Page 43 of Booker's Mission
Had any mattress ever felt this good? Or was it the fact her entire body ached from the past two days?
She bounced a bit as Booker collapsed beside her, his weight drawing her into him. She rolled, resting her head on his chest when he lifted his arm — drew her against him.
If she’d thought it was heaven being with him in a shack in the middle of the rainforest, then this had to be whatever was beyond that. Something higher, with soft sheets and no one actively trying to kill them. Just the sound of his heartbeat strumming against her ear. His fingers making lazy circles along her waist.
She must have hummed, or mumbled his name because he sighed, placing one hand under her chin, then tilting her head up until she was staring into his eyes. That color nearly teal in the streetlight filtering in through the windows.
He smiled, and any thoughts of drifting off to sleep vanished. Gone in two seconds flat. “Come on, sleepyhead. Let’s get you stripped down so you can actually get some sleep. Something tells me tomorrow’s going to be hell with your boss arriving.”
“Higgins is more bark than bite. And I did have permission, remember?”
“To observe. Not have your boyfriend’s team shoot your ex-boss’ helicopter down, even if the guy’s a giant dick.”
Boyfriend? Had he actually referred to himself as her boyfriend? And why the hell did that one word set her off. Have her pushing onto her elbows — taking his mouth in hers. Booker inhaled, as if he hadn’t thought she’d kiss him. That his words wouldn’t have her itching to do so much more than sleep.
He seemed to catch his second wind a minute into the kiss, tugging at her clothes. Yanking pieces over her head then tossing them on the floor. Less than thirty seconds, and she was naked, lying on her back as he shoved his pants over his hips, then kicked them off to one side. A quick shuck of those sexy boxers he’d gone on about and, bam… nothing but firm, hard muscle flexing in the dim light as he prowled across the bed toward her.
She took a moment to drink him in — follow the shadows and dips across his chest and abdomen — before he was straddled above her, his hair teasing his eyes, that sweet mouth of his grinning down at her. “God, you’re stunning.”
He laughed, easing onto his elbows, as if he’d remembered how much she loved having his weight on her. “By stunning you mean, tough and strong. Killer, really.”
She gave him a swat, inhaling when her hand just bounced off of him. “Wyatt’s right. You’re a jackass. And stunning in every way possible. Which reminds me, I don’t think I thanked you for saving my life… again. What you did with that chopper…”
He merely shrugged. “It’s not like I made myself bait for a dozen mercenaries.”
“No, you just took on them and Keith’s crazy pilot in a machine you knew we shouldn’t be flying in. How bad was it really damaged?”
“More than you’d like to know. Fine, we’ll call a truce for tonight. But come tomorrow…”
She lifted up — nipped his bottom lip. “You’ll be coming, again, if I have any say in it, so… give me your best shot, soldier.”
He chuckled, then dipped down, taking her mouth with his. Not hard, like she’d thought. This was soft. Coaxing. As if they had nothing but time. Which only did her in, more. Had her running her hands across his back. Digging her fingers into his muscles — trying to drag him closer.
The big jerk resisted for several minutes. Keeping it light. Kissing her with just enough pressure she was practically drowning by the time he deepened his seduction. Moved one hand between her legs. Started rubbing her in quick little circles.
That’s all it took. A few passes, and she broke. Hips pumping, nails scratching a line along his side. He kept moving, drawing it out until she was begging him to give her more.
He paused, looking as if he was considering whether to finally starting thrusting or if he was going to wait for her to recover, then keep teasing her.
Torturing her, really. That’s what it felt like. Lying there, every nerve on fire as an unrelenting need coiled low in her belly. An ever-present ache between her thighs no amount of foreplay would relieve.
Booker pursed his lips, then smiled as if she’d reached the right level of desperation, again. Just like back in the shack. Some benchmark only he was aware of.
She resisted smacking him as he shifted his position, settling his hips over hers as she wrapped her legs around him, just in case he reconsidered — decided she hadn’t reached critical mass, yet. What might cause her to have some kind of aneurysm or stroke.
Having him bottom out on the first stroke…
It was sensory overload. The leftover adrenaline from the mission, the giddy feeling from having him tell her he loved her, not to mention the sheer pleasure of his body over hers. Nothing but the night between them.
She must have called out his name, or maybe she simply saidmore,because he snapped his gaze down to hers, inhaled, then let loose. No control, no metered strokes, just Booker claiming her with reckless abandon. Exactly what she needed to push her over.
Several strokes in, and she was already cresting. Hanging on that razor’s edge, muscles tensed, that coil close to snapping. Another dozen passes, and the bed was tapping the wall — the steady rhythm keeping time with his hips. With every gasping breath she sucked in with the hopes of staying conscious because…
It was too much. The glide of his flesh across hers. The gravelly way he rasped her name as if just getting those two syllables out cost him. Ate at his control. And when he nipped at the soft spot at the base of her neck…
She imploded. Supernova just like the helicopter, nothing but fire and ash and her soul shattering into a thousand pieces. She latched her mouth on his shoulder, aware she was probably leaving a mark, but unable to stop. To lift off when it was the only way to ground herself.
Booker groaned, then stiffened, emptying inside her in a series of jerking thrusts. Tiny little stabs that drew out her orgasm. Had her drifting into a lulling haze before he’d even finished.