Murder Game (GhostWalkers #7)(77)
Author: Christine Feehan

She was lost in his strength. Lost in his eyes. “You. I belong to you.” She barely whispered the words, her throat clogging.

He still held her gaze, refusing to release her. “And who do I belong to?”

She blinked. Warmth poured into her. She was aware of him filling her mind, pushing out every ugly thing that had been there. He was there, slamming the door closed on the voices, building a brick wall across it. Kadan. Of course. She felt a ghost of a smile, of hope. “Me. You’re mine and you belong to me.”

He crushed her to him, so tight it drove the breath from her, nearly cracking her ribs, but she only wrapped her arms around him and held on. He buried his face in the soft hollow of her shoulder, and it was impossible to tell if the water from the shower soaked into her skin or if his face was wet with tears. He didn’t move for a long time. When he did, his hands were gentle.

“Let’s get you out of here.” He reached up and turned off the water, then pulled a towel around her. “The others should be checking in soon, and I want to get a hot cup of tea into you.”

She stayed still, allowing him to rub the water very gently from her skin. He seemed to need it even more than she did, his hands sliding over her, the roughened calluses feeling good in spite of the abrasions on her arms. Her hand throbbed, and when she looked down, she saw that it was bruised and swollen, but she didn’t remember what had happened and was afraid to ask.

“I have to tell you the details or I could leave something important out.”

The towel halted movement abruptly, just below her br**sts. He looked at her, his face more grim than ever. “Fuck that, Tansy. This is ended right here.”

His crude and immediate reaction made her want to smile all the more. Inside her, where he couldn’t see, light burst through her, driving out more of the ugliness. He was like a breath of fresh air sweeping through her.

She caught his face in her hands and kissed his strong jaw, nibbled her way from his scar to the corner of his mouth and teased at his sensual lower lip, tugging with her teeth. “Why didn’t you want me this morning?” She couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice. “Why didn’t you make love to me? Was it this? The things in my head? The damage? Or was it the fact that my father’s involved with Whitney?”

Kadan’s head came up and his eyes blazed down at her, hot and hungry, filled with burning lust and something else that made her go soft inside. “I was being nice, giving you time.”

She frowned at him. “Time for what? One moment you were lying next to me and I could hear your breathing change and feel you hard against me, and then you just rolled over like you couldn’t stand being next to me.”

“Couldn’t stand being next to you?” He echoed her, his gaze narrowing.

His hand snaked out and caught the nape of her neck, dragging her against him, mashing her br**sts against his wet chest. He fastened his mouth to hers, a brutal, almost angry kiss, devouring her, staking claim to her mouth while his hand slid possessively down the long curve of her back to her hip. He ground his body hard against hers. “Don’t f**king ever tell me I don’t want you,” he snapped, eyes blazing.

“But you . . .”

“Never doubt that I want you every minute of every day. Night and day. I’m always hungry for you.” He tossed his wet shirt aside. “If I had my way, you’d just walk around na**d waiting for me to bury myself in you.” He peeled the wet jeans down the columns of his thighs and kicked them way, and his shaft sprang out, hard and thick and so ready for her he was already leaking little pearl droplets from the broad, flared head.

“Kadan.” His name came out in a breathy little moan that was half fear, half desire. She backed up at his sudden aggression, but he just followed her, stalking her across the room until the wall was against her back and she had nowhere to go. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and held up one hand.

He ignored it and caught her up, his strength enormous, lifting her na**d body and taking her back to the bed, uncaring that they both were wet and soaking the sheets as he positioned her at the edge of the mattress, her legs over his shoulders so that she was entirely open to him.

“Don’t tell me I don’t want you.” This time he growled it, the sound rumbling in his throat. “I f**king want you all the time. Just like this. You understand me? Just like this.”

There were no kisses, no foreplay; he buried himself deep, hard, and fast, pushing through the tight folds like a battering ram taking him home. He said with his body everything he couldn’t say aloud. Every stroke was hard and deep, his h*ps frantic, plunging into her over and over, driving her up fast, taking her breath, forcing her higher and higher as he claimed her, as he made her his.

He let himself lose control, wild with primitive need, the desire to show her the truth. This was where he belonged, in her. That she could question his desire for her was shocking to him, and he took her with an animalistic pleasure, riding her with heat until it felt like flames were licking up his legs and over his bu**ocks and into his groin. She was hot and tight and felt like a silken fist gripping him, squeezing and strangling until he thought his head might explode from the sheer pleasure.

When she was gasping and thrashing beneath him, he leaned forward, applying more pressure to her hard, sensitive bud, more intense friction as he pistoned into her. He kept bending until his mouth found her nipple. He flicked his tongue twice and then bit down gently. She screamed, her body imploding around his, melting and gripping his with fierce need until he emptied himself into her, filling her with hot seed, collapsing over the top of her, a little shocked at the fury of his body taking hers when he thought of her as fragile.

He could feel the rippling of her body, the aftershocks shaking her as he moved in more gentle strokes, hating leaving the haven of her body. He waited until he could breathe again before he looked at her, half-expecting her to be angry with him, but she cradled his head, her hands in his hair, stroking caresses over him. Accepting him. Accepting his dominant nature. Just accepting him, and that was more humbling, more frightening than all the guns in the world aimed at him.

“I have to touch you.” His admission came out rough. A demand instead of the way he’d wanted it to sound. He wanted to share with her his own weakness, give her something of himself that mattered. He let his breath out and tried again. “I need to touch you.”

“I love when you touch me, Kadan.” She pushed back his hair, her touch gentle.