Key of Light (Key 1)

“I don’t need someone to look out for me.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “I just need you to look at me.”

“Malory, I’ve been looking at you from the beginning, even when you’re not around.”

She smiled, arched up so he could slip off her blouse. “That’s a strange thing to say, but it’s nice. Lie down with me.”

They were side by side, faces close. “I feel pretty safe right now, and it’s not particularly irritating.”

“Maybe you’re feeling a little too safe.” He skimmed a fingertip over the swell of her breast.

“Maybe.” She sighed when he began to nuzzle the side of her neck. “That doesn’t scare me a bit. You’re going to have to try a lot harder.”

He rolled over, pinned her, then plundered her mouth with his.

“Oh. Nice work,” she managed.

She was trembling, just enough to arouse him, and her skin was flushing warm. He could steep himself in her, in the tastes and textures. He could lose himself in that low, driving urge to give her pleasure.

He was tied to her. Perhaps he had been even before he’d met her. Could it be that all the mistakes he’d made, all the changes in direction, had been only to lead him to this time, and this woman?

Was there never any choice?

She sensed him drawing back. “Don’t. Don’t go away,” she begged. “Let me love you. I need to love you.”

She wound her arms around him, used her mouth to seduce. For now, she would trade pride for power without a qualm. As her body moved sinuously under his, she felt his quiver.

Hands stroked. Lips took. Breathy moans slid into air that had gone dim and thick. Long, lazy kisses built in intensity and ended on gasps of greed.

He was with her now, locked in a rhythm too primal to resist. The hammer blows of his heart threatened to shatter his chest, and still it wasn’t enough.

He wanted to gorge on the flavors of her, to drown in that sea of needs. One moment she was pliant, yielding; the next, as taut as a bunched fist. When her breath sobbed out his name, he thought he might go mad.

She rose over him. Locking her hands in his, she took him into her, a slow, slow slide that tied his frantic system into knots.

“Malory.”

She shook her head, leaning down to rub her lips over his. “Want me.”

“I do.”

“Let me take you. Watch me take you.”

She arched back, stroking her hands up her torso, over her breasts, into her hair. And she began to ride.

Heat slapped him back, a furnace blast that had his muscles going to jelly, that scorched his bones. She rose above him, slim and strong, white and gold. She surrounded him, possessed him. Spurred him toward madness.

The power and pleasure consumed her. She drove them both faster, harder, until her vision was a blur of colors. Alive, was all she could think. They were alive. Blood burned in her veins, pumped in her frenzied heart. Good healthy sweat slicked her skin. She could taste him in her mouth, feel him pounding in the very core of her.

This was life.

She clung to it, clung even when the glory climbed toward the unbearable. Until his body plunged, and she let go.

HE made good on the soup, though he could tell it amused her to have him stirring a pot at her stove. He put on music, kept the lights low. Not for seduction, but because he desperately wanted to keep her relaxed.

He had questions, a great many more questions, about her dream. The part of him that felt that asking questions was a human obligation warred with the part that wanted to tuck her up safe and quiet for a while.

“I could run out,” he suggested, “grab some videos. We can veg out.”

“Don’t go anywhere.” She snuggled closer to him on the couch. “You don’t have to distract me, Flynn. We have to talk about it eventually.”