Firecracker (Last Call, Book Six) (6 page)
She scrambled to wrap her legs around his
hips, but everything was slippery. The tile heated at her back as
the stall filled with steam, the air thick with the sizzle of water
splashing on a fire that couldn’t be quenched.
“
Hold on to me.” His chest
rumbled against hers. “Hold on to
something
.”
There was nothing within reach. She groped
above her head with a whimper, running her hands over smooth tile
before giving up and grasping at him. Her fingernails sank into his
skin but he only hitched her higher, angled his hips under hers and
drove deeper.
Pleasure hollowed her out,
and Jarrett filled her. Consumed her. Her inner muscles clenched
tight around his cock, and Phoebe groaned, caught so close to
orgasm that pleading words escaped without her permission. “Make me
come, please make me come,
please
—”
He gripped her hips and backed away a half
step but held her immobile. His next thrust was sharper,
faster.
Everything.
She raked her nails down his back as his next
thrust granted her plea, shaking her apart with the force of her
pleasure. Jarrett sank his teeth into her shoulder with a shout as
he followed her over that peak, grinding helplessly against
her.
It was almost enough to trigger another round
of spasms. She turned her face into his cheek and squirmed, too raw
to feign detachment. “Don’t stop. Fuck me forever.”
His reply was lost to another growl as he
shuddered and clutched her hips tighter. She twisted her head,
closing her teeth on his ear when she couldn’t find his mouth. It
didn’t take much—another grind, the heady grip of his fingers
bruising her hips—and she came again, biting hard to keep from
moaning his name...or something far more revealing.
“
Phoebe.” A hoarse whisper.
A plea. “Yes.”
Limp-limbed and boneless, she melted against
him. “I’m so slippery.”
Bit by bit, the water running over them
cooled as their skin did, and Jarrett leaned back and squinted at
her. “You what?”
She laughed, and it was her turn to bury her
face against his shoulder. Her own still throbbed with the imprint
of his teeth, a mark that would undoubtedly bruise even her. “We
make things steamy.”
“
Uh-huh. How big is your
shower at home?”
“
Not nearly big enough. No
chains, either.” She nuzzled his throat and asked the question that
should have been forbidden, the one that took it beyond the safe
fantasy allowed by a place like Last Call. “If I fixed that, would
you visit me?”
His laugh blew hot on her wet skin. “Ask me
if I’ll ever leave.”
Her heart lurched in her chest, hope and
longing and terror born of both, of knowing how much it could hurt
when they were thwarted. “You will,” she said lightly. “Especially
if you don’t like what I come back as next time.”
Jarrett lifted her chin, met her gaze.
“You’ll still be you, remember?”
“
Men have said that
before.”
He smiled, an expression not of sympathy, but
understanding. “I’m not a man, Phoebe. And I’ve lived too long to
be obsessed with whatever the current idea of beauty is.”
She shivered, even with the warmth of his
body protecting her from the chilly water. “You really want to come
home with me?”
He hesitated. “I’m not really going to move
in on you, honey. But if you want, I’ll make sure you know how to
find me.”
He was slipping through her fingers. Her
fear, her hesitation, all the things that had kept her bottled up
inside herself for so long, the things that had driven her to
celibacy and loneliness... If she didn’t let go of them, they’d
cost her the first person who’d touched any real part of her in
decades.
“
He died,” she blurted out
before cowardice could win. “I killed him. My last real lover, the
werewolf I was with in the twenties. I—there was a spell, a charm,
and he pushed me too far. I burned through it, through him. You
should be sure you
want
me to be able to find you before you make any
offers.”
“
I’m sorry.” Jarrett made a
rough noise and pressed his forehead to hers. “Sorry it happened,
and sorry you’ve been so scared. But that’s not me, Phoebe. Us. You
can’t hurt me like that.”
Maybe she wasn’t the only one who needed that
assurance. “We can’t hurt each other.”
“
Not physically.” He brushed
his thumb over her lower lip. “But I can be careless in more ways
than that. Maybe
you
should be sure you want to get mixed up with
me
.”
“
You’re worth the risk.”
Giddy relief had her smiling against the pad of his thumb as a
bright world of possibilities unfolded before her. “Come home with
me. Tonight. I want to paint you, just like this. Rumpled and
satisfied but still hungry.”
He squeezed her ass. “Don’t want to stay
until morning?”
She wanted to put her hands on the wizard
who’d cast the wards on the room and drag him back to her
apartment. Then again, these wards were already in place... “Are
there more chains?”
Jarrett turned off the water and swept her
off her feet, up into his arms. “First thing to learn about Last
Call, sweetheart. There are always more chains.”
The Last Call Series
http://moirarogers.com/series/last-call/
AVAILABLE NOW
KAMIKAZE
Werewolf in heat, looking for
a temporary mate.
Contents under magical
pressure. Experience required.
Werewolf looking for a
dominant.
Supernatural looking for a
first lover.
Looking for a partner
immune to supernatural seduction.
Too hot to handle. Looking
for a fireproof lover.
About the Author
How do you make a Moira
Rogers? Take a former forensic science and nursing student obsessed
with paranormal romance and add a computer programmer with a
passion for gritty urban fantasy. Toss in a dash of whimsy and a
lot of caffeine, and enjoy with a side of chocolate by the light of
the full moon.
By day, Bree and Donna are
mild-mannered ladies who reside in the Deep South. At night, when
their husbands and children are asleep, they combine forces to
unleash the product of their fevered imaginations upon the page. To
learn more about this romance writing, crime fighting duo, visit
their webpage at
http://www.moirarogers.com
. (Disclaimer: crime fighting abilities may appear only in
the aforementioned fevered imaginations.)