Crave (Fallen Angels 2)

His hands drifted down to her knees and spread her legs . . . and she gave herself up to him. Following his instructions to the letter, she felt the hard table against her shoulder blades and the cool air on her thighs and a wild heat in her blood.

As he stared at her from beneath his brows, he looked as if he were going to consume her.

And she was ready to be his meal.

Ducking his head, he went right where she needed him, putting his mouth on her sex through the thin silk panties she wore. A rush of delicious heat bloomed and her hand snapped out, grabbing the pants, dragging them over, putting them in her mouth to keep herself from calling out.

If it felt this good already, she was going to get noisy: Yes, the door to the cellar was heavy and her father was supposedly asleep, but she didn't want to take any chances.

Isaac groaned against her as he nuzzled at her through the silk, and then he ran his tongue up the fragile strip that covered her. On a curse, she arched hard, her nails scratching the wood beneath her as his hands dug into her thighs and her teeth bit into the cotton. And then there was nothing separating them. One moment his mouth was on the silk; the next, she felt a yank on her hips and heard a tearing sound as the panties gave way--

Oh, God . . . his wet tongue slipped into the heart of her and dragged upward, parting her, sliding slick against slick.

He did go slow.

As his big palms locked on her hips and held her down, he took his sweet time, kissing her and sucking at her, that tongue of his working its magic, only to be replaced with the hot, locking suction of his lips. All the while, he stared up at her, watching her br**sts surge as she writhed under his mouth.

Abruptly, as if he needed to touch what he was seeing, his hands went under her shirt again and honed in on what he seemed captivated with. Unleashing the front clasp of her bra, he took possession of her on both sides, his thumbs rubbing at her ni**les.

Her breath pumped in and out of her open mouth, and just as she was about to orgasm, Isaac inched back and licked his glossy lips.

"Come for me," he said. "I want to feel it."

And then he was against her once more, his tongue penetrating her--which was all it took. Her release rocked her, rolling out from her sex and taking over every inch of her body. As the swirl of sparks consumed her, she was dimly aware of him groaning, as if he felt her clenching pleasure firsthand.

He didn't stop there. Swirling, lapping, sucking . . . he kept going, spreading her legs even wider, holding her in place as he marked her memory as sure as he marked her sex. She would never forget this--

One of his long fingers, or maybe two, eased inside, and the pressure and stretching sent her right over the edge again. As another orgasm fired off, her hands locked on his forearms, her nails sinking into his flesh as her spine torqued and that blast of pleasure flooded her from the inside out.

And still he didn't stop.

He was hot and he was wild and he was relentless.

He was the lover she would never, ever forget.

Much less get over, she feared.

Oh, sweet Jesus . . .

Isaac looked up from between Grier's legs and nearly climaxed just at the sight of her. She was all woman undone, the remnants of her white panties around her hips, her black shirt around her throat, her bra halves lying to the sides. Her br**sts were tight at the pink tips and her face flushed and her belly moving on a rhythm of surges and relentings as she worked herself against him.

Those pants in her mouth were one of the sexiest parts of it.

And the taste of her was even hotter than that.

Isaac could have stayed where he was for hours, but with each passing moment he ran the risk of an interruption and he wanted to finish this properly.

Rising up and looming above her, he bent her knees to her chest, his c**k twitching on the edge of orgasm at the sight of the glistening heart of her all swollen and open for him. There was no ditching his pants--he pushed them down just enough to spring his erection . . . which wept at the tip as he thought of where he was going. Sweeping his hand over his wet mouth, he brought his palm to the head of his shaft, slicking himself up even more before he curled the end of his spine and brought them together.

Pushing in, he watched as he made the connection, seeing her part to accommodate his girth, hearing her moan as he went deeper and staked his claim.

"Oh, f--" The gentleman in him swallowed the curse. The caveman in him had to keep talking. "Look at you. . . . I want to leave something behind . . . in you."

His eyes shot to hers as he began to move, pulling in and out, in and out . . . and then he went back to looking at where they were joined, the gloss on him making his balls tight. Bending down to her br**sts, he sucked a nipple into his mouth and worked it with his tongue . . . until the rhythm below made keeping that lock on her impossible: He'd meant what he'd said about going slowly, but the good intention didn't last. The sex had a momentum of its own, and it wasn't long at all before the table groaned under the force of his thrusts and he had to grip her waist to hold her where he wanted her.

As she went rigid under him, Isaac came hard as well, clamping down on his molars to keep from making noise, his lids squeezing shut even though he'd wanted to watch her face as what he was doing to her took her to another release.

With his body jerking into hers and him filling her up . . . he was as satiated as a man in the desert who'd had a sip of water.

He wasn't nearly finished with her. She wanted memories? Roger that.

Keeping them joined, he tugged the pants out of her mouth, scooped her up, and brought her lips to his, kissing her deeply as he easily carried her weight off the table. Positioning her against the smooth door, he gripped the back of her legs and started moving once again. With her hands tangled in his hair, and the blazing heat and urgent energy taking over again, the kiss couldn't last--and he didn't last much longer than the seal of their lips did. He came hard into her, collapsing against her as her own orgasm milked at him.

Recovery was a luxury he didn't allow himself much of, because he was well aware of his weight against her and the fact that her back was pressing into something hard and also that her father was in the house and . . .

So many damn ands with them.

Isaac slowly eased her down until her feet were on the ground, and as he slipped out of her, he didn't like the cold air on his cock. Her sex was much better . . . far, far better.

As he kissed her, the way her lips moved over his told him that in a different world, in different circumstances . . . this definitely would have been a beginning for them--in spite of all that should have kept them apart like family and money and education.

But that was not their reality, was it.

"Let me get you something to clean up with," he said quietly as he tugged his pants back into place.

After he kissed her again, he ducked out the door, and as he shut her up inside, he paused and bowed his head. He'd lied to her.

His chances were nowhere close to fifty-fifty: Matthias was absolutely, positively going to get him. The question was just how much talking he could do into the right ears before his old boss came out of the shadows and claimed him. One thing had always been true about the head of XOps: Matthias never gave up. Ever. And even if his world was crumbling around him, he would still take his vengeance. Somehow, someway.

That wasn't going to stop Isaac from taking a shot at spilling the beans, however.

Much better to die having tried to do the right thing . . . and leave his woman thinking something less than bad of him.

Much better.

Chapter Thirty-five

As the morning sun roused from its cloudy slumber and a halo of rays poured over Caldwell, New York, two young boys, ages twelve and nine, were hoofing it to school.

And neither one of them was impressed by all the "spring splendor."

Whatever that was.

Their mom kept going on and on about spring splendor , spring splendor . . . bleh. What Joey Mason cared about was gym: Mondays he usually had gym, but today they were having a special assembly. So no matter how "spring splendor" it was outside, he was still on his way to a day of school with nothing to look forward to.

His little brother, Tony, on the other hand, liked assemblies more than gym, so he was psyched. But he was a geek who slept with books, so what did he know about anything.

The walk from home to school was about eight blocks long and nothing big . . . just down St. Francis Street by the church and some other stuff. They were supposed to stay on the right side, because there was a gas station on the left that had lots of traffic in and out of its driveway. And they were supposed to stop at every corner curb. Which Joey did--usually while grabbing Tony's collar to keep him from walking right into a car.