Page 64 of Redline Communion

Not tonight.

I kick off my boots and nearly lose my balance. His arm shoots out immediately, steadying me before I hit anything.

“See?” I tell him. “Perfectly fine.”

“That was a very convincing demonstration.”

“Shut up.”

I lift my shirt over my head and drop it onto the floor, then start on my cutoffs. The button becomes significantly more complicated than a button has any right to be, but I eventually win and shove the shorts down my legs, leaving me in my hot-pink bra and thong.

Rafe watches me for another long second.

I can practically see the argument dying behind his eyes.

Then his expression changes.

“Bed. Now.”

I grin.

There he is.

I hurry toward the bed, throw myself onto my back, and look up at him with every restless inch of me still demanding more — more noise, more speed, more anything that keeps the quiet from catching up.

The coke got me this far.

Rafe can take care of the rest.

Between the two of them, maybe I can keep my head empty until morning.

Rafe strips without any of my difficulty, boots first, then jeans and his plain black T-shirt. His boxers stay on for another few seconds before joining everything else beside the bed.

He climbs over me naked and already hard, the window light catching the edges of him as he settles between my legs.

His hand brushes my cheek.

That almost ruins everything.

I came in here wanting his mouth, his weight, enough sensation to wipe the last several weeks clean for an hour. Instead he touches my face like I’m something he’s afraid of breaking, and the gentleness gives me something solid to look at.

Him.

Just him.

For the first time since the second line, the room slows enough for me to stay inside one moment.

I turn my face and kiss his palm.

Rafe smiles for half a second before it disappears. Then he kisses my forehead and slides his hand between us, pushing my thong aside while I tug the straps of my bra down my arms, reach behind myself for the clasp, and toss it somewhere toward the floor.

My hands find his face.

“Rafe.”

His name is all I manage before his mouth closes around my nipple and my back arches. He takes his time, tongue first and then teeth, enough pain mixed into the pleasure to make everything in my head narrow again.

There.