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My fingers found his hair, the strands thicker and softer than they looked, winding through them.
His mouth moved against mine with a fervor that spoke of restrained hunger, and I kissed him back with equal passion. The world narrowed down to the feel of Riker beneath my touch, the taste of coffee still lingering on our tongues, and the undeniable connection that threatened to sweep us away.
It was a kiss full of promises and perils, much like our lives chasing shadows and specters. But in this moment, the only thing haunting me was the desire to never let go. I moaned into his mouth.
Riker’s response was immediate and electric, his arms ensnaring me. But there was no force in his embrace, only intensity. With each heartbeat, I could feel the boundaries between us blur into irrelevance.
Then, in a fluid motion that showcased his bounty-hunter reflexes, Riker slid his hands under my thighs and lifted. I gasped, legs instinctively hooking around him as he deposited me onto his lap without breaking our kiss.
Here I was, perched on the lap of a man who could bench press a wendigo if the mood struck him, and all I could think about was the intoxicating mix of danger and desire smoldering in his dark eyes. The heat between us was a living thing, a fire sprite dancing in the space where our bodies pressed close. It whispered of wild nights and reckless abandon, of the magic that happens when flesh meets flame.
“I’m starting to think,” I murmured against his lips, the words laced with laughter and an edge of wonder, “that you’ve got some enchantment up your sleeve.”
“Only the kind you inspire,” he replied, his voice low and husky, sending a fresh wave of heat cascading through me.
My legs, as if they had a mind of their own, wound tighter around Riker’s waist, pulling him even closer—if that was possible—as his palms found new territory. His hands, broad and capable, slipped down into the back of my shorts with an ease that could only be described as supernaturally deft, cupping my ass. The sensation of his fingers against my bare skin was electric, sparking a wildfire that threatened to consume us both.
“Riker,” I said between frenzied kisses, “I’m about to make a wardrobe confession.”
“Oh?” he murmured, lips grazing mine with teasing lightness.
“I think your shirt is suffocating,” I joked, tugging at the hem with impish urgency. “It needs to breathe, don’t you think?”
He chuckled, a sound that rumbled through his chest, promising the storm to come. With a strength that spoke of grappling with creatures that went bump in the night, he peeled away my shorts and panties—without ever taking his hands out of them—in a single, fluid movement that left me breathless. If only I could remove evidence from a crime scene with such finesse, I mused, my career might actually skyrocket.
“That wasn’t your shirt,” I gasped, feeling the cool air kiss my heated skin. The sudden freedom made me want to laugh, the absurdity of undressing mid-embrace tickling my sense of humor. This was no time for laughter, though—not when every inch of me was attuned to the predator’s grace of the man beneath me.
The world narrowed to the space between our breaths as Riker’s lips left mine, only for a moment. His t-shirt seemed an unwelcome barrier, and he must have felt it too. He shed the fabric from his body, revealing a torso that might’ve been chiseled from stone by a divine sculptor.
“Damn,” I murmured, my breath hitching at the sight before me. It wasn’t every day you got to admire a masterpiece, especially one with abs you could probably use to grate cheese. My fingers itched to trace the lines of his muscles, so I indulged, letting them wander over the heat of his skin. Each ridge and valley of his washboard stomach was a tantalizing promise of strength, and I wondered how that power felt when unleashed in the hunt—for monsters or perhaps something a bit more primal.
“Like what you see?” Riker teased, a lopsided grin spreading across his face as if he knew exactly the effect he had on me.
“Could be worse,” I said, batting my eyelashes with mock innocence while my hands betrayed my true feelings, exploring the expanse of his chest before drifting lower, lower still, till they hovered over the button of his jeans.
“Only ‘could be’?” His voice rumbled with feigned indignation, but I noted the way his eyes darkened, how his posture spoke of a predator ready to pounce. And oh, how I wanted to be pounced upon.
“Modesty is a virtue,” I shot back, though my actions were anything but virtuous as I toyed with the button, teasing us both with the prospect of what lay beneath. “But then again, so is honesty... and honestly? You’re making it really hard to focus on our next move. Supernatural bad guys might be getting a free pass tonight.”
His laughter was a low sound that reverberated through my body, setting off sparks inside me that were dangerously close to igniting. The connection between us crackled with the same energy that lurked in the air before a storm.
“Focus, Tessa,” he said, but there was no real conviction behind the words. Not when his own hands found their way back to my skin, tracing paths of fire that made coherent thought a distant memory.
“Right,” I managed, my voice little more than a husky whisper. “Focus.”
The fabric of my t-shirt didn’t stand a chance against the strength in Riker’s hands. With a noise caught between a growl and a gasp, he tore it right down the middle. This time, it was his breath that hitched.
“Oops,” I muttered with feigned innocence, even as his arms slid beneath me, strong as steel cables. “That was my favorite?—”
I couldn’t finish the sentence before he flipped me onto my back. The couch cushions groaned under the sudden shift of weight.
“Guess you’ll just have to get me a new one,” I teased, propping myself up on my elbows and watching as Riker stood to shuck off his jeans. They hit the floor with a soft thud.
“Only fair,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smirk. It was an expression I’d seen when he’d cornered a rogue vampire or outsmarted a particularly slippery fae. A look that said ‘caught you’, except this time, I wasn’t sure which one of us was trapped.
“Fair is for fairy tales,” I shot back, but my gaze traced the lines of muscle that led downward, drawn like a moth to a flame—or more aptly, a hunter to her quarry.
“Riker,” I breathed out, my voice a sinful whisper as my fingers contacted his freed arousal. The heat in the room spiked even. My touch explored him, sliding over his skin with careful attention, reveling in the feel of satin over iron.
