Part 10 (2/2)

”So good,” she whispered.

Still without a word, he took his hand away and leaned back. He took hold of her waistband with both hands and pulled, and she lifted her hips to help him.

He pulled her pants and underwear together down her legs, until he got to the boots she was still wearing. Then he stopped and, smiling down at her, lifted her feet onto his thighs and started unlacing her boots. He was yet completely dressed, boots and kutte and everything, but she didn't protest at all when he pulled her boots off and then rid her of her lace-up leggings and her underwear. All she was wearing now was a bra, scrunched up under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She reached under her back and unhooked it, then tossed it carelessly away.

Now, she was totally bare, and he was staring down at her like she was an exotic delicacy.

He pulled her to the edge of the bed, knelt on the floor, and fed on her as if she were.

And oh, f.u.c.k, he was good at it-better than she remembered. He lifted her legs onto his shoulders and then moved his hands to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s so he could pluck and tweak both nipples in time to the rhythm of his lips and tongue.

He went down on her like there was nowhere in the world he'd rather be, and she could think of few places she'd rather have him. The scruff on his face, the buds on his tongue, the heat of his breath, the rough skin of his fingers exciting her excitable nipples-it all made a symphony of sensation that Faith could barely contain.

She wasn't a prude. She had not been celibate during the past decade, not by any stretch. She enjoyed s.e.x and hadn't required an emotional connection to enjoy a physical one. But this-he'd been her first and in many ways, both emotional and physical, her best lover. He was better now. It was all better now. It was so good.

So good. So good, Oh, f.u.c.k, so good. She pulled her knees up and grabbed his head, holding him to her as she came, curling up around him, trying to be quiet but failing.

He stayed on her, his tongue flicking at her c.l.i.t until she couldn't take the intensity for another second. When she pushed his head back, he stood and began, at last, ridding himself of his clothes.

Except for his kutte, which he hooked on the corner post at the foot of her bed, he dropped his clothes wherever they happened to fall.

d.a.m.n. He was gorgeous. The same man she loved, but dramatically different, too. He was ma.s.sive, the muscles on his arms, torso, legs, everywhere, deeply cut. He knelt again on the bed and leaned over her. Then he twitched and sat back, reaching to the floor. Faith didn't understand at first, but he'd picked his jeans up and was fis.h.i.+ng in the pocket.

She made a call. She hoped it was the right call. But she knew he'd tell her if it wasn't safe. ”Michael.”

He stopped and c.o.c.ked his head. She hadn't understood before why he was so quiet during s.e.x, and she still didn't. It was just who he was. She loved his silence for that, if nothing else. She loved knowing that about him, feeling the hominess in that familiar silence now. She stretched out her arm and showed him a small scar. ”I have an implant. You don't need that.”

She'd used an implant for most of the past decade. Michael hadn't been very good at getting a condom on right from the beginning, and sometimes not at all, though he always pulled out. And she hadn't been good at stopping him. She'd learned it was better not to have to think about it in the heat of the moment. Because sometimes the moment got too hot to think.

He stared at her for a few seconds, then dropped his jeans. And then he was on top of her, his weight so much more than she remembered. He pulled her leg up to his hip, holding himself with his other hand, guiding himself into her.

He filled her, huge and hot. She felt full in more than just her body. She felt complete. She bent her head back as he pushed deep, unable to stop her cry. ”Oh G.o.d, Michael!”

When he didn't move, Faith settled back on the mattress and opened her eyes. He was staring down at her, pain riding his features hard. His cheeks were red. She didn't understand. ”Michael?”

His head fell, sagging from his shoulders. ”I...can't. I can't.”

The fear she thought she'd swept away came back and leaned in. ”You can't what?”

He shook his head.

Oh, no. This was not all going to fall apart while he was inside her. She lifted his head in her hands and made him face her. His eyes glistened. ”You can't what?”

The pain in his expression deepened, but he didn't answer. He wasn't going to tell her. But she wasn't going to let him go. She knew one thing he couldn't do: resist. She flexed her hips, drawing him into her as deeply as she could. His groan overwhelmed her own gasp, and he pleaded, ”Faith, I...”

