Lethal Game (GhostWalkers 16)

“I am giving you up under protest. I like being with you and if something is wrong, don’t go into action without me. Think of it as me having to stay in practice.”

She could make his heart jump, and she often did. Right now, it was doing weird little somersaults. As long as his brothers didn’t know, he was okay with that. He wasn’t okay with the razzing he’d get if they ever found out how gone he was over Amaryllis. Or maybe he was—she was definitely worth it.

“I’m not expecting action. I’m looking for answers,” he assured. “I’m getting worried that you might be a little bloodthirsty.”

She laughed and his entire body tightened. “Not bloodthirsty. I just like action. I get restless sometimes if I’m cooped up too long.”

“What do you do then?”

“I run along the rooftops as fast as I can, jumping from one to the next.”

He closed his eyes briefly. A couple of the buildings were a good distance apart. “I think I’m going to have to make love to you a few times a day and keep you tired out. That seems the safest bet.”

She laughed again, turning her face up to his for another kiss. He obliged her because there was no resisting Amaryllis, especially if she wanted kisses. Her mouth tasted like that addicting exotic strawberry, reminding him of her skin. Then he wanted to taste her skin, and that reminded him of her sex. Instantly he needed his mouth between her legs. It was a fascinating cycle that he wanted to explore and keep on exploring.

Amaryllis pulled back first. “We have to stop if you’re going to figure out what’s bugging you,” she whispered into his ear, immediately blowing it by teasing his earlobe with her tongue and teeth.

The moment she did that, the flush of dark desire skittered through him, making him very aware of her body so close to his. She wore nothing beneath her yoga pants, and he wore nothing beneath his jeans. Already his hands were turning her body back to the bed, pressing her down with one hand to her back so that she was bent over the bed.

He yanked down her yoga pants with his free hand and then, keeping her in place, opened his jeans. He was so hard, just circling his shaft with his fist sent an explosion of pleasure bursting through him.

“God, baby, tell me you’re ready for me.” He gently pushed her legs wider with his boot, and then slipped his hand between her legs to find her hot and slick. His heart pounded hard in time to the pulsing and throbbing in his cock.

He didn’t wait. He needed to be in her and he pressed the broad head to her entrance. Fire seemed to engulf him. So scorching hot as he pushed deep. She felt like a silken sheath, tight beyond belief, wrapping him in a fiery fist. He threw back his head and let pleasure take him. He just held there for long moments, breathing deeply, absorbing the feeling. Then he began to move, pushing through tight, reluctant folds, forcing his way until he was so deep, he didn’t know where she began and he left off.

Moving in her was heaven, or what he thought heaven should be. This. Lust and love coming together to create something indescribably beautiful. He gripped her hips, using them to pull back in order to increase the fiery friction as he surged into her. The breath hissed out between his teeth. Fire raced up his spine.

“You’re so tight, Amaryllis. You’re squeezing me like a vise. And hot. Scorching. Paradise can’t feel as good as you.”

She gripped the comforter in her fists and pushed back with her hips, her little cries soft, but each one punctuated the movement of his cock as he drove into her. The firestorm surrounded him, flames rolling over his cock, into it, threading through him, burning him clean. It was some kind of ecstasy, that tight grip her sheath had on him, the friction almost unbearable. And then he felt the rising of his seed, climbing, climbing, boiling and seething, needing the explosion.

“Now, baby, come with me now.”

She did. Her sheath clamped down so hard he thought he might shatter, but that exquisite friction was there, sliding over him, pumping, massaging, kneading, pulling and, finally, squeezing down on him. Milking him. So hot. Scorching. Searing him through his thick cock as it grew and pushed back, stretching her channel as she tried to clamp down. He erupted, the hot seed coating the walls of her sheath triggering more and more orgasms. He felt each one.

He bent over her, fighting for air, when he realized why she felt so hot. Why he felt every squeeze of her muscles so intimately. He’d gone without a glove. He hadn’t protected her. Malichai dropped his head on her back with a groan.