His side? Fuck his side. He tightened his arm and slid a hand to the nape of her neck, urging her closer. “It’s fine.” The last word was eaten up by the collision of their mouths.
His cock was as hard as granite. And not just hard, but aching with want—mindless with it. He wanted this more than breathing.
Her groan was just as needful, just as low and animal as the stuff flowing through his veins. She bracketed his head with her hands and licked into his mouth, tasting, then biting him, sipping deeper. Her body was the most fantastic thing he’d ever felt. Christ, he was burning up. Didn’t need this blanket. Didn’t need his clothes either. Couldn’t stand wearing gloves when they kept her from his touch.
With a growl, he pulled away enough to shove one gloved hand into his mouth and yank it off with his teeth, then the other. He’d just gone back to the warm, wet haven of her mouth, his skin so close to touching hers, when she shifted fully onto him. Pain shot through his side.
He saw stars, only not good ones this time.
She was off him in a heartbeat—too damn fast.
“Oh no. Did we open up your injury again?”
“No.” He wasn’t actually sure, but he’d do whatever it took to get her to climb on top again.
“Crap,” she said, sounding breathless, her chest pressing his arm with every inhale. “I’m sorry. I lost it for a second. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing at all,” he bit out.
“Yeah, well, then it’s us. There’s something wrong with us, together.”
Wrong? Hell no. Together, they were right. More right than anything he’d experienced in…fuck, well over a decade. He wanted to taste her again, wanted to feel those desperate, panting exhalations, wanted to see what noises she’d make if he managed to slide his hands under all those layers. He’d bet she was soft there. He’d bet she was hot between her legs. And, shit, he wanted her to be wet, to want him like he wanted her, to need him, the way he needed her now—bone deep.
“You okay, Elias?”
He screwed his eyes shut, tried to clear his mind. Not easy, given all the hormones flooding through him. He could almost laugh. “Yeah. Fine. You?”
“Me?”
“I seem to recall that you injured your head a couple days ago. Is it all right?”
“Um, no.” Her laugh had a slight edge to it. Was it bitterness? Hysteria? He didn’t know her well enough to recognize it. “I’m pretty sure the crash jarred a screw loose or something.”
She slid back into her spot—closer than before, but still against him. He liked that. Maybe she didn’t regret what they’d just done as much as she thought she did. He didn’t regret it at all.
“If you’ve got one loose, I’ve got a whole damn box of ’em. But you know what? I don’t care.” At her happy-sounding sigh, he leaned down and kissed her cheek, full of a tenderness he’d never thought he’d feel again. “This,” he said against skin that he could have sworn conducted electricity, “is what I’ve been missing.”
***
Getting caught was bad. Amka had expected to have more time. She needed more time. To save her family, her friends. Her wife.
Though her first instinct was to fight, she went completely still, her pulse flickering at the edges of her vision. Shit, she’d never been so scared in her life.
The man—whoever he was—didn’t move either. He just stood there in the dark aircraft, holding her so tight she thought he’d cut off her air.
After a good twenty seconds, when he hadn’t knocked her out or killed her or even put a gun to her head, she decided that maybe things weren’t as bad as they seemed.
“Don’t smash my ride,” he whispered right in her face.
She swallowed and caught her breath. His ride. Okay. She could do that. She could keep her hands off the helicopter. He hadn’t sounded the alarm. This was good.
“Okay.” She worked to get more words out. “Don’t kill my people.”
“Deal.”
Her eyes widened.
“If I let you go,” he whispered, so close you’d have to be in the helicopter to hear, “you gonna scream?”
