Ruthless Game (GhostWalkers #9)(82)
Author: Christine Feehan

She fed on him, on the rising tide of feeling, so she didn’t have to think, didn’t have to relive those terrible moments when she knew she’d failed to protect their child, and Whitney had succeeded in taking him. It took a few moments before her head cleared enough to realize he was swaying a little. Abruptly she pulled away from him to look up at his face. So strong—even powerful. She could see what had always attracted her to him, that intense integrity, the loyalty and honor that was stamped so plainly into that strong man’s face. He was no boy; maybe he’d never been one. He was like her little Sebastian, thrown into a world of violence, scrounging on the streets to survive. Right now, he looked a little gray.

“Kane. Sit.”

He gave her a crooked smile that nearly took her heart right from her body. “You’re so cute when you give me orders.”

She frowned at him. “No one’s ever called me cute before.” She tugged at his hand. “I’m feeling better. A shower will put me right, but you’re exhausted.”

Of course he was. He hadn’t been able to stand up properly only a week earlier. He couldn’t do a full workout, yet he’d run through the streets, dove into the ocean, and fought the enemy underwater in cold water while the waves pounded him—to save her.

Rose put one hand on his chest and pushed hard. Kane felt the steady pressure and was surprised, as always, that such a small frame could be so strong. Still, she wouldn’t have rocked him, even though he was exhausted, but she looked so beautiful and so determined he couldn’t stop himself from giving in to her. That look of sheer grit replaced the guilt in her eyes, and he’d take that any day over her feeling guilty over something she had no control over.

“Stay right there and rest. When I get out of the shower I’ll make tea.”

His heart tripped, and without thinking his hand snaked out to snag her wrist as she turned away from him. He tugged. The blanket slipped before she could stop it, and she nearly lost her balance. He caught her around the waist with both hands and lifted her onto his lap, facing him, so that she settled over his hips, straddling him. He could feel her heat burning through the material of his jeans, pressed tight right over his eager cock.

She wiggled, and his entire body seemed to burst into flames. He ran his hands possessively down her back. No matter how many times he held her, she seemed so fragile to him, such a miracle. Her skin, even now, smelling of the sea, was soft over all those exquisitely firm muscles.

“Let me take a shower, Kane,” she whispered, nuzzling into his neck, her arms creeping around his neck, her body settling into his.

The blood pounded through his veins, thundered through his heart, and roared in his ears, all in reaction to the realization that there was no resistance in Rose. The moment he touched her, her body fit into his, made for him. She gave herself to him wholly, surrendering everything to him. His heart contracted. He’d never thought to have a woman for his own and certainly not a woman like Rose who wanted him with the same encompassing fever that he had for her.

“I’m salty and fishy.”

He laughed. This could have been the worst day of his life, but here he was, his son sleeping peacefully in the other room, his woman na**d and compliant in his arms. He bit that sweet spot between her neck and shoulder and felt her shudder in need.

“I don’t give a damn how you smell, baby,” he assured her. “I just need to get these jeans open. Shift just a little.” He dropped his hands to the buttons, lifting his h*ps just enough to slip the offensive material down his hips.

The relief was tremendous. The moment he sprang free, his eager c**k encountered her scorching, damp heat. “You’re heaven for me, Rose. My sanctuary.”

Hands on her waist, he lifted her, positioning her body over him, until just the broad, flared head was pushing inside the heat of her body. The fact that she was already damp, already just as eager for him, was amazing to him. Very slowly he lowered her body over his. Heat gripped him, surrounding him, all that pulsing energy. He drove through the soft, hot folds, sweet fire engulfing him. She threw back her head, arching her back, her throat working convulsively as her br**sts pushed against his chest. Her ni**les felt like two pinpoints of flames, sending a streak of fire straight to his groin.

He loved the look on her face as she slowly impaled herself on his cock. There were so many ways he was eager to explore taking her, but he wanted this—that sexy, needy look that no woman could ever fake, her eyes half closed, her lips parted, the rush of air and the flush of color. He especially loved the way her chocolate eyes melted into a glittering glaze.

His c**k embedded deep, all the way to the hilt. He inhaled, feeling the air rush from her lungs into his as he inhaled. He couldn’t close his eyes to savor the sensations pouring over him, not and watch her face too, and he craved the sight of her, so sexy, so feminine, enjoying his body with the same desperate hunger he had for her. He needed the sight of her, alive and well. She had somehow become his world in a very short space of time, the need for her—not just her body but Rose herself—had become paramount to his happiness.

He mapped her feminine shape with his hands, worshipping her, stroking his fingers over her rib cage, upward to cup her br**sts while she rode him with a leisurely rhythm designed to drive him slowly out of his mind. He loved this woman in a way he never thought possible. She’d stolen her way inside him that first time he’d shared her bed. The courage in her had been beyond comprehension to him. He had fallen hard, and he had known then that no other woman would get to him in the same way she did. His respect and admiration for her had only grown from that first meeting. He’d handed his heart into her keeping when he hadn’t even fully known what he was doing, and now he was more than happy that he’d done so.

He let her set the pace. Let her use him to drive away the terror of their near loss. He wanted to drive away every demon, every fear—for her. To put the shine back in her eyes, to give her back her faith in herself. She was killing him with the slow spirals she liked to use, a dance of fire, with her silky cap of hair spilling around her face and those dark eyes showing him how lost in pleasure she was.

He could watch the emotions chase across her face forever. His hands slid over her body, memorizing every inch until they settled on her hips. He flexed his fingers, enjoying the tight, hot friction gripping him, the buildup of need until it surged through him, until he couldn’t take the slow, lazy pace another second.