Venom (Page 80)

The slow burn between my thighs turned into a steady, building throb. Our movements became even quicker, more frantic. Our hands and caresses harder, longer, more intense. Owen’s tongue drove into my mouth, only to retreat when I was breathless. I happily returned the favor. He buried his head against my shoulder, nibbling at the delicate skin of my throat. I nipped his earlobe with my teeth. Owen’s hot lips slid lower, closing over first one nipple, then the other, as he sucked and scraped them with his teasing teeth. I moaned at the hot sensations pumping through my body and hiked my leg up, drawing him closer and settling his c**k against me.

I slid my hand down between Owen’s legs, stroking the hard length of him, lightly circling my nails over his rigid tip. He rocked his hips against me, ratcheting my desire up that much more.

"There you go again," I rasped. "Being a tease."

Owen laughed. "Why should I stop when teasing you is so much fun?"

One of his hands caressed my breast. The other dipped lower, his wet fingers trailing down my stomach and then into the very center of me, going in and out in a quick, elegant dance.

"Enough teasing," I muttered. "Get over here."

I grabbed the condom out of the wall recess, ripped it open with my teeth, and pushed Owen down onto his back on the shower floor. Once he put the condom where it belonged, I climbed on top of him, ready to get on with things. But Owen pulled me down and rolled me over so that I was on the bottom.

I arched an eyebrow. "I prefer to be on top, remember?"

"Next time," he whispered, parting my thighs and sliding deep into me.

I groaned at the sensation of him filling me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and Owen started that steady, age-old rhythm.

We bucked and thrashed against each other, each one trying to bring as much pleasure, as much feeling, as possible to the other. Our rhythm built and built until we reached that ultimate peak, our hoarse cries drowned out by the steady hiss of the hot water around us.

Chapter Thirty-One

After we finished in the shower, we wrapped ourselves in thick, terrycloth robes and headed into the kitchen. I made Owen sit while I cooked us an enormous breakfast. Spicy southwestern omelets, light-as-air blueberry pancakes, thick slabs of Canadian bacon, a sweet, mango-strawberry-kiwi fruit punch. Everything was done to perfection and tasted even better than it looked.

"And you cook too," Owen murmured, staring at the platters on the table. "Is there anything you don’t do, Gin?"

"I don’t know," I replied in a teasing tone. "Ask me, and we’ll see."

His violet eyes darkened with heat.

We sat there in companionable silence for several minutes eating breakfast and enjoying each other’s company. After we finished our first round of food, Owen looked at me.

"You want to tell me about it?" he asked in a quiet tone. "I’ve already seen the version on the early morning news. Quite a display you put on up there on the mountaintop."

"That’s me," I said in a wry voice. "A real showwoman."

I told him everything. The problems Roslyn Phillips had been having with Elliot Slater, the giant threatening to kill Roslyn’s family unless she came to him, my rush to save her. The only thing I changed was the ending, taking credit for killing Slater instead of laying that at Roslyn’s feet. The vamp had been through enough already.

Owen sat there, chewing his pancakes, and listening to my bloody tale. "So is it over then?" he asked. "Are you back to being retired now?"

I looked at Owen, with his rumpled black hair and solid chest peeking out of the gap in his white robe. It would be so easy to lie to him. To say of course it was over now. That I was going to spend the rest of my days slinging barbecue down at the Pork Pit. But my lie wouldn’t last long. Owen had his own sources of information, just like Finn did. The next time I took out someone in Mab’s organization and left my spider rune calling card, Owen would hear about it sooner or later. But more important than that was the simple fact that I didn’t want there to be any lies between us.

"No," I said. "It’s not over. It’s just getting started. I’m going after Mab. Her whole organization, all her flunkies, all the officials and cops she’s got in her pocket. And when I’ve chipped away enough of her protective shell, then I’m going after her."

Owen stared at me. "And why do you want to do all that, Gin? Why would you risk yourself like that? What did Mab do to you?"

I drew in a deep breath. "The bitch murdered my family. Among other things."

I didn’t say anything else. Didn’t give Owen the details of my family’s murder or who I really was or the fact that Mab had her sights set on killing Bria for magic that she didn’t even have. I just wasn’t ready to reveal that much of myself to him. Not now, maybe not ever. If Owen even gave me that kind of chance. If he even gave us that kind of chance.

I drew in another breath and readied myself for the rest of my speech. Because as enjoyable as our time together in the shower had been, great sex wasn’t enough for me to put Owen in danger-not the kind of danger that Mab Monroe presented.

"This morning was wonderful," I said. "But given what I did last night, given what I plan to do in the coming weeks, if you don’t want things to go any further between us, I’ll understand, Owen. Going after Mab and her organization will be dangerous, not only for me but for the people I care about as well. Because if Mab finds out who I am before I want her to, she’ll come after everyone I know with everything she’s got. I know you have Eva to think about. Believe me, I know how important sisters can be, how important Eva is to you. I’ll understand if you don’t want to take the risk."

Owen stared at me for several seconds, his eyes dark in his strong face. "I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big boy, Gin. I can take care of myself. Eva too. I’ve been doing it most of my adult life. Besides," his mouth twisted. "Your family isn’t the only one that Mab killed."

A pain I was all too familiar with filled his face. I reached over and put my hand on top of his. "Oh, Owen. I’m so sorry. How did it happen?"

He shrugged. "My father was a gambler. He got in too deep to a bookie who worked for Mab. My father was a big, strong guy. The bookie was scared of him, so he called in Mab for reinforcement. She torched our house with the four of us in it to send a message to the bookie’s other customers to pay up-or else. Eva and I got out. Our parents didn’t."

Owen lapsed into silence, lost in his fiery memories of the past. We just sat there, my hand on top of Owen’s larger one. We didn’t say anything for almost a minute.