doer, mostly the do-ee. Convent school and a squeamish fetish for avoiding vampire hickeys will do that to a girl.
I knew once we hit the bathroom spotlights I was going to blush. Pale skin is made for baring every hang-up, but this was what I'd wanted so desperately, Ric alive and vital again. Why did I always find it easier to make war than love? Why was Ric hell-bent on taking me over every hurdle in my once-sheltered life? Why did sex have to be so revealing?
No wonder Quicksilver had wanted to get lost, fast. For the first time, I wondered about his doggy sex life, maybe the reason for all those solo midnight runs of his. TMS. Too much speculation.
Actually, undressing Ric was a good ice-breaker. The racing-style suit Velcroed open at the extremities and then down from the mandarin-collared neck to the, um, crotch. He stood there like Vitruvian Man with his legs braced and arms out while I went to work high, low, and center. Men can be so out there.
I smiled as he turned his muscular, desert-dusky back to me, the bright lights revealing no trace of the ugly whip welts my tear-salted kisses had smoothed into faint silver scars. My forefinger traced the Catherine's wheel of strokes thinner than barbed wire, each touch evoking his audible purrs of pleasure.
I'd done this.
My silver talents and whatever remnant of Snow's Brimstone Kiss that had lingered on my lips had made the site of untold old pain into a new erotic zone.
Even as my fingers explored the wonder of what my lips had wrought, I winced.
How could I anticipate that Snow would absorb every slash the child Ric had borne as fresh wounds while I healed the old sites? What weird connection had been going on?
Ric was right again. In a paranormal world, every gift seems mated with a curse.
Now, as I played Ric's faded scars like a harpist, I couldn't help thinking of Snow. Could my pleasure-giving here slowly undo the damage done days and miles away at the Inferno Hotel? How much, over how many times? Or would the exchange of damage last forever?
I recalled Snow, fatalistic and as supernaturally cool as ever when we'd last met ... the first time after Grizelle had told me what I'd done. My knees had been knocking, but the impervious rock-star persona Snow flaunted for the world had shown no signs of craving vengeance.
Why would he? He now had a greater power over me than any werewolf mob boss or undead Karnak pharaoh or vampire Howard Hughes ... or even Ric.
My guilt. I'd deliberately chosen to undo the last seven lashes of Ric's pain even after I knew each healing touch was scourging Snow. My punishment, so far, was cringing at the memory of Snow every time I made love with Ric. I suspected there was far worse to come.
"You need to stop," Ric told me.
Startled, I assumed he'd eavesdropped on my distracted thoughts. But ... no.
"Your sensual back massage is making me too happy. I trust we have something joint in mind," he went on.
I stepped back, dropping my hands. Still the amateur, I scolded myself, either avoiding or pushing too far too fast. I didn't know my own powers on any front ... physical, emotional, or paranormal.
Ric picked me up in a bride-over-the-threshold carry and brought me into the dim bedroom. He settled me on the bed to a rhythm of kisses and caresses that made making love with one person in a wet suit seem perfectly logical, and my suit's silver studs flashed tiny lightning strikes from all the room's mirrored or metal surfaces.
"Electric," Ric murmured, as he rolled onto his back beside me. Of course, I had to remain on my side. My phobia against lying on my back kept me with my head braced on my crooked arm, gazing down into his beloved face. Ric turned his head away from me, so I couldn't see the silver iris. "Delilah, I need your mouth on me."
I ran my hand down his muscled, slightly furry thigh. "No problemo, amor."
His hand on my wrist stopped me.
"No. Here." He turned his head farther, his brunet profile etched against the blue satin pillowcase the color of my eyes. I consumed the sight of his dark, thick hair, slanting forehead, slightly aquiline nose, deeply arched lips ... the image as breathtaking as one of Michelangelo's ultramasculine sculpted angels.
His motion had brought my focus to the strong, exposed column of his