Magenta Mine (Invertary 3)

“Harry?” She hated that she sounded more breathless than confused.

He moved over her in the pitch-blackness. She felt his face at the curve of her neck. “It’s all about familiarity.” He trailed his nose up her skin, breathing deeply. A low growl of approval. “You had no problem sleeping around me years ago. Remember, we’d sit on the hill not far from here? You’d put your head on my knee while I worked on my laptop.” She remembered. He’d been fifteen. She’d been twelve and falling in love for the first time—for the only time—with her best friend.

His breath against her ear made her shudder, and she found herself clinging to Harry’s shoulders, her nails digging in. She willed her fingers to uncurl, but they wouldn’t. They couldn’t. “I’d stroke your hair,” he whispered. “It was longer then, the colour of manuka honey. And soft.” She felt his fingers in her hair at the back of her head. “I’ve never felt anything softer.” His body was over hers, pressing against her. A heavy blanket that made her quiver with sensation.

“I like it black too.” She couldn’t see him. Only feel him, which somehow made each touch more electric. “It would look even sexier with a hint of blue. Yeah,” he said, his fingers twirling a lock of her hair. She knew he couldn’t see her any better than she could see him, but she could tell by the way he spoke th

at he had a picture in his head. “Blue, not pink. Blue-tipped hair, blue silk dress. Ankle length, sleek. No frills, just like you. Thin straps so I can see your shoulders.” Gentle fingers trailed over her shoulder, pushing the wide-necked tee along with it until her skin was exposed. Harry curved a hand over her shoulder, blistering her skin with his touch, making her suck in his scent along with a gulp of air. It worked like a drug, severing the tethers that tied her to reality.

“The silk would flow over your warm skin like water over marble.”

His lips brushed her shoulder. She pushed her body up into his. Reflex. Her thoughts were delayed. As though out of sync with her body. All her body was concerned with was the heat in her belly, the fiery need that was eager to burn out of control.

“I’d fall to my knees before you.” He was weaving a spell. Wrapping her up in the images in her head. Making reality fade. “My hands would curl into the hem at your ankles.” His hand tucked under her T-shirt at her waist. Hot flesh found the small of her back, pressing her into him.

“I’d push the silk up your legs. Slowly, so slowly. Letting it glide over your hips. My lips would follow the trail, worshipping the skin it revealed, working to decide which was smoother, silk or skin.” His teeth nipped at the cord in her neck. Her breathing was ragged. Her leg curled around his hip and denim scraped against her bare skin. The sensation made her need increase.

“Hot, enticing skin, wrapped in cool blue silk. A gift to unwrap. For me.” He nibbled at her earlobe. Her heart was so loud it almost drowned out his words.

“My thumbs would press into the dips of your hips as my tongue drew slow circles on your stomach.”

His lips nipped their way to her mouth. “I’d breath deep. Your desire would be unmistakeable. The scent of it would drive me wild. I’d have to fight to keep control.” His tongue swept lazily across her bottom lip, and Magenta couldn’t stifle a moan. He’d driven logical thought from her mind with his words. All that was left was her need. She wanted him. She had to have him. Now. Now. Now.

“I’d keep my control, Magenta,” he whispered against her lips. “Do you know why?”

She didn’t care. She couldn’t get close enough to him. Her mind was spinning. Or maybe it was the room. Her mouth watered with the thought of tasting him. Her whole being was consumed with need. Desperate, hopeless need.

“I’d keep control because I wouldn’t want to miss a second of touching you. I’d want to savour it. Prolong it. Commit each touch to memory. Until we were wrapped in each other. Only us. Moving together. Touching. Wanting. Needing. Nothing else. Only us.”

“I can’t stand it.” Magenta’s voice was a rasp. “Kiss me.”

He smiled against her mouth before he did just that.

12

She was wrapped around him. He felt the heat of her body pressed against his. Every shiver and tremble pushed his desire higher. Gods, but the taste of her. Ambrosia. Divine food of the gods. He knew there was nothing else on earth like it. He’d always known it would be like this. He’d been with other women, but he’d known, soul deep, that they had nothing on Magenta. No one did.

Her tiny whimper of need brought his thoughts back to her. Her slender hands moved to his hair, fingers weaving through it as she clung to him. She angled his head, kissing him deeper. Her passion ignited the dominant aspects of his nature that usually only surfaced during business or when he was fighting. It was important to him that he had control in this, for now. He wanted her to know that he wasn’t a walkover. That she couldn’t dismiss him easily. She couldn’t frighten him away the way she did with anyone else who got too close. He was too strong for that.

He put a few scant inches between them as he grasped her hands. He wound their fingers together, holding her hands on the ground on either side of her head. “Not so fast, baby. I want you to enjoy this. Don’t worry; I’ll make you feel so good you’ll have no problem relaxing for sleep.”

Her body pushed up under him. “Talk. Talk. Talk. That’s all I’m getting.” She was annoyed. And breathless.

He grinned against her lips. “So demanding.” He kissed her long and hard, stealing the breath from her. “I love it.” Before she could answer, his mouth was back on hers.

Her body relaxed as tiny moans peppered the air. The sound made him almost rabid with want. She clenched his hands so hard he felt the bite of her nails. It made him growl. Almost loath to lose the nip of her touch, he transferred both of her hands into one of his and slid to her side. He was still pressed fully against her, her leg still over his hip, but now he could touch her. He wanted his hands on the curves he’d dreamed about.

She groaned her displeasure at losing his weight. It made him smile. His mouth found her neck, where he bit and sucked, noting which touch got the strongest reaction. Filing the information away for future use.

“Harry.” It was barely a whisper, but it was filled with such longing it made his blood surge.

His hand skimmed over her shoulder, around the outer curve of her breast, over her hip to her thigh. She pressed into him, panting as his hand found skin. He held her tight at the curve where her thigh met her behind. His fingertips straying into the heat of her inner thigh. His lips moved to her ear.

“Do you want me to make you feel good? Do you want me to release the tension for you? I can. I can make your body do whatever I need it to do. Do you want that, Magenta?”

Her breath hitched. A gasp. “Harry.”

“Tell me, baby, tell me you want me to touch you and make you lose control.” His words were a dark mumble. Each one almost desperately tight.