Heart of Danger

by Lisa Marie Rice

  He was in her, in her head, could barely distinguish between his arousal and hers, and knew he had to be in her body, too, right now, or die.

  “We have to get our clothes off,” he whispered against her mouth.

  “I know,” she whispered back, and licked his lips.

  His dick swelled even further against her belly, one strong, almost painful pulse and it was either be in her or go crazy.

  He was used to moving fast.

  In the field you were fast or you were dead, one or the other. He was fast. And he was fast now, movements precise and quick as if he were field-stripping his gun, something he’d done a thousand times until his hands knew the movements better than he did.

  This was something like that, only he’d never stripped a woman like this, fast and rough. Someone who looked like him had to have a little finesse but—whoa—there was no finesse in him at all, just a sort of fiery desperation.

  Fast, fast, fast.

  Her sweater and bra, his sweatshirt, tee. He was kissing her again before they hit the floor. Everything else could be done while kissing her, without leaving her mouth because that was how he was breathing, living—through her mouth.

  He was trembling. Mac didn’t tremble, not anytime, not under any circumstances, but here he was, shaking, wanting to jump out of his own skin. Or hers, because at odd moments, like a flash across his consciousness, it was as if he were in her skin, not his.

  What she wanted could be read in her skin, in areas of heat he could read through some brand-new sense that had suddenly blossomed into life. She was hot, glowing all over, with her breasts and the area between her thighs emitting an extra bright golden heat. She wanted him to touch her, right there. Touch her skin with his.

  But—they still had some clothes on.

  With shaking hands, he unzipped his jeans and they dropped to his boots but then decided getting her naked took precedence. He simply couldn’t stand not being able to touch her all over for even a second more.

  He reached for the button of her slacks and missed, amazed at himself. He could defuse bombs with rock-steady hands but here he was—fumbling at a button, taking a full minute to slip a little round of plastic through a hole, trying and failing to catch the zipper’s pull. What the fuck? His fingers felt big and clumsy, like robot fingers, barely in his control.

  Mac was in control, always. Particularly with women. Most women agreed to fuck him on an implied understanding that he knew what he was doing, because sure as hell he had never landed a woman in his bed on the basis of his looks or his charm or his money. So he had taught himself control and smoothness. There hadn’t ever been a woman who could break that control.

  Ah, but this wasn’t any woman. She was pure hot magic, probably a witch who’d cast a spell on him because this was way outside any experience of sex. Way outside any experience of anything, actually, with all this crazy shit about flitting in and out of her head, her body . . .

  Ah! Pants undone, falling to her ankles together with panties, bunching around her boots. She glowed in the low light, there was no other word for it. Long, slender, strong legs, pale and smooth. An image of them tightly clasped around his waist nearly buckled his knees. He closed his eyes because looking at them made him harder than he had any right to be.

  She gave a little sigh and he opened his eyes a fraction of an inch. She watched him out of those bright silver eyes and he wondered if she could feel the lust coming off him like steam. Sure she could. Even a normal woman would. He was holding her tightly against him, so tightly his stiff dick rubbed against her belly. She didn’t need to be a psychic to figure out what he wanted.

  She looked down at herself. “I feel a little foolish standing here with my pants around my ankles. Maybe I should, um . . . you should—”

  “How do I get your pants off without letting you go?” he whispered. He could barely get the words out given the heat steaming in his head. His hands wouldn’t open.

  “You can’t.” Her push took him by surprise. In ordinary times, he’d barely register a push from a woman who weighed half what he did, but he was off balance anyway and he staggered just a little. Just enough to open his hands and let her go.

  Catherine bent gracefully and in seconds slipped out of pants and panties and socks, and oh dear sweet God, there she was, standing before him naked.

  She was blindingly beautiful. He wanted to close his eyes because she was just too much but then he didn’t want to miss anything so he kept them open. Didn’t want to miss one inch of that creamy skin, the tender dips and hollows, slender but shapely curves. Long, swanlike neck, delicate collarbone. Narrow waist, smooth little belly, a soft cloud of dark hair between her thighs, the pale, puffy lips of her sex peeking through. Her breasts—Jesus. Perfect. Milky white, soft, with pale pink nipples.

