He slid a hand beneath her sweater, his body holding her in place. She gyrated against him, her hands gripping the tops of his trapezoid muscles, her nails digging into his T-shirt. His fingers tangled in her bra and he swore, pulling his mouth away.
She gasped in protest.
He had her shirt up to her neck before he paused, his eyes a darker brown than she’d ever seen. “You sure?”
This was a mistake of epic proportions, but she was tired of thinking. Tired of running in circles and being lost, not only in the case but in her life. Where she should live and work and how she could protect her mother. She knew Huck could take her away from reality, and she wanted that right now. Maybe needed it. “Yes.” She didn’t need to think about it and ducked her head so he could yank the cashmere off. It flew over his head and then his mouth was on her lips, down her jaw and along her clavicle in wild nips and kisses. She ran one hand up his head to clutch his thick hair, surprised at the silkiness of the mass.
He raised his head again, seeking her mouth, taking her under. Her head clunked against the wall.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered when he halted. Her legs slid down him to find purchase on the wooden floor.
He yanked off his shirt and reached for the button of his jeans. In a raging and fumbling set of movements, they unzipped and kicked off clothing, leaving her in her bra and him in socks. His hands kneaded her breasts, and he flicked open the bra’s center clasp, yanking off the flimsy material. One strap snapped in two.
He lifted her again. “Tell me you’re on the pill.”
“I am and just had a checkup.” Everything inside her ached for him, and she lifted her legs again and pressed against him right where she wanted him. He was hard and ready. She moaned.
“Me, too. All healthy.” He smiled. “Although you’re the only person I’ve been with in a year.”
“Ditto.” She moved against him, more than trusting he wouldn’t drop her. “Stop talking, Huck,” she whispered.
He lowered his forehead to hers, his eyes blazing, his mouth so close. “All right.” Slowly, taking his time, he penetrated her. The muscles in his biceps clenched while he kept her safe against the wall.
She pushed her head back again, heat consuming her. Huck Rivers consuming her. She tilted her hips, and he shoved all the way inside, taking her over.
Pain and pleasure pinpointed in one moment, halting her breath. Then just pleasure.
Primal, frantic, animalistic pleasure ripped through her as he started to move, one hand digging into her glutei and the other holding her in place by the nape of the neck. Her head thunked again, and he swore, moving that hand up to cup and protect her head. But he didn’t stop. His body was one long line of muscle and strength as he hammered inside her, as out of control as she.
Sparks of pleasure burned from her breasts to her core, and she gasped in need, sinking her nails into the smooth skin of his chest. It was too much and not enough, a contradiction with no rational explanation.
She tightened herself around him and he groaned, dropping his mouth to her neck and biting.
The erotic nip sent her over, and she cried out, an orgasm blowing through her stronger than any force of nature. She tightened her entire body, strengthening her hold, whispering his name. Waves upon waves rippled through her, exploding again in her center and spinning her through the universe.
He groaned against her, his body jerking with his own climax.
Panting, she released his chest, wincing at the nail marks she’d left. Her mind fuzzed over. Her body went limp.
He still held her, breathing wildly. Then he leaned back, still inside her. “You okay?” His hair was damp and curled beneath his ears, making him look like a sleepy lion.
“Yes.” Her voice was soft and her eyelids heavy. “I, ah, I should . . .”
“You’re staying the night.” He turned and made his way to the bedroom, his hands on her butt, his chest warm against hers. “The storm is worse outside, and you have to be exhausted.”
She settled her face against his neck, holding on and for the first time in her life, trusting a man. “All right.”
* * *
Laurel stretched awake in the big bed by herself with the cozy flannel bedspread, her mind relaxed and her body sore. Wonderfully sore. She blinked several times and turned on her side to see snow falling onto the river outside the sliding glass door. She felt better than she had in weeks; her mind had cleared. Oh, she was still terrified about Walter and could feel the clock ticking down on the killer’s next victim, but her brain had kicked back into full gear.
Last time she’d awakened in Huck’s bed, he’d told her it was a one-off and that he didn’t want a relationship with anybody. Yet she’d driven to his house of her own accord the previous night, and she didn’t regret a second, not even the fight. She’d read about angry sex.
She liked it. Of course, she felt safe with Huck, so that probably helped.
Slipping from the bed, she used the master bathroom and then looked for her clothing. It was in the other room. Rare indecision kept her motionless for a moment before she opened a drawer in a worn dresser and tugged out a faded marines T-shirt to pull over her head. The material fell to just above her knees, so she was at least covered enough to fetch her clothing.
Her feet chilling from the wooden floor, she padded out to the living room, where her clothing had been placed on the sofa. Her bra strap was broken.
