Chapter 8

eight

Then there was no more talking, no room for anything but the heat of his mouth on hers and the feel of him moving inside her. And for a moment, she could forget again. For a moment, she could pretend she wasn’t on the run, that this was just an enthralling tangle of bodies and emotions between two people drawn together by magnetic attraction.

Her fingers traveled up his back, tracing the pattern of scars and muscle. His thrusts were not gentle, but they were not harsh either. They were relentless and sure, riding her hard and fast, pushing her toward that precipice of pleasure again.

He was going to shatter her.

She needed to take control back.

She locked her legs around him and rolled, flipping him on his back with a thud that shook the bed. His eyes widened in surprise, but there was a wicked gleam of approval in them, too.

She leaned down, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders and brushing against his chest. Her lips found his, her tongue teasing against his as she set a rhythm that had him grasping at the sheets beneath them, his powerful muscles straining.

“Rowan,” he groaned, reaching up to grab her hips as if trying to regain control. But she didn’t let him.

She rode him hard, serving her own needs, her nails digging into his chest. His muscles bulged under her touch, his breath growing ragged as she took him closer and closer to the edge. She licked a line down his throat, nipping at the skin over his thundering pulse before moving back up to capture his mouth with hers.

“You’re killing me,” he breathed out against her lips.

She felt his hands on her back then, sliding upwards to take hold of her hair. He pulled just enough to tilt her head back and expose her throat, which he immediately started to trail with hot, open-mouthed kisses that made her whimper.

Dammit. He was stealing control again.

No.

She had to break the routine and shift the balance. Quick, before he completely turned the tables and had her tucked under him again.

She raked her nails down his chest, delighting in the hiss of pleasure-pain that escaped him. His grip on her hair tightened, but she ignored the sting, pressing her hand against his chest and using it as leverage to rise and fall on him in a punishing rhythm.

Her name tore from his lips again and again until she thought she could live forever off just that, off being the one thing that could shatter the control of Davey Wilde, the one thing that could bring him to his knees.

“Rowan.” His hands dropped from her hair to grip her thighs. His corrugated abs bunched like he was about to roll her, but she was ready, shifting her weight and sliding off him before he could pin her beneath him once more. Her feet hit the cold hardwood floor, and she easily evaded his reach.

“Not so fast,” she warned, swatting his hand away. She watched as he propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes blazing with frustration. “You’ve lost your privileges. Unless…” An idea struck. She walked over to the box of Christmas decorations in the corner of his room and pulled out a string of lights. “Unless... you’re up for something a bit kinky.”

He studied her with narrowed eyes, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

She merely smirked, coiling the lights around her hand. “What, don’t trust me?”

“Not for a fucking minute.”

“Good,” she said, her tone sweet as honey. “You’re learning.”

He watched her every move, his eyes never leaving hers as she climbed onto the bed.

His cock bobbed in response, begging for attention. She ran a teasing finger lightly over it, earning a choked curse from him. This was control; this was power.

“You’re playing with fire, Bristow,” he warned, his voice thick with suppressed lust.

“On the contrary, Wilde.” She trailed her fingers lower to play with his balls. “I am the fire.”

She straddled him and dangled the string of lights over his head, her eyes meeting his with a challenge.

He responded by jerking his hips upward, seeking friction that she refused to provide. He growled low in his throat, a feral sound that sent a thrill of desire ripping through her again. He was dangerous and untamed, but she held the reins...

...and the Christmas lights.

“You’re insane,” he breathed.

“Yet here you are,” she retorted, tossing her hair over her shoulders and meeting his gaze directly. “Ready to let me tie you up.”

His muscles tensed in protest underneath her fingertips, but he still let her raise one hand to his headboard and then the other. She looped the lights through the iron bars and expertly knotted them around his wrists. Then, to get into the holiday spirit, she leaned over the side of the bed and plugged the lights into a nearby outlet. They cast a soft, multicolored glow over his naked body and shadows across his hard face, highlighting those incredibly blue eyes.

Davey tested the bonds, and a muscle ticked in his jaw as he found them secure. His gaze found hers again, the challenge still present but now tinged with anticipation.

“Feel free to scream my name, Wilde,” she purred, sliding herself along the length of him.

A gruff laugh rumbled from him, and he shook his head. “Not happening.”

But there was a slight hitch in his voice that told her otherwise.

She trailed her hands down his chest to his cock. His breath hitched at her touch, and his hands fisted around the lights.

Her other hand went to his balls, teasing them and evoking a deep growl from him. She moved her fingers down more, exploring every inch of him before finally, she took hold of his pulsing length.

She was in control, and she reveled in it. The way she was driving him crazy, the whispered curses he muttered when she squeezed his cock at the base. The way he strained against the Christmas lights holding him to the headboard.

She moved on top of him then, positioning him at her entrance before slowly sliding down onto him, the sensation making them both gasp out loud. He filled her completely, stretched her deliciously.

For a moment, they just stayed like that—Rowan seated on Davey with his arms tied above his head, both panting and lost in the sensation. She skimmed her hands down his chest, enjoying the play of muscles beneath her touch. Davey watched her with hooded eyes, his gaze heated by lust and something else— something dark that sent a thrill of anticipation through her.

