“We work together, writing a story together, and last night we slept together.”
“Complicated.”
“I’d have said so, but that’s not what I’m feeling.”
“Don’t want to see you back here too soon then unless it’s to train.” Barney handed over the camera. “Got shit on there. Sorry, photography is not my thing.”
Jack was going to have to remember to make it his. He’d last used this camera when Martha was a kitten, but taking pictures of Derelie, especially when she was unaware she was being watched, wasn’t going to be a hardship.
She waited on the street, eyes on the road, hands in the pockets of her jacket. A visit to St. Longinus had never made him horny before, but watching Derelie gave him ideas.
“What’s next?” she said, when he circled his arms around her from behind.
The ease of it, touching her, having her lean into him, it had a strange effect, like there was some part of him missing and unexpectedly found. What had she said, a hole in his soul. “Afternoon nap.”
Her head dropped back to his chest. “It’s not afternoon.”
He didn’t want to share her with the world. “You have a problem with that? We’ll go out to dinner tonight.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’d like it if you stayed over again.” Maybe if he could hold on to her she’d patch that hole.
“Planning ahead, Jack.”
That made him smile. “I’m an organized kind of guy.” At work at least.
“I don’t want to wear out my welcome.” She turned to face him, but avoided his eyes.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
She went up on her toes and whispered in his ear. “Do you know how hard that’s going to get you pounded?”
She said the most wonderful things.
Between his sheets she was more than wonder. She was the saint, the angel, the sinner. Apple pie meets sex fiend; farm fresh gets filthy. Whatever lesson she was teaching, he was her star student.
He sat on the edge of the bed, Derelie in his lap, her legs crossed behind his back, hands on his shoulders. His were under her ass, helping her grind against him. He was hyped and she was incredibly wet by the time she lowered herself over him. He almost lost it, had to grit his teeth a moment to pull it back, fingers biting into her, hard enough to bruise.
“Oh, Jack. Oh.”
The outline of shyness she’d had in bed, the humor she’d used to deflect attention from being naked was gone, and in its place a determination to chase a high that wracked him like disease. He was fatally afflicted with her.
She lifted herself and dropped on him, and both of them hissed. Her thigh scraped his bruise but he didn’t feel it. Again, again. She was getting herself off, curling her body into the deep ache of penetration, the hot stab and slide. He gave her his knuckles for extra friction and her body trembled.
“More,” she said, open mouth on his neck. “I need more.”
He cradled her with one arm and leaned back on the other for leverage. He’d use the bed, the floor and his body. He almost took Martha’s head off when she tried to come in the bedroom, kicking the door shut in her face to an outraged yowl, because nothing was going to stop this.
Derelie grasped him tighter, both of them grunting as his thrusts intensified. Outside, Martha pawed against the door in almost the same thumping rhythm as Jack’s heart. Derelie’s grunts became gasps as she flexed her hips faster, catching him in her slippery heat, drawing everything in him to a pinpoint of purity.
She came with her teeth in his shoulder. That bite connecting all the shards of sharpness and electric lights of pain and pleasure in his body and shattering them. He fell back to the bed and took Derelie with him, sucking in air, spine gone slack and limbs heavy.
“What’s that noise?” she said, before licking the shell of his ear.
He used a hand on her head to keep their faces close. “Martha.” Pawing at the door.
Derelie laughed. “How long can she keep that up?”