Chapter 28

Christ, her voice was almost as coaxing as her touch. Sultry and unhurried. The tone made his dick twitch. And she was injured, damn it.

With a hand over hers, he ceased her torture before she could hit the waistband of his sweats. He forced a swallow. "How are you feeling?"

"Great until you stopped me. Or, I should say, you were feeling great."

"Not exactly what I meant." He sucked a harsh inhale when her tongue darted across the tendon in his neck and lit a path of fire straight to his balls. "Olivia," he warned.

"Nate," she mimicked. She eased him onto his back and sprawled over him, resting her chin on his breastbone. "You have a tattoo on your chest. It's not like the patterns on your arms."

He grunted, trying to follow her change of topic when his very erect, very throbbing dick was pressed against her belly and she was positioned between his legs.

While he was still processing, she inched the shirt up to his chin and glanced at the ink in question. She couldn't possibly see very much considering the only light was a glow from the lamp in the living room, but she traced the intricate wings that spanned his pecs and stopped above his navel.

"Why an eagle?" She tilted her head, studying the tattoo.

He had a branded mark The Disciples made him get and had wanted to cover it up. "Got it when I enlisted. It was my first. A sign of home or something."

She nodded and sat up, only to remove his shirt completely and resettle in her original position. Why he let her, he didn't know, but it seemed whatever Olivia did while touching him made him a willing participant.

She tossed his shirt on the floor. "And the others? The ones on your arms?"

He'd enjoyed the pain. Or, it had started that way. After one tribal design on his shoulder and bicep, he'd kept going over several sessions until he was as ugly on the outside as he was inside. A decent portion of people liked ink, found it sexy, but he'd never been one of them. It was a constant reminder to himself that his sins weren't redeemable.

"Nate?"

He sighed, not wanting to lie to her. It was getting harder to hold things back where she was concerned. "Punishment, I guess."

"For?" A wrinkle formed between her brows. When her gaze lifted to his, genuine curiosity morphed into understanding. "Lord, Nate. You were just a kid."

The last thing he wanted was to get into this again. It seemed she'd have an excuse or absolve him of anything. Except she had no clue he was the man responsible for her brother's death, and that was unforgivable. That he was even allowing her to get this close was probably the worst sin he'd ever committed.

To keep her talking, he struggled with a topic. "Do you have any tattoos?" He might reconsider his view on them. Then again, the thought of anything marking her perfect skin made him ill.

"No. I've thought about it, though."

Not wanting to push his opinions on her, he feigned interest. "Like what?"

She smiled. "I don't know. Maybe Nessie on my lower back or something." Her brows wiggled.

Caught up, he laughed. "What's with your interest in the Loch Ness Monster, anyway?"

"The myth's part of my ancestors' culture." She shrugged. "I like the idea of there being a mysterious creature lurking about no one's discovered."

"Like Bigfoot?"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's living in sin with Elvis on Atlantis. And I can find a seven-foot hairy guy anywhere near the mountains."

"Christ." He ran a hand down his face, laughing until his gut hurt. "You are something else." Sobering, he skimmed his thumb under her jaw. Damn, but she was beautiful. Even battered and coming off a fever, she made him not have the desire to look anywhere else.

"Are you ticklish, Nathan Roldan?"

"Uh" He didn't really know. "Maybe. Why?"

"I want to hear you laugh again." She grazed her fingers up his sides. "I thought your grin was panty-melting, but your laugh singes them to dust."

Again with the compliments. He grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms at his hips. "If I were to check said panties, would I prove you're lying?" Heart pounding, he stared into her eyes lit with humor and heat, wondering how she'd careened him from laughing to desperate-to-have-her in five seconds.

She wiggled her arms in a request to be set free and straddled him when he complied. Her lips hovering over his, she stared down at him. "Go ahead. Find out."

Great. A challenge.

Placing his hands flat on her back, he thrust against her and hissed. Christ, he wanted inside her, but not so soon after her ordeal. He could, however, pacify her itch.

