Rowan was in heaven. She’d never imagined that making love could mean so much more than physical release. She had an emotional attachment that heightened every touch, every sensation, every murmur of affection.
She moaned as John sucked her breast, his tongue flicking her nipple already aching with need. She rubbed his shoulders, his head, his arms. She couldn’t get enough of him. Last night she had almost gone to his room, but she wasn’t sure how he would respond. He was trapped up here as much as she was, though it was by choice.
She’d wanted this, his touch, his kiss, a physical connection that told her she was alive and healthy and whole. But his assault on her senses was more than physical. She felt something else, something possessive and loving.
She didn’t dwell on it, because she knew it couldn’t last. But for now she could bask in his affection, his touch, his desire.
He switched to her other breast while kneading the first. Hot liquid pooled between her legs. A mere touch would set her off. Something about John’s caress, his kiss, his firm and seductive confidence.
She couldn’t define the feeling, but deep down she sensed she could give her body to no other man but John. He had claimed her soul when he saved it; it belonged to no other. She didn’t realize she was crying until tears pooled in her ears.
John must have sensed something, because he looked at her face. “Rowan? Honey, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head. Nothing she could put into words. “Kiss me,” she murmured, her voice husky.
But he didn’t. He looked down at her with dark green eyes full of desire, of concern, of love.
No. Not love. Everyone she loved died.
“Rowan, I-”
She cut him off by pulling his lips to hers and kissing him hard. She reached down between them and took him in her hand. He felt his pulse throbbing between her fingers. She took her thumb and rubbed his head. He moaned and ground into her as he returned her kiss.
It wasn’t just a kiss. Their lips joined in a passionate mating game, mimicking the act of making love they both urgently craved, a ravenous need that would never be completely satiated.
His hands roamed down her bare chest, under the waistband of her sweats, and touched her wetness. She arched her back, wanting him. He broke the kiss and pulled off her sweats. When he kissed her toes she sighed, stifling a moan. When had her feet become so sensual? His hot breath between her toes sent chills down her spine and heightened her desire.
When she didn’t think she could stand it anymore, his mouth left her toes and kissed her calves, then under her knees, trailing wet kisses all the way to her clit.
She came as soon as his tongue plunged into her. Her body rocked against him, her hands holding his head, his tongue circling her nub, prolonging her intense pleasure. She’d just begun to come down off the fabulous orgasm when he pulled up and put his hands on either side of her head.
“Oh, John,” she said, her voice breathy and not at all sounding like her.
His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded. His face was twisted with restraint. Then, in one swift motion, he plunged deep into her and she cried out. Not from pain, but the exquisite pleasure of taking John completely within her. He stopped, his face clearly showing he was trying to stay in control.
Here, with John, she could be out of control. Out of control in a good way, a way to purge and please, hope and yearn. She reached down and squeezed his firm ass, pushing him even deeper. His face strained and she felt his penis jump inside her, bringing her pleasure again. She felt another spiral begin within her, and he wasn’t even moving.
Then he withdrew and plunged again.
Holding back was driving him crazy, but John wanted to prolong the connection he’d made with Rowan. No rushing; he wanted to slowly make love to her, show her his feelings, feelings he struggled to voice, though every time he tried she stopped him.
She couldn’t stop this.
He pulled out and plunged again, relishing her tight core that accommodated him perfectly. He felt thicker than he had in a long time, harder than he’d ever remembered being. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back and keep this union.
But her hands squeezed and touched, pushing him closer, caressing the sensitive skin behind his penis, touching him. He moaned and pushed deeper, felt her writhe beneath him.
He couldn’t hold back, didn’t want to hold back. He wanted to claim her, bring her to orgasm, share her heat with his own. He pumped into her hard and fast and she panted beneath him, letting herself go, losing control.
With each thrust he ground into her clit and she gasped and pushed into him. She arched up and clutched him with her muscles and came around him. With a final thrust he poured himself into her. He loved the way her body met his, loved the way she kept up with him.
Loved her.
He moaned and collapsed onto her, sweating and completely satiated. He kissed her neck, her shoulders, her ears. Her lips. She held on to him tightly, as if trying to get closer, and he relished their connection. Even though she wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t let him talk about it, they had bonded so deeply even death couldn’t separate them.
Where had that thought come from? He shivered.
Rowan felt John tense after the most incredible sex she’d ever had. Incredible because she felt something other than the physical act between them, which was glorious. There was something more, something deeper, as if they’d committed to something without speaking.
Then he’d tensed.
“Is something wrong?” Her voice was low, barely a whisper.
He rolled over, pulling her on top of him, and kissed her lightly on the lips. “No,” he said and kissed her again. “We fit well together.”
She smiled slightly. “Yes, I suppose we do.”
“I’ve never found anyone I, um, fit so well with.” John looked at Rowan with questioning eyes and she sucked in her breath. She couldn’t miss the double meaning.
“Nor have I,” she said quietly, turning her eyes from his.
He forced her to look at him. “Rowan, after-after everything is over, I want to-”
“John, please, let’s not-”
He cut her off with a kiss. “Rowan, this isn’t going to end. We are not going to end. I don’t know exactly what’s happened, but you are a part of me in a way I can’t explain, and I’m not going to let you walk away.”
The pain she felt in her heart told her she loved him. She knew because the thought of him dying was the foremost thing on her mind.
Everyone she loved died.
“John, let’s talk about this later. After-everything is over.”
He stared at her for a long time and she couldn’t read his expression. Was he angry? Upset? She didn’t want to hurt him, but it would hurt more if she lost him. Yes, she was being selfish. But the great strides she’d made at putting the past behind her would be shattered if she cared too much and the worst happened. No plans for the future, nothing to wrap her heart around, not now. Maybe not ever.
In the back of her mind, a whispered thought murmured It’s too late. You care. You love him. But she didn’t-couldn’t-acknowledge it.
“I understand,” he said, then kissed her.
She believed he did.
The whore should be dead, but she’d beaten him.
The fucking slut fought like a cat, and Bobby sported two black eyes to prove it. They hurt like hell, and his vision was blurred in his left eye. If he had time-if he hadn’t been identified-he would go back and finish the job. He’d beat her to a pulp before slicing her throat and watching her bleed like a stuck pig.
But he couldn’t go back to Dallas. He was holed up in some fucking motel in the Arizona desert waiting for dark so he could steal some bitch’s car and get back to Los Angeles.
Lily was there. She was waiting for him.