Night Game (GhostWalkers #3)(72)
Author: Christine Feehan

Flame didn’t think her body would ever stop the rocketing spasms. Wave after wave of sheer pleasure rippled through her body, and when she thought it would subside, he moved, just a bit, and aftershocks instantly took over, shaking her and throwing her into another quaking round. She clung to him, shocked that he could make her body so responsive, so sensitive and so incredibly hot.

Gator stared down at Flame in awe. “Mon Deiu, cher. Just kill me now and I’ll go happy.” He collapsed on top of her, sliding the top half of his body to one side to avoid her injured arm. “You’re amazing.”

“I was, wasn’t I?” Flame said, smirking with satisfaction. “And don’t let me forget to mention to your grand mother that mesh is not the least bit comfortable.”

He kissed her neck. “What about the leather?”

“It itches when it’s sweaty.”

“I don’ sleep in clothes anyway. You don’ need to either.” Gator propped himself up on one elbow and proceeded to rip the mesh away from the leather. It came away in his hand after a little wiggling on her part to get it out from under her, leaving her rib cage wrapped in leather.

“Now I look like a sausage,” she announced and burst out laughing.

He rubbed his face against her br**sts, his shadowy jaw rough on her ni**les. “I wouldn’t say that. I think you look sexy.”

She couldn’t stop laughing, even though the movement sent aftershocks rippling through her body. “You’re so crazy. Unzip it.”

“I don’ know, cher.” His accent thickened. Her body reluctantly released his from her snug sheath and he sighed softly. “I think you look good in leather.” His tongue flicked her ni**les and he nuzzled his face into the valley between her br**sts.

Still laughing, Flame reached for the knife on the end table beside the bed at exactly the same moment he reached or the can of whipped cream. “You’re such a freak, Raoul. Just what do you think you’re doing with that?”

“Expanding my horizons.” He traced the flames of her tattoo as he shook the can. “What ‘ya going to do with that knife?” His tone lowered, was husky, frankly sensual.

She slid the tip of the razor-sharp blade along the edge of the leather and cut herself free of the offending material. “Nothing thrilling, believe me.” Laughter was beginning to overtake her again. She couldn’t help it. He looked so eager. “Put your little can of whipped cream down, I’m going to sleep. You wore me out.”

He outlined her tattoo with the whipped cream, leaned down and licked it off. “Good brand.”

“Well that’s all right then.”

“Stop squirming. I’m drawing a masterpiece. This is art.” He used the whipped cream to draw a happy face on her lower belly. This time when he licked it off she closed her eyes and he could feel the shudder of pleasure running through her. “I got me lots of toys to play with, Flame. You just go ahead and go on to sleep and when I think I need to wake you up, I’ll find a way to do it that you’ll like.”

“I can’t go to sleep with you spraying whipped cream all over me.”

This time he outlined a bikini top on her br**sts and bent to lick it off. His tongue rasped over her skin and around her nipple. There was a small tug of his teeth. Her womb contracted and clenched hard in response. Flame tangled her fingers in his hair and closed her eyes, giving herself up to the sensations of his tongue and teeth, the moist heat of his mouth and his exploring hands. “You’re not planning on really using those ridiculous toys, are you?”

“Hell yeah, we’re using them.”

She opened one eye. “I call the handcuffs and paddle.”

“Not a chance, femme sexy, I’m stronger than you.” His hand caressed her bottom. “I’ve got me plans.”

“You’re such a goof.” For the first time in her life, she felt truly happy. And she hoped it would be a long, long night. “Just remember who has the knife.”

CHAPTER 15

Flame woke with her heart thundering in her ears. Nightmares had invaded her sensual dreams and left her gasping. She lay still, looking up at the rough ceiling knowing dawn was just an hour or so away. She had never allowed herself to be so close to anyone. She’d formed friendships, let herself enjoy people, but she never took a relationship far enough that she needed any one. She never risked wanting anything so much that she couldn’t leave it behind, so it didn’t make sense to her that wanting to be with one person would ever be important enough to risk her freedom.

She rubbed her broken arm absently as she listened to the sound of Raoul breathing. His arm was around her body possessively, his hand under her breast. She could feel the rub of his knuckles and even that small contact sent excitement skittering through her body. He had power over her whether he knew it or not. Flame tried to be ruthless in her dealings with her own feelings. She didn’t want to let go of Raoul. She tried to be analytical and logical.

What real future together was there for them? She could seek help from a conventional doctor. It might buy her time, but it wouldn’t cure the cancer. Only Whitney could do that. And going to a doctor would reveal her genetic enhancement and everything else Whitney had done. It would put her square in the limelight and the government would swoop in and retrieve her. She was worth too much money and frankly, they would think it would be too dangerous to allow her to run around loose.

She eased her way out from under Raoul, sliding to the edge of the bed. The moment she sat up, she was aware of her body, deliciously sore, strangely stimulating as if deep inside something moved against her most sensitive parts. Raoul had been so eager to get at her body, to keep nothing between them, his hands roaming over her even after his sexual appetite was temporarily sated. And he never seemed to be sated for very long, waking her over and over in the night.

As if reading her thoughts, his arm snaked around her waist. “It isn’t light yet.”

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice, savoring his Cajun accent and the velvet smoothness of his tone. Almost.”

“We didn’t get to finish playin’ with all the toys, cher,” he cajoled, pressing a kiss against the scar in the midst of the flames arching over her hip. “I was thinking we could spend a little time with the handcuffs.”

She turned her head to regard him with what she hoped was a stern look. Unfortunately, he always made her want to laugh. He looked sinfully sexy, a little bit wicked, yet still managed a boyish anticipation. “Not in your wildest dreams.”