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After what seemed like hours we finally parted. My gaze met his, and in the bright silver of his eyes both lust and memories gleamed. The rapid pounding of my heart was a cadence that filled the silence, and desire—both his and mine—was so thick and fierce it burned my throat with every breath.
I undid the buttons of his crisp white shirt, pushed it free from his shoulders, and ran my hands over the muscular planes of his chest and stomach, refamiliarizing myself with his body. His muscles quivered under my touch, but when I went to undo his pants, he slid his hand across mine and stopped me.
“Not yet,” he murmured, “or this will be over in a second flat.”
I laughed softly. “Has it been that long for you?”
“No. I just never did have much in the way of control when it came to you.”
His fingers splayed against my rear end. Heat pooled wherever skin met skin, and flared across my flesh like fire. Lord, his touch was even more intense than I remembered.
With little effort, he lifted me, then carried me across to the dining table. My rump had barely touched the glass when he slid his hands up to my breasts, teasing and pinching my engorged nipples. Delight spun through me, but I had no intention of being a passive recipient of pleasure. Ignoring his earlier warning as much as his halfhearted attempt to stop me, I undid his pants and pushed them down, then proceeded to caress and explore him as thoroughly as he did me. For a very long time, we did nothing more than renew our memories of each other, teasing and enticing familiar responses, until tiny beads of perspiration covered our skin and all I could think about, all I wanted, was him. Until the two of us were trembling, hovering on the edge of climax and aching for release.
Finally, his fingers slid through my slickness and entered me, even as he pressed his thumb against my clit. He began to str
oke, inside and out, and I shuddered, writhed, until it felt as if I were going to tear apart in sheer pleasure.
Unable to take any more, needing a whole lot more, I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer. A heartbeat later, he was in me, thrusting deep and hard, claiming me in the most basic way possible. Then he gripped my hips, his fingers bruising as he held me still for too many seconds.
But, oh, it was so glorious, being held motionless while my body throbbed with need, his body deep inside mine, heavy and hot with the same sort of need. I loved the feel of him. Loved his size and his shape and how insanely good it felt when he was in me.
Then he cursed softly and began move. Not gently, but fiercely, urgently, all control gone and nothing left but need. I was right there with him, wanting everything he could give. The deep ache blossomed, spreading like wildfire across my skin, becoming a kaleidoscope of sensations that washed through every corner of my mind. I gasped, grabbing his shoulders for support as his movements grew faster, more urgent, my body shuddering with the fierceness of his movements. Then everything broke, and I was unraveling, groaning with the intensity of my orgasm. His movements became almost savage, and, a heartbeat after me, he came so very deep inside.
For several minutes afterward, neither of us moved. Then he rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm and rapid against my skin.
“Dear god,” he murmured. “That was a whole lot faster than I’d intended, but it was as every bit as good as I remembered.”
“Dear god?” I repeated, amusement running through me. It was basically the human equivalent of the shifter term “by Rhea.” “Since when did you start using human terms so freely?”
He grinned. “Since I began fucking them for a living. Shifters may have won the war, but there are still plenty of wealthy humans about more than willing to part with large amounts of cash in return for a good time. And they are far easier targets than most shifters.”
There was something in his voice—an odd edge—that made me frown. “Calling them ‘targets’ makes it seem like you were doing more than merely seducing them.”
“Maybe I was, but who really cares? We’re talking about a race that stood by and did nothing while shifters erased our kind. We owe allegiance to no one but ourselves.”
“Humans lost the war, Sal. They couldn’t have done anything else but stand by and watch.” Besides, it wasn’t like humanity hadn’t suffered losses. Millions had been killed; not just those who’d created us, but all those who’d fought behind déchet front lines, and all those who hadn’t evacuated the cities in time.
He snorted. “It’s their damn fault the war started in the first place. You cannot continually squeeze an entire race of people into ever-decreasing parcels of land and not expect a backlash.”
“I’m not here to argue the rights and wrongs of the war, Sal. I’m just saying we’re not the only race that suffered. Everyone lost in that war—even the shifters.”
He raised an eyebrow, a touch of—not contempt, but something close to it in his gaze. “You’re defending them?”
“No, I’m not. I’m just pointing out fact.” Besides, I’d had a long time to think about the war. I couldn’t hate the humans because I owed them my existence, and while I will never forgive the way shifters had destroyed us, I couldn’t really hate them, either. Not when shifter blood ran through my veins and I’d spent so much time in many different shifter camps. I understood them far better than I did humans.
I unwrapped my legs from his waist, and he stepped back from the table.
“Another drink?” He turned and walked across the room. The afternoon sunlight caressed his skin, giving it a lovely silvery sheen.
“No, but I wouldn’t mind something to eat.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Bacon and eggs okay?”
“Divine.” I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had them. He continued on into the kitchen. I trailed after him, gathering my clothes but not bothering to put any of them on. “So how did you survive the cleansing, Sal? And what have you been doing these last hundred years?”
He selected our meals on the autocook, pressed a button, and then swung around to face me. His expression had lost much of its glow. But then, talking about the cleansing was enough to wipe the smile off anyone’s face. Anyone who’d been there and survived it, at any rate.
“It was pure luck.” His voice was soft, but I could see the shadows in his eyes, feel the pain and the anger in the emotive swirl surrounding him. “I was in Carleen when they bombed it. They wrote me off as dead and dumped me in one of the craters, along with everyone else who hadn’t made it to the shelters.” He grimaced. “By the time my body had repaired itself, the base had been all but razed, and all within murdered.”
