He slanted his mouth over hers again and again. This wasn’t smart. It was downright stupid. But he had to taste her, touch her, and be the recipient of her unbridled passion.
Their tongues dueled, and he rose to the challenge. He walked forward until her back was against the wall. Part of his consciousness was aware they were in an alley behind the gallery, the space dimly lit by a security light. It was dirty and smelled of the city, but it suited them both better than the glitzy interior and fake smiles and laughter inside.
This was real. Their passion was real.
When he ground his pelvis against her mound, she wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer. His chest ached with the reminder he needed to breathe, but he needed to kiss her more.
The metallic sound of her zipper as he lowered it seemed as loud as an atomic blast and packed as much of a punch. He cupped a breast through the thin material of the tank. He cursed himself for buying her underwear as her bra put another layer of clothing between them.
“This is crazy.” She ran kisses down the curve of his chin before nipping at his neck.
“Yes.” It was insanity. Every touch, every scrap of affection, was imprinted on his memory.
“We have to stop.” Even as she said it, she flexed her thighs and gripped him harder.
He leaned forward and pushed his erection against her mound, able to feel her heat even through the layers of their pants. She was right. This was not the time or the place. They were vulnerable to their enemies.
That brought him crashing back down to reality. Shit, being stupid would only get him killed. And he had no plans to die tonight.
Still, he couldn’t resist one last taste. He kissed her again. This time the desperation was banked. Their lips touched, and the heat of her sank into him. She tasted faintly of the wine she’d sipped, but underneath it was pure Morrigan—sweet and spicy at the same time.
His leather jacket creaked in complaint as she tightened her hold. It would be so easy to drag her pants down, open his, and fuck her until they both found release.
Later, he promised himself. Only there would be no later. If he won, Morrigan would be dead or dragged back to Hell. Either way, she would be gone.
Life wasn’t fair. It had never been. He didn’t understand why some people seemed to skate through with little or no problems while others dealt with one tragedy after another.
No, life wasn’t fair, but sometimes it did offer gifts. Morrigan was the best one he’d ever received. She was also the harshest punishment, a curse. How could he go back to the way he’d been, now that he’d had her in his life? What would it do to him when she was dead or worse?
If she was dead, Lucifer could only torment her soul. If she was still alive when he dragged her back to Hell, he could torture her body and soul. Neither scenario was pleasant. And once she was dead, there was no way back for her.
He should curse the day he ever met her. And he did—when he wasn’t praising Heaven for it.
Everything had been black and white until she’d come into his life bringing color and chaos.
He ran his thumb over her full bottom lip. His entire body clenched when her clever tongue snaked out to lick the tip.
The air around them stirred. Before he even released her, she all but jumped from his arms and drew the knife he’d given her. Side by side, backs to the wall, they faced the threat.
“Well, well, well.” Lucifer strolled down the alley, dragging an elongated fingernail over the brick of the building across from them, the scraping sounds grating. Sparks flickered before dying out. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your little interlude. No, wait. I did.” He laughed.
It would be satisfying to wipe the smug expression from the devil’s face. But a cool head was needed.