Her lips curved. “Tell me you’re not liking this.”

The bed creaked beneath them as she rode him, and the Christmas lights flickered with their movements, casting a riot of kaleidoscope colors over their tangled bodies.

“Damn you, Rowan,” he grated out. His fingers curled around the strings of lights, white-knuckled as she moved on him. “You’ll pay for this.”

“That’s a promise?” she asked breathlessly before leaning down to nip at his chest.

But Davey just groaned and thrust up into her, hitting a spot inside her that made her see stars. She leaned back, bracing herself against his thighs while driving herself onto him, rubbing against that spot over and over again until she was gasping and shaking.

Davey was no longer even attempting to hide his pleasure. His head tipped back against the pillow, a low growl rumbling from his throat as he strained against the twinkling lights binding him.

She readjusted herself, experimenting with angles until she found the one that made him nearly bite through his lower lip, his eyes rolling back into his head. The look on his face was enough to send a wave of pleasure coursing through her. He was utterly lost in the sensation, in her, every ounce of his Navy SEAL training seemingly forgotten.

He. Was. Hers.

“I really fucking hate you,” he rasped, the words choked out between clenched teeth. Then he came hard and hot, spilling inside her with a ragged shout that throbbed through her entire body.

Rowan couldn’t help but let out a triumphant laugh. It made sense that with Davey—the most stubborn, difficult man she’d ever met—pleasure and victory were entwined.

She kept moving, riding him through his orgasm until she reached her own moments later. It rolled through her like a tsunami, robbing her of breath, drowning her. It was raw and primal, leaving her boneless and trembling in its wake.

As she slowed to a stop, everything went quiet except for their mutual ragged breathing. The tension drained out of Davey’s body, his fingers loosening their grip on the Christmas lights.

With a sigh, she collapsed on top of him, sweat-slicked and satisfied. His chest rose and fell beneath her in an uneven rhythm, his chest hair scraping her sensitive nipples in the most erotic way. His heart hammered against hers in a way that made it hard to distinguish where one ended and the other began.

They drifted together in the afterglow… she didn’t know for how long. Long enough that dawn broke and spilled a soft, hazy golden light into the room.

They’d spent the entire night fucking, and now, as the rest of the world woke up on Christmas morning, they were spent and sated, their bodies entwined in a mess of tangled, sex-soaked sheets and twinkling lights. For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. The conspiracy, the threats, everything seemed distant and unimportant.

Rowan’s head rose and fell gently on Davey’s chest with every breath he took. She lifted herself slightly, propping herself on one arm and looking down at the man beneath her. His handsome face, usually so hard and serious, was softened by post-coital sleep, his lips parted slightly. The man had some of the thickest eyelashes she’d ever seen, and they fanned out against his sharp cheekbones, casting small shadows on his skin as the room lightened with the sunrise. His arms, still bound above his head, twitched in his sleep but didn’t seem to be causing him any real discomfort. She traced a finger over the stubble on his jaw, marveling at how a man who could be so hard was also so soft. The contradiction that was Davey Wilde.

God, he was beautiful.

She brushed a damp lock of hair from his forehead, an unexpected tenderness washing over her. “What the hell are you doing to me, Wilde?”

His eyes opened, revealing that mesmerizing blue, and a sleepy, sexy smile curved his lips.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured, voice gravely with sleep.

It did funny things to her belly when he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world, when he spoke to her like she was the first thing he wanted to see when he woke up.

No. Dammit. She couldn’t fall into those gorgeous blue eyes again. She couldn’t let him distract her. Their little detour had been nice—more than nice—but now it was time to get moving.

“Sorry, Wilde.” She slid off him, reaching for her clothes scattered across the floor.

“Rowan,” he rasped. “Untie me.”

She paused and pretended to consider it. “Hmm... Nah.”

His gaze hardened, but she simply ignored him and stepped into her jeans.

“Rowan,” he repeated, a note of warning creeping into his voice as she reached for her sweater.

“Last night was fun,” she said, turning to face him and pulling the soft cashmere over her head. “And I really am sorry for this, but it’s not like you gave me much choice.”

“Don’t.” There was a surprising note of raw vulnerability in his voice that she hadn’t expected, and a knot hardened in her belly. “Don’t run from me.”

She stilled for a moment before shaking her head and pulling on her boots. “I’m not running.” She made sure her favorite dagger was still tucked safely in its sheath, then zipped up the knee-high boot. “I’m protecting myself and those I love.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

When she didn’t respond, he growled low in his throat.

“Who’s after you? Who did you piss off?”

She paused at that and turned to look at him. In the soft glow of the Christmas lights, Davey looked almost surreal. His eyes held a plea that made her heart twinge. For a brief moment, she considered crawling back into bed with him, seeking the comfort and safety of his arms.

But then she remembered the danger following her wasn’t going to wait. She couldn’t either.

She turned away and heard the clatter of the lights against the iron headboard as he tested his restraints again.

“Let me help you,” he pleaded.

Rowan paused with her hand on the doorknob. She glanced back at him and felt a pang of… what? Regret? No. She couldn’t allow herself to feel that. Not now. Not when there was so much more than just her life at stake.

She offered him a bittersweet smile before opening the door. “I don’t need you to be my hero, Davey.”