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Finding her clit, he continued to pump his fingers in and out as he lavished attention on her tight nub with his tongue, then alternated sucking and licking.
Anna cried out. He could feel her coming, and he savored her tremors of ecstasy, then pulled back to watch the last moments, still pumping into her with his fingers, trying to draw every ounce of pleasure out of her.
When she relaxed back against the couch cushions, dazed and satisfied, he rose up to kiss her again. Then he reached down to his jeans for his wallet and the condom he kept tucked inside. He rolled it on and lay over Anna again. She took him into her arms as if she wanted nothing more than to be joined with him. He slipped easily into her—she was so wet, so open, so ready.
Once again, she wrapped her legs around his hips. He pushed fully into her in one thrust. She arched and shivered.
Leaning on his elbows, he smiled at her. He moved slowly, wanting to enjoy the feel of every inch of her, wanting to memorize the look on her face—how her mouth slackened and her lips parted, how she made small sounds of pleasure, how her eyes lost focus and darkened until he could only see a rim of blue. Her nostrils flared, and color and heat washed over her face.
He couldn’t hold back any longer—he had to move. He pressed into her, his balls tight with need. Reaching between their entwined bodies, he rubbed her clit. He knew he wouldn’t be able to last long, but he wanted to bring her over with him. Anna cried out again and clutched at his shoulders. With a groan, he pulled her close. He pushed as deep as he could, bucking hard into her. Dammit, he wanted all of her.
He came in a rush, the air punched out of his lungs as he shuddered and came apart. She held him through it, hands clutching his shoulders while he released the stress of the last few weeks.
It took him a minute to gather himself together again, but he was able to sit up at last. He pulled off the condom and padded into the kitchen to throw it out, frowning at the way his hands were shaking. Sex never hit him like this. What was wrong with him? And what would come next? Would she ask him to leave? He hoped not. He really hoped not—he was in no shape to go anywhere.
He came back to find Anna sprawled on the couch, looking deliciously rumpled and sexy as hell, her face still rosy from sex. She smiled at him. “I do have a bed, you know.”
He held out a hand. “Lead the way.”
9
Anna stood, took Gage’s hand, and pulled him to her bedroom. She turned on the lamp on her side table and turned back to appreciate him in the low, amber light. Naked was a good look on him. He pulled down the covers and got into bed. She headed back to the living room to lock up and turn off the lights.
When she returned, he was facedown on the bed, short hair sticking up a little, the sheets barely covering his ass. His breathing had deepened, and she was pretty sure he was already asleep. One lean foot stuck out from the covers, exposing a well-muscled calf. Her fingers itched for her camera. She bit her lower lip, butterflies dancing in her stomach. Why not, she decided. This was a moment that she wanted to remember—and he was most definitely an image worth capturing and treasuring. She’d show him the photos before she did anything with them. And she wouldn’t take any that could compromise him by identifying him.
Slipping into her closet, she pulled out her digital Canon. She already had a lens on for close shots, so she just started shooting.
His skin was golden, almost glowing in the lamplight. She took a shot of just his back—the powerfully sculpted lines and curves, the muscles, just the hint of his ass under the covers. Moving, she took a shot of his foot—she loved feet. His were like his hands: long, narrow, tapering.
She moved closer and caught a whiff of his scent—something warm and rich and musky. Closing her eyes, she remembered him with his arms around her on the couch. She shivered.
A hand snaked out, catching her wrist. Her eyes popped open, and Gage dragged her into the bed. He rolled with her, and she ended up caught in his arms. He gazed at her, eyebrows lifted, and she smiled back. “Want to see? If I was artistic enough, I’d paint you, but I’ll have to settle for photos.”
“Naked pictures?” he asked, as his voice deepened. “Didn’t know you were into that.”
She trailed her fingers over his chest. “You look good naked.”
He pulled the camera out of her hands and put it on the nightstand. “I look better with you wrapped around me.”
She turned in his arms, wiggling up and over until she straddled his lap. Giving him her best seductive smile, she leaned in to kiss him. Groaning, he held her close. He pulled at her shirt. “This needs to come off.”
She put her hands over his, stopping him. “I…The accident I told you about. I have scars.”
“Who doesn’t?” He pointed to a puckered set of lines low on his hip. “Appendix out—didn’t help that a knife went in there a few years later on a mission.” He lifted the hem of her shirt and slid his hands up underneath. “You’re beautiful, no matter what—I promise. No scars will ever make someone worth your time think less of you. They’ll just show me how strong you are. So take it off. Please.”
Slowly, she unbuttoned the shirt, her insides dancing. When the white scars were revealed Gage pulled her down and started kissing each one. He palmed her breasts, and her nipples strained against her bra, begging for his touch. He undid the hooks deftly, and she slipped it off and pressed her chest against his. He was all heat—fire under his skin and in his touch.
Rubbing her cheek against his, she snaked her tongue out to lick his earlobe before nibbling on it. There was so much she wanted to do and feel. She wanted more of him—all of him. She worked her hands down his body, exploring, and slid one hand between them to stroke his erection.
With a groan, he pulled her tighter against him. He cupped her face in his hands and held her captive against an onslaught of kisses before starting to move his mouth lower.
Panting, she pulled away and sat up. She wanted more—she wanted alotmore—but she’d already come twice in the past half hour, and she was feeling a little oversensitive. Maybe they could dial this back a notch, give her a minute to catch her breath. There was no rush, after all. They had all night. She trailed a hand over his chest, then took his hand and placed his fingers on her chest. “What do the scars feel like to you? I mean, I touch them all the time, and I just…I don’t know. I’m used to them. Are they weird to you?”
He closed his fingers around hers and brought them to his right ear. “What does that feel like?”
Shifting her position, she touched his earlobe. “It’s textured. And soft.” She was used to flinching from her own scars, but his didn’t bother her at all. They were just part of him. Was that how he felt about hers?
Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled them to their sides, then lifted her top leg to rest over his hip. Lightly, he traced the cobweb of scars across her breastbone. “They remind me of a board game I played as a kid. I don’t remember what it was called, but the board was textured to depict different terrains.” Leaning down, he licked at the scars. Anna gasped. “Hmmm, they feel the same on my tongue as they do on my finger.”