  Her left breast shook slightly with the beating of her heart. He stared and saw her nipples become rosier and harden, just by him looking at her. She blushed suddenly, a rosy color reaching down to her pretty breasts and he felt it, felt a wave of heat move over him, too.

  He was frozen, eyes greedily taking in every smoothly perfect inch of her, his dick trying to reach out to her, when she made a small noise in her throat and waved a hand at him.

  He looked down and besides his ridiculously swollen dick, pulsing with every heartbeat, he was hobbled by his jeans rumpled around the tops of his black combat boots.

  He looked like a dork, but when he lifted his eyes and saw the heat in hers, he didn’t give a fuck. In seconds, boots, socks, jeans were off and kicked to the side, Catherine was in his arms again and he was groaning with delight as every inch of the front part of his body touching her lit up like klieg lights.

  Kissing her and kissing her and kissing her, he ran his hand down her back, blown away by the softness of her skin, by the feel of her sleek, smooth muscles, then down over her ass, down down . . .

  He cupped her, waggled his hand. She obediently opened her legs and he slid a finger around, inside her. She was wet. She was small but wet and yes, he could do this. Because with all that his brain was blasted and he was burning up with the need to enter her, he didn’t want to hurt her. Not even a tiny bit.

  Some women liked it rough, and man, that was fine by him. Hot, sweaty sex, pounding into the woman, yeah that had always worked for him.

  But he was touching most of Catherine and he knew—not because she told him in words but because every cell in her body spoke to him—that she didn’t like rough sex. That she was relatively inexperienced. That she was turned on but that he had to be careful.

  All that was in him, a part of him now, like his hands and his legs.

  Later, though. He’d treat her real gently later because right now, he couldn’t breathe from wanting to be inside her, and though he tried hard not to be rough, he wasn’t gentle, either.

  One hand under her ass and he lifted her. Naturally, like breathing, her legs opened, clasped him around the waist, and just like that, he was in her, and holy shit, it was like plugging his dick into an electrical socket.

  Every hair on his body stood up. He stopped breathing, all his senses turned inward, concentrated on his dick tightly wedged inside Catherine Young and he shook with the intensity, his legs weak, ready to buckle, his dick swelling, swelling . . .

  He exploded. He didn’t even know it was going to happen until he was flying apart, his entire backbone liquefying and pouring into her, taking his brains and what felt like most of his internal organs with it.

  It went on and on, every muscle in his lower body pulled tight, straining, grinding into her while he held her so close to him he could feel her heart beat fast and wild against him as his hips tensed with every pulse of his dick. It took forever, so mind-blowing he lost the sense of himself as something separate from her, his entire being concentrated on where he touched her and particularly where he was buried deeply inside her.

  At the last pulse, his head dropped down to her shoulder and he watched
a bead of sweat, two, drip onto the smooth, pale skin of her back.

  He was strong.

  He could travel fifty miles in a day carrying a 120-pound rucksack. He could bench press 400 pounds.

  Right now he was incapable of carrying his own weight, let alone hers, too. He was about to collapse to the floor when a warning bell sounded in his hollow head. Collapsing to the floor with Catherine in his arms could hurt her. He wouldn’t collapse in a controlled fall like they practiced in training, rolling and curling to absorb the shock. No, he’d simply drop where he stood, falling straight on top of the slight, soft woman in his arms.

  He’d hurt her.

  He shuddered at the thought. He’d rather be shot in the face at point-blank range.

  Mac took one step toward his bed—two steps would have been beyond him—and followed her down, still inside her, still kissing her.

  It was so intense he had to lift his mouth from hers so that huge electric buzzing could stop for a second. Then he missed it and buried his face in the cloud of hair around her head and simply breathed her in.

