“I’ve got some of that.” Eve yanked him down, added a quick bite to the kiss. “Fast.” She used her teeth on his throat now. “Fast and hard and rough.”
She was already pulsing, already pumping. And her swift, ripe greed sparked its match in him. While she struggled to undress him, he cupped a hand between her legs, sent her careening over the first keen edge.
Nothing now, nothing but need, like a fever, like a flame, burning, climbing. Mad with it, she arched up, grinding herself against him until they both shuddered.
Still arched, she locked her legs around his hips, reached up to grip the sheets as if she’d fly away without the anchor.
“Fast,” she said again, barely breathing. “Hard. Rough.”
He drove into her, sheathed to the hilt, ripped a cry from her. And again, with the pleasure so sharp it slashed through him like a blade.
Again, and still again, with a madness that clawed up to haze his vision so she seemed suspended in smoke beneath him.
He used his hands on her, slick, quivering skin, and his mouth, while he plunged – hard, fast, rough.
She’d wanted that dark greed inside him, the animal roused, so he freed it, rode it, rode her until her strangled scream sounded in his ears, until her body shook against his. Until she seemed to melt away.
And still he rode, past reason, took more. Took all.
And with all, released.
Her ears rang with the hammering of her own heart. His knocked against her like a fist. She sensed him start to move and managed to get her limp arms around him.
“No. Just stay,” she murmured. “Just stay awhile.”
And slept.
She woke in the dark, pulled from
deep and blessedly dreamless sleep by the insistent beeping of her communicator.
Disoriented, still tangled with Roarke, she tried to push up.
“Wait. Lights on, ten percent.”
At Roarke’s command, the dark lifted as he rolled away.
“My comm…”
“Still in your trousers.” He found them, fished the communicator out while she tried to scrub the fog of sleep away.
“Ah —”
“Block video,” he advised.
“Christ. Yes. Block video,” she ordered. “Dallas.”
“Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”
At 4:18 a.m., she learned of Reed Aaron Mulligan.
Downtown again, she thought. A full day ahead of schedule. Unless…
“Do you want me to wake Peabody?” Roarke asked.
“Yes. No. No, no point. It’s going to be one of theirs, but that’s gut, not fact. I’ll talk to this Mulligan’s mother first.”
“Then I’m with you. With you,” he repeated before she could object.