Lure of the Wicked Part 20

Everything was going to be okay.

"Get some sleep," she said, pressing her cheek to the top of his head. "You'll have a busy day tomorrow."

And wouldn't he just? He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "It's the fountain, isn't it?" he asked wearily. "All of this with Alexandra and the sauna and, h.e.l.l-"

"Phin," Gemma admonished gently, but she dropped a kiss into his curls. "Sleep. We'll all need you tomorrow."

She left him brooding in the dark. The bedroom door slid shut behind him, and Phin knew she was right. In the morning he'd have to start scouring the halls, bringing in even more security, even think about closing the resort for the duration.

Two people were missing. A princ.i.p.al guest nearly killed. Things malfunctioning. Naomi attacked.

It had to be about the fountain. Or, and he didn't know which was worse, about the underground Timeless supported. Somehow, someone suspected witch activity, and this was the f.u.c.king price they'd have to pay.

d.a.m.n it.

They'd take a ma.s.sive hit to the books, of course they would. But he couldn't risk the privacy of the people inside. Possibly even their lives.

But what would he tell them? What could he say that wouldn't destroy everything he and his mothers had worked so hard to build?

What the h.e.l.l was going on?

He didn't know. The same questions had gone around and around in his head while he'd prepared Naomi's bed, waited for his mothers to help her. Waited for her to wake up.

Just . . . waited.

So he watched Naomi sleep instead of thinking about it. Watched her eyebrows work together into a slow knot of worry. Of anger, of something deeper. Pain.

Who the h.e.l.l was she?

Shadows crept through the suite, lengthening into pitch black as the night wore on. Somewhere in the quiet, Phin lost the fight with himself. He slid into a fitful sleep shattered by images of blood and spattered brick. By corpses at his feet.

Camera flashes in his eyes.

When he jerked awake, nothing but the faint tick, tick, tock of his wrist.w.a.tch broke the silence. He fumbled for his sleeve, squinting at the dim numbers. Three in the morning.

His back cramped as he straightened from an awkward slouch. The chair creaked, and he rubbed at his face as he stood. Quietly he stripped off his s.h.i.+rt.

He'd had nothing but time earlier, so he'd tidied her room while he waited. The state of her suite hadn't surprised him, not really. He'd seen worse. She wasn't kind to her clothes-as if bloodstained designer silk wasn't bad enough-so he'd hung up the articles of clothing that she'd left strewn around her empty bags.

He'd even organized her shoes.

Tomorrow he could tease her about it. When she was awake and he wasn't so. . .

Suspicious. Angry. Terrified.

His body aching, Phin longed for a shower. Instead he knew that he'd have to wait for daylight, and the answers he wasn't sure would be forthcoming.

Would she tell him?

Doubtful.

Smiling wryly, knowing it lacked all pretense at humor, Phin toed off his shoes and cracked open the armoire door. He hung up his s.h.i.+rt on a padded hangar, placed his shoes beside hers on the armoire floor, and quietly pushed the door closed again. He braced one hand on the wood for balance, rubbing at his tired, sleep-fogged head with the other.

The bedcovers rustled.

His stomach muscles clenched.

Turning slowly, so much apprehension pouring through his mind, Phin saw her framed in shadow and the faintest thread of light. Her hair fell in tousled midnight streaks, the bandage at her shoulder stark white against the shadowed outline of her pale skin. Hazy, uncertain, her eyes gleamed from the frame of a face that he instinctively knew had seen so much more than a single bullet from the night.

Why? Why did he want to soothe those shadows from her violet eyes?

She pressed the heel of her hand into her temple. "Phin?" she murmured.

Something shattered in his chest. Something coiled tight and tense low in his gut, but it was the breathless agony somewhere near his heart that broke any resolve he had. His breath eased out in a loud, shaking sigh.

"d.a.m.n it, Naomi," he said roughly, and crossed the room in short, angry strides.

She was already reaching for him. The mattress dipped under his weight as he knelt, spilling her against his chest, into his arms. With a groan, he wrapped them around her so fragile body, around the sleek muscles he knew came from doing whatever it was she did that made her so familiar with bullets and snipers.

And he didn't care.

"Kiss me," she whispered, her mouth offered like a gift, a sweet taste of heaven. Her fingers mapped his naked back. Stroked his shoulders, his biceps. "I'm fine, it doesn't hurt, Phin, just-"

He obliged. Tilting her face up, he kissed her with the warning sound of alarms wailing in his head, and he didn't care. Her mouth was soft and hungry, her lips warm, pliant.

