching up under his skin. Then his hips ground down hard, his stomach pushing into her pelvis.

Now he contracted. All of him at once. And it was so violent, the bed slammed into the wall behind, clapping hard once, twice … three times.

Jim went lax as rope, falling on top of her as he exhaled into the pillow.

Unsure what to do, she tried to wrap her arms around him, but he rolled off and turned away.

All she could do was stare at that tattoo of his, the one of the Grim Reaper that covered his back, the one of the great black-robed figure with its scythe and its bony hand reaching out of his skin.

Clearly, she had done something wrong.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Ad sat at the table and checked the clock again. Ten a.m.

Time to get moving, people, he thought as he glared at the ceiling.

But nope, the lovebirds had apparently tuckered themselves out and were having a lie-in. Meanwhile, he was down here with two bags of ossifying McMuffins and a whole lot of going-cold coffee.

Not that he was bitter.

Okay, he was bitter.

Sex was an easy thing to give up if you weren’t around it at all and you were too busy trying to survive to think of the bump-and-grind. But that kind of amnesia was hard to sustain when what you were never going to have again was happening under the same roof as you.

And hell, maybe it all made him miss Eddie even more.

He’d had the best damn time bringing women home for that gameless schlub. Eddie had always been good at everything, the keeper of all knowledge, the perfect fighter, the even-tempered voice of reason in a sea of chaos. Chicks, on the other hand, had been his undoing. One glance from some hot piece and he’d always clammed up like an astrophysicist at an AVN convention. He’d had the sex drive of a lion, however—and that was where Ad had come in.

Lot of the time, he’d felt like a burden on the guy, but when he’d been roping in a volunteer or two? He’d been mission critical and had appreciated the role reversal.

Kind of pathetic that that was all he’d brought to the relationship. Considering everything Eddie was capable of.

Had been capable of.

“Good morning.”

Ad jerked to attention. Well, one down, one to go, he thought as Sissy came into the kitchen. Her hair was damp, but brushed, and she smelled like that shampoo-and-conditioner set he’d gotten her during the infamous trip to Target with Devina. Pantene something.

“Hey,” he said. “I picked up breakfast ’bout an hour ago. I think it’s seen better days—which was probably true the second I bought it.”

“Thanks, but I’m not that hungry.” She pulled out a chair and parked it. “Coffee will hit the spot.”

Going by the way she ducked her eyes and kept checking the doorway to see if her man was coming down, Ad decided that the virginity thing had definitely been dispatched.

Man, Jim was a lucky, lucky sonofabitch. Not that Ad wanted the girl, too. It was just … wow. To be with a woman for her first time … to treat her right and do her well. What an honor.

He took a draw from his own java. Check him out, getting all sappy.

“Where’s Jim?” he asked.

“Upstairs—maybe in the shower. Who knows.”

“Oh.” Huh. Trouble in paradise? “Listen, I’m going to hit Home Depot and get some plywood—”

“Great.” She burst up with her coffee. “Let’s go.”

Okaaaay, maybe he’d been wrong about what had kept them busy. “All right, lemme go tell Jim. Unless you want to—”

“Nope, you go ahead. You got the keys? I’ll start the car.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He leaned to the side and took out the goods. Tossing the jangle over, he was surprised by how much he wanted to play couples counselor for them. Good ol’ Uncle Adrian. But like he had a fucking clue? “I’ll go find Jim.”

“Good deal.”

As Sissy marched out of the kitchen with her head up and her shoulders back, he wondered what exactly had gone down. And then Jim arrived, looking like someone had let a dog take a shit in his boots: grim eyes, drawn brows, whole lot of mean-as-a-snake.

“Breakfast?” Ad asked dryly.

“No, thanks, I’m not hungry. But coffee would be great.”

“There’s an epidemic of that goin’ around.”