THEY made it to the bed this time and Tristan was careful with Erin as he tugged the cover aside and lowered her onto the sheets. ‘I don’t know whether to get you out of that dress or not.’ He came down on the bed beside her, leaning on one elbow to look at her. ‘You look so incredibly wanton in it.’ It would have to come off, of course, but for now…for now he thought he might be able to move a little slower if she left it on.
He needed to touch her this time and to linger. He needed to show her that he could be careful with a woman. That he knew tenderness as well as insatiable need. He wanted light this time too, and the dim glow of the bedside lamp was just enough. He needed to see her eyes.
‘I could keep it on a while longer, I guess.’ Her eyes were dark and full of lazy satisfaction. ‘But sooner or later it’s going to come off. You know that, don’t you?’
He knew.
‘I want your skin against mine. All of it.’
‘You’ll have it,’ he muttered, for he could deny her nothing. ‘Later.’ He slid his hand beneath her dress and trailed it up her body, and everywhere he touched he drew a response. A gasp, a shudder, a plea. And then he slowly brought his hand down to where she was hot and wet and open for him.
He knew how to pleasure a woman, thought Erin hazily as he found her with his fingers. Knew exactly how to please her as his lips found the curve of her jaw and his fingers worked their magic. Too much, too soon, and there was nothing she could do about it. She was his. Utterly and irrevocably his, to do with what he wished, and if that meant he wanted her to come for him again with nothing but the stroke of his fingers and a layer of clothing between them then she would. Again and again and again.
That didn’t mean she couldn’t try and change his focus somewhat.
She put her hand over his and arched into both, and then she was trailing her fingers up his arm, revelling in the contrast of silky skin over hard, hard muscle. His was a warrior’s body, tough and lean, and she couldn’t get enough of it. Couldn’t resist tracing the sculpted contours of his chest, and all the time he was playing her with his hands. Playing her to perfection.
She felt the heat rising through her, felt her breath quicken, and resisted. Not yet, not like this. She wanted…more. She slid her hand to his shoulders, to the nape of his neck, and then she was drawing him towards her. She wanted his lips on hers, and then they were and it was so much more than she’d ever dreamed of. He was all darkness and heat and his mouth took her so deep, so fast, that she came apart in his arms for the second time that night. And cursed him in the aftermath.
‘What was that for?’ He was half indignant and wholly amused. ‘Shouldn’t you be thanking me?’
‘Thank you,’ she said grudgingly. ‘Now can I take my dress off?’
‘No. I’m trying to show you a little consideration here. Slow things down. You’re not cooperating.’
She started to laugh. ‘Kiss me less. Touch me less. That might help.’
‘Not sure that’s possible. I’m thinking of kissing you more. Stand up.’
‘I know that’s not possible.’ But she did it anyway and stood there before him in a crumpled blue dress with an ache for this deep, brooding man that she knew now would never fade. He came to her then, circled her like a hawk, with an eye to weakness, but the only weakness was her heart and that was in strong hands already. His hands. She lifted her chin high as he looked his fill and then he was behind her, his fingers barely brushing her skin as he found the zipper of her dress and slowly drew it down. He smoothed the straps from her shoulders next and then the dress was gone, pooled in a puddle at her feet and she was naked. ‘Finally.’
‘You know, maybe you shouldn’t talk at all,’ he said. ‘Comments like that could make a man want to rush things.’ He punctuated his words with a feather-light kiss to the sensitive curve of her neck. Maybe he had a point. He could be gentle when he wanted to be, she thought, and trembled when he ran his fingertips slowly down her spine and over her behind. And then he was in front of her, shucking off his trousers and then they were both naked and he was drawing her closer, skin on skin, and his mouth came down on hers, dreamy and magical as he took the time to savour her.
She gave too much, he thought, when he thought at all. So warm, so smooth in his arms as he took the time, this time, to learn what she liked. His lips at her collar-bone made her tremble. Trailing a finger across her breast and over her tight little nipple made her gasp. She copied his movements exactly, tracing her fingers over his nipple and letting them linger and he gasped. And then, with a wicked little smile, she took his nipple in her mouth and he almost lost his mind. Again.
So generous, too generous, and her laughter was dark and damning as he tumbled her onto the bed, coming down over her, all thought of tenderness forgotten as passion roared through him. He couldn’t get enough of her, the taste of her skin, the scent of her, her slightness and her strength. She was fearless, and fascinating, and, heaven help them both, she held nothing back, offering him whatever he wanted, and he wanted it all.
He took her breast with his mouth and she screamed her approval. Set his lips to her waist and she jackknifed in his arms as if she’d been shot.
‘Hurry,’ she said, but he was already there, pinning her to the bed and dragging her hands above her head even as her legs came around him and he buried himself inside her. ‘Tristan, please…’ Her eyes were wild with need, her body taut with it. ‘I can’t wait—’
‘Yes, you can,’ he commanded. ‘Look at me.’ He brushed her lips with his. ‘Feel me.’ He kissed her again and felt his control slip away. ‘Come with me,’ he whispered, and, locking eyes with her, he began to move.
Tristan dreamt of the dockyards of Prague and a night that was rife with despair. A thick mist eddied around his feet and the air was sharp with salt and the unmistakable scent of death. Anguish rolled over him like a wave, spinning him round, working him over, and he turned away abruptly. He’d waited too long.
‘No.’ Shudders racked his body, even as he clenched his fists and willed himself to stop. To make his face impassive as he watched the team from the coroner’s office bag the last of the bodies. He was a cop. He knew the depths humanity could sink to. But he’d never seen the likes of this.
The drone of a ship horn melded with another sound, an inarticulate cry of anger and grief. The sound was close; it might have come from him; he didn’t know.
‘Shh.’ There was another voice in this nightmare, a different voice, and it was Erin, smoothing his hair from his face with gentle fingers as she leaned over him. ‘It’s all right. It’s just a dream.’
‘No.’ He was still caught in sleep but it wasn’t a dream. That much he did know.
‘It’s all right,’ she murmured, and put her palm to his heart as if to stem the frantic beating of it.
He reached for her, gathered her close and drew a deep and ragged breath, breathing her in, the warm, feminine scent of her that chased away the memory of a raw and fetid stench. ‘Erin, they’re dead,’ he said hoarsely. ‘They’re all dead. I was too late.’
‘Shh.’ Her arms came around him tightly, protectively. ‘It’s all right now. It’s over.’ He felt her lips in his hair as she cradled him into her body and it was shelter from the darkness and the home he’d never found. ‘I’ve got you,’ she whispered.
With a shuddering sigh, Tristan slept.