He yanked her panties off. “I still see just two.”
She stroked his cheekbone. “I was trying to get you to take my clothes off faster.”
“Smart woman.” He smiled against her skin, then lower into the silky soft curls between her legs. “You’ll need to make sure you’re quiet.”
She leaned on her elbows. “You’re mighty confident that you can—”
His mouth closed over her and she gasped. He drew in the scent and taste of her, all the while still tuning in for cues of what she wanted. More of those breathy gasps and her slick readiness. Her elbows slid away and she gripped the quilt in her fists.
Just the sign he was looking for. He teased with his tongue and fingers, hitching her legs farther apart with his shoulders. She spread for him, welcomed him, and heat surged through him until his heart just about pounded out of his chest. The need to be inside her, deeper, seared him with an aching drive. But he held back.
Watching her. Working her. Waiting for her.
She bit her lip. Hard. Encouraging him with the way she wriggled her hips. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts. How her heels dug into his sides as her legs fell open.
He coaxed her the rest of the way over the edge. A moan vibrated up her throat, and as much as he reveled in the sound, he didn’t want her to be embarrassed. Just as he considered moving up to kiss her and finish her with his hand, she twisted her fingers in his hair, holding him in place. She stuffed her fist in her mouth fast. Her back arched and, hell yeah, he felt her come apart for him. Perfectly. Beautifully.
“Magnificent,” he whispered against her with a light cooling puff that brought another moan from her.
He damn near ripped his clothes off, finesse fading fast. Until he remembered he didn’t have a condom. Damn it. He was without protection when he had the first for-real, usable erection since a bomb exploded beside him in the Middle East.
Catriona’s hand landed languidly on his shoulder. “Looking for one of these?”
Her other hand came out of her hobo sack—holding a condom packet.
He cupped the soft curve of her bottom, bringing her even closer. She suckled gently on his bottom lip before kissing and nibbling along his jaw. Nipped at his ear.
Her cool hands stroked his chest before he had time to think, much less warn her.
Gasping, she rocked back on her heels. “Brandon, oh my God.”
Her fingertips hovered over the scars wrapped around his abdomen, striping upward. Healed burns and grafts mottled his flesh. Lightning streaked through the room, illuminating what she hadn’t already felt. He should have told her before now, but he hadn’t been thinking. Just feeling—feeling good—for the first time in so long.
Discussing what happened overseas sounded like a massive mood killer for the first hard-on he’d experienced in months. He wanted to shove her hands aside and just push inside her. Except she clearly had questions, and as much as he ached to put those questions on hold, he owed her better. He needed to be sure she understood just what she was signing on for in sleeping with him.
He shuffled to sit beside her and turned on the small lamp beside the bed. She might as well see and hear it all.
“These came from the explosion in Afghanistan, a mix of chemical burns and fire.” He relayed the information in a flat voice, the easiest way he’d found to get it out when asked. By rote. Just the facts. Don’t think about the pain or the fear, and then the deeper pain that made thinking of anything else impossible. “There are more scars on my back and on the inside of a thigh, but those are from the skin grafts.”
Scars gained from protecting a traitor. Except the guy died, was given a hero’s funeral, and any chance at getting the truth from him was buried along with the man. Now all Brandon had were suspicions and an encrypted disk he wasn’t even sure would be enough to stop this.
The heat of the attack, the betrayal, and the gut-twisting horror of having his life stolen from him flamed in his head until—
Gentle hands.
Catriona, touching his chest. Stoking the fire all over again.
He blinked through the haze and looked into her clear hazel eyes. His body reacted to the sight of her every bit as much as her touch.
She smiled softly, rolling the condom along the hard length of him. “Do you want to finish this or not?”
He laughed. For the first time in months, he laughed and meant it. Tucking her against him so every silky inch of her pressed to his overheated body, he rolled her under him. “Yes, ma’am, if you’re still willing, we’re most definitely going to finish this.”
“Thank God, because I was starting to get worried there for a second.”
Her little wriggle to settle beneath him sent a bolt of lust straight to his groin. A most welcome bolt that made him want to shout yes, yes, yes about damn time, to reclaim this part of himself.
He pushed inside her, drawn in by her moist heat, ready. Just one stroke and he had to fight back the urge to come, it had been so long. Which made him all the more determined to work harder for her—sliding a hand between them, kissing her and caressing her as he plunged again and again. The need to explode inside her almost tore him apart. He ached for it. For her.