Visions in Death (In Death 19)
Page 98
“Hard to miss it with all the gooey looks and pats and strokes. Sex sizzling in the air and all that. You ever think how it’d be if you switched them around?”
“Sizzling looks, gooey sex? I think of little else.”
She snickered as they got out of the car to walk to the door. “No. The people. You put Peabody with Charles and McNab with Louise. It’d be totally screwed up.”
“You could put Peabody with Louise.”
“Sick. You’re a sick man.”
“Just playing the game.” He took her hand as they walked upstairs to the bedroom. “You seem to have your second wind, Lieutenant.”
“I think it’s my third, maybe fourth of the day. I actually feel pretty good.” She booted the door shut behind her. “In fact, sitting around in all that sizzle’s got me hyped. How about some gooey sex?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Hooking an arm around his neck, she jumped so he could catch her in his arms. She calculated her weight, his, narrowed her eyes. “How far do you figure you can carry me?”
“To the bed would be my first guess.”
“No, I mean how far do you think you could haul me like this? Especially if I’m . . .” She went limp, dropped her weight, let her arms dangle.
She felt him shift and adjust, not quite stagger. “Tougher this way, right?”
“I still think I can manage the bed, where I certainly hope you plan to revive a bit.”
“You’re in good shape, but I bet you’d feel it if you had to carry me, say, twenty, thirty yards like this.”
“Since I haven’t strangled you, yet, I won’t have to.”
She boosted back up as he climbed the platform with her. “Sorry. No murder in the bedroom tonight.”
She kept her arms locked around his neck when he lowered her to the bed. “You touch me.”
Obviously amused, he nipped at her chin and that wonderful hair brushed her cheeks like strands of silk.
“That’s definitely on the agenda.”
“No.” She laughed again, then rolled over on top of him. “When we’re just hanging out, when you don’t even think about it. I like it.”
She leaned down to rub her lips over his and, linking fingers, stretching sinuously down, slid his arms over his head. “I like this.”
“Enjoy yourself,” he invited.
“Probably should make it fairly quick, in case I lose this third, fourth wind.” She closed her teeth over his jaw, nipping lightly.
Keeping his hands locked with hers, she ran her lips down his throat, traced them back to his. Then she curled back like a cat to unbutton his shirt.
“Yeah.” She rubbed her hands over his chest. “You’re in shape.” Then her lips.
She could feel his heartbeat pick up, drum lightly under her hands and lips. He wanted. Wasn’t it amazing he always wanted her?
The muscles of his belly quivered when she tasted there, and jumped when she ran her tongue under his waistband. She slid down the zipper, freed him. Tormented him.
Then uncurling, she watched him as she peeled off her shirt, as she took his hands and pressed them to her breasts.
On a low hum of pleasure her head fell back. His hands were hard and smooth and skilled. The long, liquid tugs began, from heart to belly, from belly to loins, when he used them on her.
“Let me. Let me have—” He reared up, clamped his mouth on her, and the hum became a sob, the tugs a burn.