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His finger moved to my skin and began a long, almost tortuous journey from my shoulder to my hip, then back up again, until he paused at the long, barely healed scar under my left breast.
“I didn’t notice this yesterday,” he murmured, his fingertip following the scar’s length, then journeying the final inch or so to my breast. My breath caught as he squeezed my nipple, his touch just an edge into the territory of pain.
“That’s because it wasn’t there yesterday.” I shifted from my side to my back, presenting my full length to his gaze. His desire flared brighter, igniting the flame of my own. If this was to be our last time together, then I wanted it to be the best time.
“It almost looks like someone clawed you.” His touch moved to my other breast, again more forcefully than needed, as he caught and teased my nipple.
“Someone did.” Amusement teased my lips. “How do you think I got the money for this room, Sal?”
His gaze leapt to mine and, just for an instant, something dark and almost predatory touched his gaze. “I thought you didn’t sell yourself.”
“Under normal circumstances, I don’t, but I need to eat and I need shelter, and I have no desire to enter Chaos to find either.” I shrugged. “It turned out he was after something more than just sex, but hey, I’ve done far worse in my time, and he paid well.”
His fingers brushed the scar again, as if he could uncover my lies by mere touch. “You took a chance with such an action—the authorities do not approve of sex workers plying their trade beyond approved venues.”
“I was careful, Sal.” I caught his shirt and gently but firmly pulled him closer, until my lips brushed his, as I added, “So is an apology all you came here for?”
He smiled. “It certainly isn’t.”
Then his lips came down on mine and he kissed me. It was a fierce thing, a hungry and yet oddly desperately thing, but it nevertheless sung through me as sweetly as anything we’d ever shared before. Perhaps because this was the last time we would ever share this sort of intimacy.
Or perhaps it was because I wasn’t the only one resorting to poison. It was there on his lips—I could taste the sourness of it.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed tighter against him. I could feel the tautness in his powerful body, could sense the need for satisfaction warring with the urge for caution. I released one hand and undid his shirt and released the ties on his pants. His cock sprang free, thick, hard, and eager. I caressed it, and a shudder ran through him before he abruptly pulled away.
“My apology will be entirely too fast if you keep doing that.” Amusement touched his lips. He rose and shucked off his shirt and pants. “Scoot over.”
I obeyed. He joined me on the bed and pressed his length against me.
And in doing so, signed his death warrant.
In that moment, I hated myself—hated Rhea and fate and even my birthright. I was killing the only friend I’d had during the war—the only person I’d ever really trusted—and all I wanted to do was cry.
I blinked rapidly against the sting of tears and forced myself to concentrate on sensation. He slipped a hand underneath me, pulling me closer as his other hand cupped my breast and his thumb brushed my nipple. Pleasure shuddered through me and he chuckled softly, then repeated the process, again and again, first one breast, then the other, until I was aching with the need to be touched elsewhere.
I turned and pressed my butt against him. His thick cock speared between my legs, moving back and forth through my wetness, teasing but not entering me. He nipped my earlobe, an action that again bordered on pain, and a shudder ran through me. He chuckled quietly and ran his tongue across the lobe, a touch that briefly eased the ache before he nipped again. I moaned softly, unable to help myself. He continued to alternate between the two, moving from my ear to my neck and across my shoulder before moving down my body until he reached my hip. There, his movements stilled. His breathing was harsh, rapid, and it brushed my skin with heat. Desire—his and mine—stung the air, thick and sharp and luscious. He was fighting for control, I realized, fighting the need to plunge himself into me, to take me hard and fast and furiously. And I knew why; he needed time for the poison on his lips to start reacting on me.
Given that I needed the very same thing, I didn’t move. Then his hand slipped between my legs and caressed my clit, and I forgot about the poison, forgot about killing, and just enjoyed. He kept touching me, teasing me, until I was slick and desperate and shuddering with need. When he plunged his fingers inside and began to pump them in and out, I came, hard and fast and gloriously.
It was his undoing.
With a groan that was all desperation, he flipped me onto my stomach, lifted my ass, and plunged into me. His grip on my hips was as fierce and as desperate as his strokes, pulling me back against him after every thrust. I closed my eyes, becoming lost in the rough pleasure, moaning softly every time his thick cock speared deep inside me. His movements became faster, harder, until the whole bed was shaking under the force of it.
Pleasure rose and tightened, until my entire body felt ready to break. Then my orgasm hit again and I fell so deep and hard that for several seconds I couldn’t even breathe. A heartbeat later, Sal followed me over that edge, his groan loud as he came deep inside of me.
Neither of us immediately moved. I struggled to breathe, struggled to come down from the high and think. All I wanted to do was collapse on the bed and feel the warmth of Sal’s body wrapped around mine as we both drifted to sleep.
But that was not to be.
Not ever again.
Again tears stung my eyes. Again I blinked them away.
With a soft sigh of satisfaction, he released me, then rose from the bed and walked across to the autocook, punching the button and ordering coffee.
I swung my legs off the bed and sat down, watching him. As the rich aroma of coffee began to fill the air, I said, “What did you use?”
He glanced at me, surprise evident. “Veritite.”