And she deserved so much more than what she thought she wanted.

Phin gentled the kiss, eased away just enough so he could feather his lips over the curve of her bottom lip. Her cheeks. Her nose and the almost completely healed cut there. Her eyelids, her forehead.

His hands stroked over her neck, down her sides. Wordless, he scooped her into his arms. Laid her out full-length upon the mattress and stripped the simple nights.h.i.+rt over her head, taking his time to look at her. Just look.

His eyes skimmed over her long, lean body, naked and so irresistible. Soft and hard, silken skin and tensile muscle. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were high and perfect, small pink nipples thrust proudly, beaded tight from wanting.

Wanting him. Phin's body clenched tightly, already achingly hard, but he didn't move. Not yet. He couldn't.

She was okay.

G.o.d, she was stunning.

Her waist was trim, her hips were, Christ, perfect for him to hold on to, to sink his fingers into, and he knew that already. Her legs were long, joined by the neat thatch of dark hair shaped and trimmed by a day at his own spa.

And the tattoo tucked just under her hipbone. A neat circle of dark ink, its detail blurred in the dark. He didn't need to see the fine lines to recognize it. To know he courted danger. That he desperately craved the undivided attention of a witch hunter.

Tomorrow. He'd ask questions tomorrow.

She moved restlessly beneath his hot gaze, one knee easing up. Hips s.h.i.+fting. "Phin-"

"Shh." Soft as silk, he ran his palm down the center of her chest. Across her stomach. It fluttered, physical echo of her shaking breath, and he smiled crookedly as he touched one beaded nipple with his lips. His tongue. She gasped, jerked under his hand as he threaded his fingers into that soft strip of dark hair at the vee of her legs.

He brushed against her hot, already damp cleft and made her whimper.

But he wasn't going to go too fast this time. Ignoring her urgings, her muttered curse, he split his attention between her sweet b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the fascinating bud of her c.l.i.t. He pulled on her nipple with his lips, laved at the pink tip until she squirmed, all the while stroking her more delicate flesh with his fingers. Feeling her swell with her arousal. Grow hotter, wetter.

She writhed. Gasped. Pleaded.

Phin s.h.i.+fted on his knees, ran his mouth over the taut muscles of her belly. Over her abdomen, and the clench of muscle there, too. She was perfect. Fit.

Tattooed.

He ran his tongue over the faintly raised skin of the seal of St. Andrew. Tasted the sweat of her body, smelled the hot, sharp scent of her s.e.x, and swallowed back a wild need to bury himself in her now, right now, and let it all go in the depths of her willing body.

At least for a night, they could pretend that everything was exactly what it seemed.

But that would be done too fast. Over. She deserved better. She needed better. Phin was determined to give it to her.

Seizing her hips in both hands, he eased a knee between her legs. Breathed softly on the trembling flesh of her inner thigh as he whispered over her skin. Over her trimmed, damp curls. He let her know in no uncertain terms what he meant to do.

What he'd been wanting to do since he'd first seen her, trouble in curve-hugging denim.

How he meant to do it.

Naomi arched. "No, Phin, I can't- Oh, G.o.d."

He plunged his tongue between the soft folds of her s.e.x, laved at the tight knot of nerves there. Gentle turned ardent as she bucked, his hands tight on her hips, holding her still when she tried to twist away. She couldn't s.h.i.+ft out from underneath the exquisite torture he knew she suffered.

Knew she wanted desperately to avoid.

Phin didn't, couldn't stop.

Ignoring her pleading, whimpering cries, he dragged his tongue across the cleft of her body, plunged it deep inside to taste the very essence of her. Sweet and so intoxicating. He needed her to understand, to recognize that he would take his time with her tonight.

That he could press every b.u.t.ton in her traitorous, needy body and leave her shattered and shaking at his feet. And when she was done, when he was done, he'd still be there to cradle her in his arms.

He would protect her, this time.

More, he wanted Naomi to know that he loved this. Loved the smell of her, intoxicating and seductive as no perfume ever could be. That he wanted her, her, stripped of masks and pretenses.

He wanted her to climax so hard, she forgot her own name in the aftermath.

Knowing it for the reckless move it was, fighting every growling urge of his own tightly wound body, he used his fingers to separate the folds of her flesh, to reveal her to the night and his scorching approval. Slowly, so slowly, he inserted one finger into her wet heat, nearly groaned aloud as her muscles clamped down on it.

