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“My bed is comfortable. Like sleeping on a cloud.”
“Then I guess we should save it for when I feel like sleeping.”
“Lady’s choice.”
The touch of his tongue along the curve of my neck sent pleasant shivers through me. “Any concern about an STD?” he rasped.
“I think they’re called STIs now, and we’re immune.”
“No, I mean an STD. A sexually transmitted demon.”
Right. One lesson Pops decided to skip. “Should I be concerned?”
“No.”
“Good.”
My hands explored his perfect form, arms and abs that had been sculpted and molded by his years in hell. I pulled him closer so that his body once again crushed mine. My fingers found his scars. The only thing ugly about them was the pain he’d endured to receive them. Nothing about Kane himself was ugly. The scars were part of him, and that made them beautiful.
My scars couldn’t be seen or touched, despite the fact that they’d been ripped wide open. They hurt, and I wanted the pain to stop.
“Your buckle is in the way,” I said.
He gave me a wry smile. “Only my buckle?”
“Lose the buckle and I assume the pants will follow.”
“Are you certain?”
I knew what he was really asking. “Yes.”
“Would you like to do the honors?”
I unfastened the buckle. And yes, the pants quickly followed.
I tried not to stare—but damn.
When I dragged my gaze higher, his lips curved up at the corners. Smug bastard.
I cocked my head. “It doesn’t burst into flames like your other special sword, does it?”
“No, but you might in a few minutes.”
I looked into the depths of his whisky-colored eyes. “Promise?”
We collided like two white-hot stars tumbling through space. The world blurred as his mouth claimed mine. I kissed him like I needed his mouth to breathe. Losing myself in desire, I opened my veins and poured myself into him.
His fingers were every bit as deft and masterful as I remembered. I barely registered the removal of my clothing until I was stark naked in front of the wall.
The hunger in his eyes was intoxicating. Intense heat radiated from both of us, to the point where I experienced fleeting concern for the smoke detectors. He might’ve been serious about the combustion.
I was aware of furniture only when we bumped into it. There was no Barry White. No smooth, sensual vocals to guide us toward ecstasy. The clattering sound of falling objects became our background music. We existed in an alternate space where nothing mattered except the two of us and this moment.
He was everywhere, filling all the space around me, and yet still I yearned for more.
Above me.
Below me.