  Even when he stopped coming inside her the intensity of the climax was still there. His cock felt raw, surrounded by tight heat, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. He was lying on her slender, smooth body, probably crushing her but there was no energy to lift himself up to take some of his weight on his elbows. And abandoning the feel of her along his chest—nope. Not going to happen.

  He lay like that, gasping for breath, buried deep inside her, her long, slender legs wrapped around his thighs for a century or two, the thermonuclear blast of orgasm dying slowly, though he still had spots in front of his eyes.

  Bits of him came back as he slowly regained consciousness and he became aware of parts of him that weren’t his cock.

  Nose, buried in her hair. It smelled faintly of fruit and spring and was thick and soft and warm against his face. Her breasts, crushed beneath his chest, feeling incredibly soft against him, rubbing lightly against him as she breathed. Silky legs along his side, hugging him.

  And then back to the biggie—his dick. Oh God, he was never getting out of her little cunt, ever again. She held him tightly in a molten hot embrace.

  Had she come? Who knew? He’d nearly passed out with the pleasure, barely inside his own skin, too blasted to wonder about her.

  Maybe he should find out?

  “You—” Only air came out. Jesus, he’d lost the power of speech. He cleared his throat, tried again. “You okay?”

  She arched her back a little, sliding against him, and a blast of heat ran through him.

  Against his thighs he could feel her wriggle her toes and she drummed her fingers against his back. “I think so,” she breathed. “Extremities are working.”

  Okay. Step Two. “Did you—did you come?” Mac meant to make it sound like a normal question and tried to sound matter-of-fact. It came out a wounded growl.

  In answer, her cunt clenched around him and his dick moved inside her, like a little dance.

  “Mmm.”

  He was still hard as a rock inside her but a little bit of blood was returning to his body. He lifted his head enough to see her face. She was in profile, like some cameo. Eyes closed, long lashes against her high cheekbones. Pink and perfect, those pillowy lips were slightly upturned, thank you God. That was in anyone’s books a smile. Or at least half a smile.

  He drew in a deep breath and felt her breasts and belly slide against him. He closed his eyes, then opened them. “I think we should talk, but I don’t think I can pull out. Just not an option.”

  His dick had a mind of its own and nodded enthusiastically inside her. It was rewarded with another small clench. That was a yes. They were talking with their sexes.

  Fine by him.

  “Okay,” she breathed. “Let’s talk.”

  “Wow.” It came out in a rush. “I don’t know what that was but I saw fucking colors. It was sex but it was more than sex. I felt like I was inside your head and I can tell you it blew my mind. Are you sure you didn’t cast a spell? Did you inject me with something? I don’t mind, I just want to know. And let me say very sincerely I hope it was as good for you as it was for me, but I have no idea if it was because I was too busy dying there to pay much attention. So can you tell me what just happened?”

  Her eyes opened, cast a look his way. Man, silver eyes were the way to go. He couldn’t even remember another eye color. “I have no idea what just happened,” she whispered. “It was, um, completely new to me.”

  Oh Christ. Mac pulled out just a little—a teeny bit because his dick definitely did not want to face the cold, cruel world outside Catherine’s body—then slid back in. Jesus. Tight. Very tight. Very very tight.

  He swallowed. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” he asked in horror. “Or were a virgin?”

  That earned him a small smile. “No. Rest easy.” A small hand came up, caressed the scarred side of his face, then dropped back to the mattress. “Whoa. I’m wiped.”

  Tell me about it.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  She huffed out a little breath, but maybe because he was lying on her with his full weight. If he were a gentleman, he’d lift his torso up off her and take his weight on his forearms. But no one had ever accused him of being a gentleman. And besides, he didn’t think his arms would support the weight. Every muscle he had except the one buried deep inside her was lax and loose, as if all his tendons had been cut.

  “Do I look like I’m hurting?”

  “Tell me no,” he insisted. It was suddenly really important to him to hear her say it. “Say the words. I need them. There wasn’t much foreplay—any foreplay actually—and you were so tight.”