His d.i.c.k jerked, as demanding as she was. As unforgiving and needy.

Gritting his teeth, he rotated his wrist, crooked his finger just so, and knew he'd found that perfect erogenous zone as her back nearly bent off the bed on a sharp, wild cry. Unable to help himself, he closed his lips over her c.l.i.t, sucked that bead of flesh and nerves into his mouth and quirked his finger at the same time.

She climaxed crying his name, her body shuddering, clenching hard and wet and violently around his finger and driving him to the absolute brink of sanity. In the dark, he knew she couldn't see the pure, fierce satisfaction on his face. Knowing how hard she came, how hard she fought it. And that he could make her do it again.

And would, over and over and over, before the night was out.

It was the work of a moment to strip off his slacks, leaving them discarded on the floor. She was still shaking, her hands covering her face through gasps of shock, of decadent liberation, as he crawled back up her body. She shuddered as he licked a path from navel to breast.

She stifled a groan as he closed his teeth over her left nipple, bit down gently, firmly, until her shoulders flattened against the bed and her back arched with the sweet ache.

He took his time. Gently, firmly, Phin coaxed her sweet, lushly responsive body back to attention. To slow, spiraling heat. Naomi's hands caught at his shoulders, her nails dug into his biceps, but he resisted her. Even as his c.o.c.k throbbed in echo of his heartbeat, loud and heady, even as he ached from the wanting of her, he resisted her.

He wanted her mindless and twisting when he took her this time. He wanted those walls down. Just tonight.

"Easy," he breathed against her sweat-damp skin. He licked the gentle swell of her breast, braced his hands on either side of her shoulders and gave the same attentions to the other.

She twisted restlessly beneath him. "Phin," she whispered. Her eyes were closed, her full, lush mouth shaping his name the way he intuitively knew she'd shape his c.o.c.k if he let her.

Which would end it all. He was wound so tight, even the muscles of his abdomen felt stretched, sensitive to every brush of her skin, every arc of heat, that wild electricity he felt whenever she so much as breathed in his vicinity.

Now he had her.

"You drive me insane," he murmured against her breast. Feathering his lips over her nipple, back again to her navel, that tattoo; Christ, she tasted so good. Sweet and salt. "Ever since you ran me down, I've watched you move, wanted you in my bed."

Her laughter trembled, twisted on a gasp as he covered her s.e.x with one broad hand. Pushed against her flesh. "I-" She sucked in a breath, tried again. "I drive you insane?"

"Oh, yeah." Deftly he slid his hands under her hips. "I've dreamed about the taste of you. I've woken up with your scent haunting me."

Her sound of surprise sank into the pillow as he flipped her over, pressed one hand flat against her lower back.

"I've wanted to do this since I first saw you," he whispered, his own voice less than steady.

Naomi managed to get her elbows under her. Leveraged herself to look back over her shoulder. Her eyes smoky, dark with l.u.s.t. With half the sharp awareness she usually had. "Phin," she began, and dropped her face back to the pillow as he slid his fingers along the cleft of her bottom. He lowered his mouth to the curve of her hip, ran his fingers farther, over wet skin and along the folds of her s.e.x.

She was still so hot, still swollen from his loving, her o.r.g.a.s.m, still tight and musky and- She jerked when he slid two fingers deep inside her, laughed shakily as he bit the tender flesh at the curve of her bottom. She groaned, long and loud, when he dragged his fingers out of the tight sheath of her slick flesh, thrust them back inside in desperate mimicry of what his body demanded.

Her hips lifted, animal grace and reckless, frantic beckoning.

He could feel every inch of her clenching muscles, feel the sweet, sticky heat of her around his fingers.

It wasn't enough.

Her gasps, her moans; it wasn't enough.

She cried out as he pulled his fingers free of her body, arched into him as he crawled over her, nudged her legs apart with his own. The head of his c.o.c.k probed at the wet entrance of her s.e.x, teased her. Throwing her hair back, she wrenched herself to her elbows, slammed her back into his chest and rubbed. Like a cat.

Like she needed to feel him around her.

Inside her.

Groaning, Phin lost the battle with himself. With her. Braced, ready, he slid home, slid deep with her hips cradled by his and her back slick with sweat against his chest. He had no will left to fight as she pushed herself up, forced him to sit back on his heels, to catch himself, his hands spanning her waist as she rode him.

G.o.d, the pressure. The ache. The. . .

The wholeness of it all. The rightness. Of her.