She flexed her hips again. And again. ”Shut up, Michael. Shut up and f.u.c.k me.” Pulling his head down, she lifted up to meet him, and she kissed him hard, demanding that he finish what they'd started. With a sound of defeat, he did.

At first, he was gentle and slow, careful, like he was still fighting the demon that had come between them, whatever it was. They kept their mouths joined, kissing as he moved inside her and she moved with him.

But then her pleasure kicked into high gear and she began to move to her own rhythm, chasing the ecstasy she knew was headed her way. He sped up, too, keeping up with her. She knew the moment when he lost control-and she thought she knew, too, what he'd meant when he'd said I can't-because he made a sound that could only be called a growl and sat back on his heels, yanking her hips up with him. And then he f.u.c.ked her harder than she'd ever been f.u.c.ked before, far harder than he'd ever f.u.c.ked her, so hard and so fast that she felt jackhammered, and her grunts and cries were broken and syncopated by her bouncing body.

He'd been intense before, but this ferocity shocked her. Yet it didn't hurt her. She came hard then, and in a totally new way, one she couldn't describe, like he'd found another spot in her body that could stimulate to climax, something even deeper than a g-spot. Her juices let down in a rush just as he came, groaning as if his release were torture, his fingers digging deeply into her hips, his head thrown back, the muscles and veins in his neck and shoulders bunched and swollen, his skin flushed dark red all the way to his pecs.

When Michael relaxed, he did so completely, collapsing onto her in a heap. Faith wrapped her arms around him and held him, feeling his body shaking. This big, tormented man was so different from the smaller, tormented boy she'd known, but so alike, too, wanting so much to be good, trying so hard, and so much in need, that she felt like she was falling in love all over again.

Slowly, their breathing returned to normal, and he lifted away and looked down at her. ”Did I hurt...I'm s-”

She put her hand over his mouth. ”Don't you dare. I'm not hurt. I love you. I loved that. There is nothing here at all to feel bad about. We're safe now. We're good.”

Nodding, he kissed her hand. ”Okay. Okay. We're good. Okay.”

He dropped his head and tucked his face against her neck, and she held him.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

Demon woke on his back, with Sly curled between his knees and Faith leaning over him, running her hands over his chest, making soft swirls and waves of sensation over and over.

He had Faith in his arms.

In his head and his body, he was quiet. He could have wept for the ease he felt, alien to him in its comfort.

Seeing him awake, she smiled down at him and put her hand over his heart. ”It's still there.”

He smiled and combed his hand through her beautiful, dark hair, messy now from their s.e.x. ”My heart? Yeah. Waiting for you.”

That made her smile grow, but she shook her head and traced one finger over his skin. ”No. Your ink. The one I knew. The kanji. I thought you'd covered it up, like your old club ink, but it's still in here. Just...tangled up in the rest of the ink now.”

The symbol for strength. He'd gotten it shortly after he'd aged out of foster care. He'd been homeless at the time, but he'd managed to squirrel away the cash for a cheap tat. It had felt important-crucial-to him, at eighteen, to get that ink. Back then sixty bucks had been a whole lot of money. He'd skipped food and shelter to save it. But that kanji had meant everything to him. It seemed stupid now.

Less stupid in this moment, though, with Faith tracing her fingertip over that old ink.

Her hand moved over his chest and traced a scar across his ribs, and another high on his belly. ”What happened here?”

Demon put his hand over hers. ”Life. Not important.” Not even to Faith would he talk about the club, past or present.

She met his eyes. ”Club stuff, huh?”

He shrugged. ”Got into some sc.r.a.pes.”

”What was it like, being a Nomad?”

Feeling some of his peace ebbing away, he sat up against her headboard. ”I don't want to talk about that. I just want...I want...” He was afraid to say. Everything he'd wanted had been lost to him-Faith, his home, his son. But he'd gotten a chance to have it all back-his home, his son, and now, maybe, Faith. The thought that he had traveled that full circle should have brought an even deeper sense of peace, maybe even happiness. But instead, Demon felt a creeping certainty that it was indeed a circle he was on, that he would lose it all again.

”What do you want, Michael?”

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