He took over, thrusting slowly, steadily, head bowed over hers. A drop of sweat fell from him onto her temple. He wanted to lift his hand and wipe it away but any movements at all besides what he was doing seemed impossible. She didn’t even seem to notice, thank God.
Sophie arched suddenly, lifted her legs around his hips, drew in a shocked breath. Her sex contracted once, twice and then suddenly she gave a sharp cry and started rocking against him, soft tissues pulling at his dick tightly, milking him…
Control shattered. Jon’s hips hammered into her, hard, fast, rough. If she’d given any sign of distress it might have penetrated the heat in his head. Maybe. He hoped. As it was, Sophie was crying out but not with pain. She was clinging to him tightly with her arms and legs. He lowered his entire weight onto her so he could hold her hips while fucking her just as hard as he could. The bed rocked, swayed, the tall wood and leather headboard beat a hard tattoo against the wall.
It was fast, violent, hot. Hot hot hot. Their bodies were plastered together with sweat. It came pouring out of him and his lungs were on fire.
Sophie’s head was buried in his neck and she licked him, then bit him. That kicked him up another gear. He was pistoning wildly inside her, panting, sweating…it was too much. Just as Sophie gave another wild cry he plunged deeply inside her and held himself there as every single drop of moisture in his body poured into her.
He was digging his toes in the mattress to stay as deeply inside her as he could while he exploded in waves, shuddering and shaking.
He’d never had an experience as intense as that. It was entirely possible that he blacked out for a second or two. When it was all over, he was sprawled on her with his entire weight, plastered to her with his sweat, their groins wet with his come.
He was ashamed of himself. Sort of. The thing was it had all felt so goddamnedgood. He should assess the damage, right away. Find out how she was, see if he’d hurt her or even disgusted her because for a while there he’d definitely behaved like an animal in rut.
But every muscle in his body was lax, not responding to orders from central command. All he could do was lie on her and pant, trying to get oxygen back into his lungs, blood back to his head.
It took forever.
But finally, finally, a little control came back. Not much. Just enough to raise his head to see if she was smiling or snarling. If she was mad at him for losing control. He’d have to explain to her as carefully as he could that that wasn’t the way he usually operated and that he’d try to be more gentle the next time, if there was a next time. Maybe she was disgusted with him. All that sweating and groaning and, well, he didn’t smell like springtime, either.
So he lifted his head, prepared for just about anything—happiness, anger, anything in between, and instead what he got was Sophie’s head turned to the side, eyes closed and what was that? He turned his ear to her mouth and grinned.
Sophie Daniels, virologist, sexy, classy woman, was snoring. Light delicate little exhalations that barely qualified, totally unlike the rhinoceros snorts of his teammates in the field, but definitely snores. Delighted with her, delighted with what was happening to him, he slowly turned with her in his arms, so gently he managed to stay inside her, and adjusted her on top of him. Sophie made a wonderful blanket. Soft and light.
He took in one deep happy breath and let it out and fell asleep.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Sophie was dreaming.She and Jon were dancing on a rickety wooden pier far out over the ocean. The wind was still, the water calm, bright sun picking out diamond-like reflections in the water. Each step they took made the pier rock and sway, made the wood creak. Jon was kissing her cheek, over and over, a tender look on his face…
“Sophie, wake up. It’s nearly sundown. Time to go.”
Not kissing, tapping at her cheek.
She woke in a swoop, disoriented. She wasn’t on a pier out over the ocean. She was in a bed and the room was filled with shadows. Outside the windows the sky was the dark pink of sunset.
She sat up, still groggy, and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She felt the muscles between her thighs, the tissues of her sex, complain. She was sore and she blushed a bright red when she remembered just how those muscles and tissues had become sore.
Jon was standing several feet away from the bed, face grim and tight. He looked like he’d been up for hours and he looked like a completely different man from the one who’d been in bed with her.
“We’ll go just as soon as it becomes dark enough to use night vision.” His voice was tight, clipped, impersonal. Team leader to teammate. “I made you sandwiches. Eat as much as you can, you’re going to need fuel. I don’t want to stop unless we absolutely have to, it’s going to be a trek. There’s time for you to take a shower if you want. I’ve already taken mine. But I’d like to leave in half an hour.”
Sophie watched his face more than listened to his words. He’d carefully erased any emotion from his face and looked and sounded like a robot. An incredibly good-looking robot whose manufacturer had given it ripped muscles.
“Okay.” She carefully matched her tone to his. Impersonal, matter of fact. “I’ll be ready in half an hour.”
He nodded and marched rather than walked out of the room. Mission-ready.
Sophie showered, rummaged in Mrs. Robb’s amazingly well-stocked closets and came up with a silk undershirt, a thick cashmere turtle-necked sweater, jeans. Her own Nomex coat and winter boots completed the outfit—Apocalypse Chic. In the kitchen she found the food Jon had set up, two ham and cheese sandwiches and fruit juice. The Robbs believed in living right—the bread was whole wheat, the cooked ham and swiss cheese delicious. Jon had even peeled two apples for her and quartered them.
Jon showed up exactly half an hour after he’d woken her up. He was dressed for battle, exactly as he was when he showed up at her door, the Nordic god who seemingly fell from the sky on top of her. She remembered clearly the huge emotions at the moment—terror and hope in equal measure.
And then, they’d made love. As if those emotions had cut right through the usual getting to know you phase. Strong enough to blast right through all the walls people put up.
She’d known who he was at that instant—a man who’d walked through hell to find her. Not much else was necessary to know. It had been enough, more than enough to get past her defenses.
It was sunset now, the sky outside the windows a darkening blue.