"Baby, are you dizzy, nauseous, or have a headache?" He licked the seam of her lips and groaned when she parted for him.

"No." She nipped his lower lip. "I do have this awful throbbing sensation, though." She ground against his shaft and kissed him. "Would you like to know where?"

"I know where." He closed his mouth over hers and drove inside, stroking her tongue with his. And as soon as she was one-hundred percent, he was going to be inside her in every imaginable way. He'd put up a fight, but she'd knocked him down for the count. "I know exactly where, baby."

He rolled her beneath him and leaned on one forearm, keeping his lips fused to hers. Shoving his hand under her shirt, he splayed his fingers and was surprised, yet again, by how tiny she was in comparison. His hand nearly spanned the width of her waist.

She moaned into his mouth, urging him on. He eased his hand into her pants and cupped her mound. She jerked her hips and grabbed his head, taking the kiss so deep he'd require oxygen therapy afterward.

"They're not singed, baby. They're drenched." Wet and hot. She had barely any hair and her swollen little nub was begging to be teased by the way it poked his palm. He panted against her lips, his dick aching, his skin on fire. "How wet can I make you?"

In response, she spread her legs and hooked one behind his thigh.

He groaned his approval, needing to hear her voice. "You want that?" He added pressure to her clit.

"Yes." She opened her eyes. Blown pupils all but swallowed the blue of her irises and lust saturated her gaze. "More, Nate. Please."

It was the please that sent his heart jack-hammering. But his name on her lips was his undoing. He spread her folds and slid a finger inside. Shit, she was tight. And hot. And soft. She immediately clenched around his digit, seeking more. He added another and dipped his head to kiss her neck, lick her thumping pulse. Her breaths rasped and her hips undulated.

But then she turned the tables and cuppedhim. Through his pants, she stroked him from base to tip and squeezed.

He choked. "You, baby. Not me."

She didn't let go. She worked her hand past his waistband and gripped him.

Skin to mother-effing skin.

"Holy shit." He thrust against her, not caring about anything but her firm hold and how she seemed to know the perfect amount of pressure without any direction.

To reciprocate, he coated his fingers with her slick heat and pumped inside her, nudging her clit with the heel of his hand with every pass. She matched his frantic pace and ran her thumb across his slit.

Goddamn, he was going to come in his pants like a teenager.

As if reading his mind, she jerked his sweats past his hips, and took him in hand again. Stroking, pulling, teasing his head. He pumped faster as his lower back tingled in warning. To avoid a mess, he rolled them to the side, facing each other, neither ceasing the desperate ministrations.

He screwed her hand while his fingers screwed her and took her mouth again in a kiss that seared reason. Seconds later, her walls clenched him and she trembled. Stilled. Cried against his lips. Her forehead wrinkled in a close resemblance to concentration and her lips parted wide. Shit, she was even more stunning when she came.

He followed, unable to withstand it, and released jet after jet with a shocked bark. He withdrew his fingers from inside her and grabbed her ass, needing to touch her. Rigid, shaking, he opened his eyes to find her watching him as he finished. Something about her expression, having her so close, made the act less about need and more aboutconnection.

Heaving, he came down, unable to look away. Time passed. Hell, it could've been a decade for all he knew. But he stared at her in complete awe and wondering what happened. He'd sought women and he'd screwed his brains out. Nothing he'd done was anything like

"Olivia." He skimmed his knuckles across her flushed cheeks. "Not really sure what to say."

She smiled and reached behind her for some tissues on the nightstand. Then, shecleaned him off and reset his pants. Too confused to argue, he let her.

Afterward, she set her head in her hand and grinned. "I want it reflected for the record that I love your hands."

"You'll get no complaint from me about yours." He ran his gaze over her face and stilled when he encountered her stitches. "Are you okay?" She was supposed to be taking it easy.

"No."

His gaze jerked to hers as his stomach bottomed out.

"I'm great." A slow, steady smile split her face. "Besides being hungry, that is."