Murder Game (GhostWalkers #7)(93)
Author: Christine Feehan

Tell me you love me. Say it out loud. He kept the same torturous rhythm, while her body writhed under his and her h*ps bucked upward, desperate for relief. Say it, Tansy.

Her hands caught his face. Her gaze stayed locked on his. “I do love you. Every part of you. Can’t you feel it when I give myself to you? Feel me, the way I need you.”

She moved her body in little circles, squeezing her muscles, so that it felt like velvet fists massaging and kneading his sensitive shaft, suckling at him like a tight mouth, hotter than hell and just as sinful. He heard his own hoarse cry mingling with her ragged moan, and he gave up all pretense of control. He thrust hard and deep, over and over, his h*ps in a frenzy, reaching for the ecstasy, racing toward it. His head felt like it might explode, his blood boiled, his balls drew tight and hard, and still he pounded into her.

He drove deeper and harder, over and over, because she loved him and, God help him, he needed that love—was desperate for it, desperate to show her how he felt in return. He felt her tighten around him, and he gripped her harder, holding her helpless, pinned beneath him while he drove into her again and again. Her mouth opened wide and her eyes went opaque. She screamed and her body pulsed and clamped down, ripping his seed from him, suckling so strongly the sensation washed up his spine and nearly exploded out his skull. She drained him, taking every hot pulse of his body and milking him for more. Her body shuddered again and again in rhythm with the powerful jerking of his. Her womb rippled and convulsed around him, gradually lessening in strength and then fading as they lay together, gasping.

Kadan collapsed over her soft body, fighting for air. He nuzzled her throat as he rolled to the side, one arm still tight around her. He’d never come like that before in his life. He’d never felt that surge of love and emotion tied so tight with lust and desperate need. He’d never even imagined he could feel like that, and a part of him didn’t trust such good fortune. She’d said she loved him, but he was in her mind, and there was something he couldn’t quite put his finger on that shook him.

He kissed her again, wanting to be whole, wanting all doubts gone, and not certain how to achieve that when he couldn’t find the way through sex.

“When I can walk, I’m going to take a long, hot shower,” she announced.

He bent his head to her breast, pulling the soft mound into his mouth. He suckled for a moment and then bit down, needing to leave his mark. She gasped, a soft little cry of protest, her body arching closer to him, but she didn’t stop him, rather her hands caressed his hair while she held him to her as if she knew what he was doing.

Kadan, standing in the doorway of the living room, watched Tansy through half-closed eyes. She sat curled up on the couch, legs drawn under her, long hair sliding around her body like so much silk. As usual, she hadn’t bothered with makeup and she was barefoot. She wore his button-down-the-front shirt and he could just see the outline of her br**sts and the darker ni**les through the thin material. There was something very satisfying seeing her in his shirt and knowing she wore little beneath it but his mark.

If he crossed the room and took her to the floor, he had the feeling she’d be more than willing, even though she was exhausted. She sipped at her tea and flipped through a magazine, but her eyes, when she lifted them to his face, had more violet than blue in them, and he suspected her mind wasn’t on him—or the floor. Her brain was fitting pieces of the puzzle together. Or maybe it was on him and he was coming up short.

“You okay, baby? I ended up being a little rougher than I intended.” He rubbed his shadowed jaw and knew her thighs were chafed. He needed her back with him; he was not yet willing to have her go down that dangerous path again. Nor did he want her thinking she might do better than be with a man who had done nothing but bring chaos back into her life.

“I’m better than fine.” She smiled up at him, but there was something sad in her eyes and her smile was wistful.

His heart did a funny twist in his chest, and deep inside, everything stilled. Even the way she sipped at her tea was sexy to him, and yet she seemed so far away, as if she was distancing herself. The one thing he couldn’t have with her, the one thing he would never be able to live with—was distance.

He leaned one hip against the wall, his eyes never leaving her face. “I can’t remember ever having a home. I never expected to have my own woman or live in a house with her.” He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her without blinking, using his cool, catlike stare. “When this is over, are you going to marry me?”

He had her full attention now. She blinked rapidly and her lips parted slightly. He had the urge to kiss her, but he stayed where he was, never taking his eyes from her face.

“You already asked me that question and I said yes.”

“No, I told you we were going to get married. I bullied you until you said what I wanted to hear. I want to know if you’re really going to marry me.”

Her tongue touched her full lower lip, the pouty one he often found himself staring at. She remained silent, a little shell-shocked, and although he knew he shouldn’t, he touched her mind, needing to know what she was thinking.

She had been in a hospital for several months after a breakdown. It could happen again. What kind of genetics would she pass to her children—their children? Would he even want children with her? And her father, what about him? She had to wear gloves almost all the time, would that become an embarrassment? What about her work? She loved being far away from people, where she could just exist in peace. What about his work? He was a born warrior and would never be happy doing anything else. How much time would they have together?

More than anything she wanted to be with him, but was it right for him? Could she do that to him? Be selfish and take what he was offering her even though she had no idea what could happen . . .

“Stop.”

Her gaze jerked up to his. She looked frightened.

“Can you love me the way I am, Tansy? Can you live with a man like me? That’s what you should be asking yourself, not all that other nonsense.”

“How would we live?” She sounded sad, almost forlorn. Her fingers wrapped around the tea mug until her knuckles turned white. “Like this? On the run? As long as you’re with me, you’ll never have a real home, Kadan. Whitney isn’t going to stop and we both know it.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Can you love me the way I am?”

“You know I already do, but that isn’t the point, Kadan. You push so hard sometimes, and whether you think so or not, my concerns are legitimate. You’ll wake up one day and wonder why you ever wanted to be with me.”