to score her flesh and suck something else in, but he couldn’t go that far. One taste of her blood and there would be no control left in him—and even if she knew what he was, and she did not, it was far too close to her transition to risk drawing anything from her vein.
To distract himself from his thirst for her, he put his hand on the inside of her thigh and inched, inched, his way up—
She cried out when he cupped her through her slacks, and he released her nipple so he could see what he did to her. Fuck . . . yes. She was undone, her head falling back, her neck deliciously exposed, her hair a cascade of luxury. The sex had taken her to another place in her mind, a place where there were no dead bodies and nothing to fear, no one sent to kill her, nothing for her but him and what he did to her.
It was exactly what he wanted to give to her. And there was more to go.
Syn worshipped her breasts as he undid the button of her fly and unzipped her pants. She was the one who swept them off, kicking them free—along with her panties. And then she stood before him, her eyes shy and commanding by turns.
“You are beautiful,” he said in an alien voice.
“This is not . . . something I do.” She motioned between them. “You know . . . randomly. You’re different.”
“No,” he said softly. “We’re the same. That’s why this is different.”
When he held out his hands, she came to him like a blessing from above, all warmth and mystery, a goddess in the flesh appearing before him from out of a dream. And soon enough, she would disappear on him, as all dreams did, but for now . . .
As she straddled him once more, Syn pressed his lips to the skin of her shoulders and ran his palms over her hips, down onto her thighs . . . then up through to the core of her, to the sweetness and the heat, to the heart of everything that made her female.
“Syn,” she groaned.
The feel of her slick sex made him close his eyes, especially as his body went live wire, his cock pounding with its own heartbeat. Still, he knew better than to believe any of that promise as it related to his own release.
Not that he mattered in this. She was the only thing on his mind. In his heart.
“Come for me,” he breathed into her mouth.
Penetrating her with his fingers, he stroked the top of her sex with his thumb, and a split second later, she stiffened and jerked against him. With care, he rode out her orgasm, giving her body every chance to fully enjoy the sensations—and meanwhile, he enjoyed the view of her.
Syn watched it all. And with greed, he memorized everything about her in the moment, from the undulations of her bare breasts, to the flush on her face, to the flicker of her jugular from her pounding heart. He breathed in deep, loving her scent, and he ran his eyes down the length of her naked body, from the cradle of her hips and the quiver of her thighs to the flex of her toes. He couldn’t see the cleft of her sex because his hand was there.
His hand never wanted to leave there.
When she finally stilled, he didn’t want to break their connection. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to be a normal, fully functioning male who could use what had just happened to her as a preamble for what would become something shared. But that was not possible. That would have to be part of another dream, a different one that would never be lived, at least not for him.
And he was okay with his reality. As long as he had this moment with her, nothing else mattered.
As he retracted his fingers, Jo’s heavy-lidded eyes lifted to his.
She didn’t speak. She moved.
Tilting her head, she kissed him deep, her hair flowing over him—and greedy for more contact, his hands skated up the back of her thighs and tightened on her backside, kneading the flesh there. Distracted by the feel of her, he at first didn’t notice where her own hands went.
They were between their bodies, at the front of his fly.
He should tell her no.
God . . . he should tell her to stop. But then he realized that was just to