The Undead Pool

“I know what you mean.” What had just happened? All I knew was my relief was overwhelming, a tired acceptance and a sensation that everything was going to be all right, no matter what. My hands traced the outlines of his shoulders, and I let them follow the lines of his muscles down lower, anticipation stirring in me as he tensed.

His breath came and went, moving my hair. And still we stood there.

“Where is everyone?”

His words sparked through me, a thousand feelings, only one question. A flash of passion flickered and settled into a steady, demanding burn. Trent was here. Everything was different. Nothing felt wrong. My hand rose back up, finding a new tension in his shoulder. But he’d asked me something.

“Out.” I tilted my head and breathed long and slow in his ear. Once. Twice. Three times. Neither one of us moved. We both knew where this might go. My heart pounded, and finally I leaned my weight into him, stretching until my lips found his earlobe and I gently fastened on it, tugging suggestively. “All of them,” I breathed, not letting go.

Trent shifted, and I suddenly found myself pressed up against the wall beside the archway. My eyes opened. Desire was hot in his eyes, and a faint smile crossed my mouth as I wondered if I’d find out if he’d taken Al up on that circumcision curse. “Mr. Kalamack,” I said playfully, and he took my wrists and pinned them to the wall beside my head. There was just enough force in it, the demand tempered by passion, and it zinged through me, lighting me alive.

“I was kind of hoping you might not be a talker.”

I ran a foot up his pant leg, then back down. “Then give my lips something to do.”

His head bent toward mine again, and we kissed, lips moving against each other, testing, searching, his grip on my wrists edging into a new firmness. His body pressed into mine, and my fingers curled into fists, even as I held myself there, enjoying the hell out of this.

What am I doing! echoed in my thoughts, and I silenced it. I was kissing Trent, and doing a damn fine job of it.

But I wanted more. He let go at my slight hint of motion, and my hands dropped to lace behind his neck. Eyes open, I found his gaze. The light in them blazed through me. This was going to be good. I could tell already. It’s the quiet ones you needed to watch out for. “We are going to be in so much trouble,” I said, thinking it was funny, and he smiled back, eyes going to my lips.

“Then let’s make sure it’s worth being in trouble for.”

The husky depth of his voice dove to my middle. Fear, passion, desire. God help me. I’d been wanting this for a long time.

I thought of my bed as I pushed from the wall, but his hands were at my waist, and I found myself sitting atop the table. This worked nicely, and I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. Heart pounding, I went for his belt buckle. God, he had a slim waist.

His lips were on my neck, and I started as he found the last hints of the scar that Al had given me, the neurotoxins buried deep in the tissue flaming back to life, shocking me. They’d been dormant for so long.

“Sensitive,” I gasped, then blinked as I realized he had undone the top three buttons of my shirt and I’d not noticed. I inhaled as he shifted my shirt open to my shoulders to show my chemise underneath, his fingers lightly tracing my outlines. My hands sprang to his hair, burrowing into his silky strands as he tugged my chemise free of my waistband.

God, yes, I thought when his fingers met my skin, and I shivered as he traced the lines of me up until he cupped a breast. His head bowed, and I tightened my legs around him as he kissed my shoulder, his lips becoming more demanding as he inched lower, lower.

There wasn’t enough room, and I shoved Ivy’s papers aside, arching back on the table, my legs wrapped around him as he supported me with one hand as he pushed my chemise up . . . his lips finding me at last, tugging, pulling, bringing me alive with a tingling sensation that went all the way to my curled toes.

Moaning, I looked at the ceiling, gasping when he pinched too hard, hoping he would do it again. Ivy’s binder clips were in my back. There were better places to do this.

But Trent was working to get my pants off, and I sat up, breathless. I’d managed his buckle, and I let my legs fall away from him as I undid his zipper, pressing into him and biting hard just under his ear, one hand buried in his silky hair.

His motion hesitated, and he came back even more demanding. Smiling wickedly, I jerked his pants down, then shoved them even lower with a foot to tangle about his feet. The question of boxers or tighty whities was answered, and I smiled.