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Still they said nothing as they stared at each other.
So Bryce wriggled slightly against his erection, drawing a hiss from him. She huffed a laugh. “I throw one smoldering look at you and you’re already—what was it you said to me a few weeks ago? Hot and bothered?”
One of his hands traced down her spine again, intent in every inch of it. “I’ve been hot and bothered for you for a long time now.” His hand halted on her waist, his thumb beginning a gentle, torturous stroking along her rib cage. With each sweep, the building ache between her legs ratcheted.
Hunt smiled slowly, as if well aware of that. Then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the underside of her jaw. He said against her flushed skin, “You ready to do this?”
“Gods, yes,” she breathed. And when he kissed just beneath her ear, making her back arch slightly, she said, “I recall you promising to fuck me until I couldn’t remember my own name.”
He shifted his hips, grinding his cock into her, searing her even with the clothing still between them. “If that’s what you want, sweetheart, that’s what I’ll give you.”
Oh gods. She couldn’t get a solid breath down. Couldn’t think around his roving mouth on her neck and his hands and that massive, beautiful cock digging into her. She had to get him inside her. Right now. She needed to feel him, needed to have his heat and strength around her. In her.
Bryce shifted to straddle his lap, lining herself up with all of him. She met all of him, satisfied to find his breathing as ragged as her own. His hands bracketed her waist, thumbs stroking, stroking, stroking, as if he were an engine waiting to roar into movement upon her command.
Bryce leaned in, brushing her mouth over his. Once. Twice.
Hunt began shaking with the force of his restraint as he let her explore his mouth.
But she pulled back, meeting his hazy, burning gaze. The words she wanted to say clogged in her throat, so she hoped he understood them as she pressed a kiss to his now-clear brow. Sketched a line of soft, glancing kisses over every inch where the tattoo had been.
Hunt slid a shaking hand from her waist and laid it over her thundering heart.
She swallowed thickly, surprised to find her eyes stinging. Surprised to see silver lining his eyes as well. They had made it; they were here. Together.
Hunt leaned in, slanting his mouth over hers. She met him halfway, arms snaking around his neck, fingers burying themselves in his thick, silken hair.
A shrill ringing filled the apartment.
She could ignore it, ignore the world—
Call from … Home.
Bryce pulled back, panting hard.
“You gonna get that?” Hunt’s voice was guttural.
Yes. No. Maybe.
Call from … Home.
“She’ll just keep calling until I pick up,” Bryce murmured.
Her limbs were stiff as she peeled herself from Hunt’s lap, his fingers trailing over her back as she stood. She tried not to think about the promise in that touch, as if he was as reluctant to let go of her as she was of him.
She ran to the great room and picked up the phone before it went to audiomail.
“Bryce?” Her mom was crying. It was enough to douse a bucket of ice water over any lingering arousal. “Bryce?”
She blew out a breath, returned to the bedroom, and threw Hunt an apologetic look that he waved off before he slumped back on the bed, wings rustling. “Hi, Mom.”
Her mom’s sobbing threatened to make her start again, so she kept moving, aiming for her bathroom. She was filthy—her pink sneakers were near-black, her pants torn and bloody, her shirt almost in ruins. Apparently, the firstlight had only gone so far in fixing everything.
“Are you all right? Are you safe?”
“I’m fine,” Bryce said, turning on the shower. Leaving it on cold. She peeled off her clothes. “I’m doing fine.”
“What’s that water?”