  Another upturning of full lips, more a smile this time. Her lips were red and swollen, giving her that sexy Angelina Jolie look. Watching them made him hard. Harder. He swelled inside her and her eyes opened wide in shock. “Wow. From a smile?”

  “Just your breathing does it for me,” he croaked. “Try it.”

  “Try what?”

  “Breathing.”

  Those gorgeous eyes rolled. “Mac, I’ve been breathing all along.”

  “No, no.” Man, this was fun. The teasing tone, the sense of closeness. Well, they were close, he was buried deeply inside her. But he’d never had this sense of togetherness, ever. “Do it. Take a deep breath. See what happens.”

  “Okay.” A sigh and another roll of the eyes, indulging the nutcase. She drew in a deep breath, held it, let it out. And oh, fuck me if it didn’t lift her breasts more tightly against his chest. He slid a little more deeply into her while his cock got another infusion of blood. Her eyes widened. “Whoa.”

  “Tell me about it.” His hands cradled her head as he bent down to her, nose to nose. “I’m not too sure what to call this. Sex seems so . . . so banal.”

  A startled laugh came out of her. “Banal? Did you just say banal?”

  “Yeah. I think we’re going to have to come up with some other name for it, for what we just did. Like ‘mex’ or ‘shex.’ Shex would do it because it’s a mix of sex and hex. Because you are not convincing me that was natural.”

  “I don’t know.” Her head moved and her small nose wrinkled. “It sure smells natural.”

  Yeah. He was sweating like a pig and she was drenched in his come. The smell of sex was so strong it almost overrode her natural scent. Something hot flashed in his mind—the image of his scent penetrating her, his cells sinking into hers, making him part of her forever.

  “No, no, it was something else.” Mac dropped his forehead onto hers. “We’ll figure out a word. Can we do it again?”

  This time the laugh was loud, coming from her belly, sleek and flat against him. Her entire body laughed and she was irresistible.

  He stopped smiling, bent to kiss her, opening her mouth with his, stroking her tongue with his, and his cock swelled even more and he started moving in her. You couldn’t have stopped him with a gun to his head.

>   “Ahh,” she breathed into his mouth, and lifted to meet his strokes.

  Mac’s hands moved down her side to clutch her hips, grateful that some reason remained as he tried not to grip hard. He had strong hands and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt this woman.

  They moved into a perfect rhythm, his hands holding her hips, her heels riding his back. Slow strokes at first, moving easily in her. She was small but he’d pumped all the fluids in his body into her so there was lubrication.

  Maybe some of it was hers? God, he hoped so.

  Catherine dug her fingernails into his shoulders, lifting herself against him, and he speeded up, moving fast and hard now, his bed creaking heavily. It wasn’t just the bed making sounds. Their mouths as he kissed her at every possible angle, both of them breathing heavily, his cock sliding in and out, faster and faster, harder and harder . . .

  She stilled, her entire body going stiff, and dropped her head back, eyes closed, mouth in a small O. A faint rose underlay the paleness of her skin, darker over her cheekbones. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen at that moment, an almost otherworldly beauty.

  She gave a cry, her back arched, and she convulsed around him in sharp pulses that echoed his heartbeat and on one of those beats he came, just like that. No forewarning again, from one beat to the next his body simply going into overdrive.

  “God you’re beautiful,” he breathed, the words coming out of him unbidden when he could speak again. Not a compliment but something so very true it had to be said, acknowledged.

  “I think I’m going to turn your accusation around,” she murmured. “I’m sure you drugged me, did something to me.”

  He’d done something to her, all right. A lot of it. She looked wiped. Her arms had fallen away limply, as if she no longer had the strength to hold him, where during sex she’d held on tightly.

  He was still hard. Amazing. He had stamina but not like this. This felt like he’d plugged into some universal power source, because he could go on and on and on, forever. Or that’s what it felt like. He was still inside her, ready for Round Three. And Four and Five. But she did look tired, and between his ever-ready dick and her well-being, Catherine’s well-being won out, hands down.