Lace & Lead

Normally he wouldn’t be so worried, but this time, if things went fubar, Emma would suffer for his decisions. Now that he knew how she felt about him, knew how deep he was getting himself, putting her at risk was no longer an option.

Speaking of my woman...

He heard her long before she reached the library. Her footfalls were soft on the wood floors and, when she finally peeked around the corner, his chest tightened. She had thrown on one of his tank tops, nothing else, and with her hair framing her face, she looked like some kind of battlefield angel come for him.

“You didn’t wake me up.”

He jerked his shoulders in what was hopefully a neutral movement. The farther he could keep her from all this, the better he would feel. He’d be less likely to get distracted.

She climbed into his lap and settled against his chest, tracing one of the knife scars from his collarbone down across his pec. “You should come back to bed.”

He smiled, surprised at how nice it was to hear her say that. “Why’s that?”

“When you got up, I thought you were leaving.”

The thought of sneaking out, leaving her behind like she was some one-night stand, bothered him more than he liked to admit. She must have read his expression because her eyes became warm and she leaned in to close the distance. Her lips moved under his, angling to allow him better access. When he finally pulled back, he managed a gravelly, “I’m not leaving.”

“So come to bed.”

He let her lead him from the library, down the hall to that sumptuous bedroom. She let him pull off the tank top, run his hands over her skin until she was shivering. It didn’t take much to coax him between the sheets.

She wasn’t timid this time. He let her control the pace, fed into her energy, felt his need rising. Something about being back in the house, after the danger she’d faced here the last time, left him uneasy, far edgier. He struggled to keep himself in check, not wanting to scare her, but the instinct to possess prickled at the back of his mind.

She pulled away from him, mid-kiss, eyes dark, lips swollen, chest flushed. “What is it?”

He couldn’t answer, especially not when she reached down between them and stroked him, teasing her fingers over his tip.

“Peirce?”

Those brown eyes were staring up at him, all her emotions laid out, clear as day. Gods, he needed to be inside her.

When her caress became needy, he lost his control. He flipped her to her stomach and pressed his weight down on top of her. “Trust me?”

She shivered at the rasp in his voice. “I trust you.”

He kissed his way down her spine, hands running over her, massaging her. He grasped her waist and lifted her to her knees. A quick motion and he had a pillow beneath her.

His fingers brushed over her core, dipping inside until she thought the sensations would become overwhelming. Not being able to see him or his expressions, to be focused solely on his touch and when it would come again, was intoxicating.

“You’re wet,” he murmured approvingly and she blushed. She couldn’t play coy with this man; her body had a mind of its own and right now, it craved him to fill the emptiness.

“Please,” she whimpered into the mattress.

She felt her entire body constrict when he pushed inside. Her moan of pleasure may have been muffled, but she could feel the rumble that left his chest. He teased her, pulling away just a bit and staying there until she arched her back and pressed against his hips. He coaxed her legs wider, her hips higher, and his hand returned to her, pushing her further still.

She couldn’t help it. The words slipped out as his thumb brushed over her again, his thrust so deep she could feel him in her bones. “Please, love—”

And when she called him that, his rhythm changed. His thrusts came faster, stronger. His fingers dug into her hips and she clawed at the sheets, desperate for release.

His breathing was ragged and every time she pushed back against him, he groaned and returned to her harder. The heat that had been building since he’d stripped off her clothes was now an inferno, liquid fire coursing through her veins. Nothing could make her world more perfect—

“Oh gods, Emma—I—dammit!” His fingers tightened on her waist, his voice terrified. “—love you—”

She was consumed. A living flame.

She felt his every pulse, echoed his heartbeat, knew he was whispering that to her over and over, a desperate confession.

He’d made her a phoenix.