Toxic Game (GhostWalkers #15) - Christine Feehan Page 0,151
in his hand. “Dressed, or rather partially dressed, I can feel like you’re my little sex toy. All about me. I’m just going to order you around and reap the benefits.”
Her little laugh was just as arousing as the touch of her fingers. The sound of her, the joy in her, the way she entered into fun with confidence and equal enjoyment, was a huge turn-on for him. Her gaze drifted over him speculatively.
“I think you’re my sex toy,” she countered and swung around, sashaying into the master cabin, her hips swaying invitingly.
“Probably the absolute truth,” he conceded. “I’d follow you straight into hell.”
“I was hoping for something a little nicer than that, maybe paradise, but we’ll see.” She tossed her response over her shoulder as she entered the bedroom and then stopped, hands on hips as she surveyed the cabin. “Trap didn’t strike me as a gold and white kind of man.” She bent over and removed her panties, leaving her body completely bare to him.
“Trap is all about sex with Cayenne. Indoors, outdoors, middle of the swamp, a movie theater, hell, he doesn’t even see his surroundings. He only sees her.” Draden was certain he was just as obsessed with Shylah as Trap was with Cayenne. And yeah, the sex was a good part of that, but sex was interwoven very tightly with his love for her. “This is probably standard décor, or someone did it for him. I guarantee it wasn’t him, although he would go to the ends of the earth to make certain she was comfortable.”
She moved across the room to the bank of drawers, her toes sinking into the white carpet. No way had Trap ordered a white carpet, but Draden was already thinking about laying his woman down right in the middle of it and seeing how much give there was in the floor of a jet.
He sank down onto the top of the low cabinets on the opposite side, just drinking her in. He’d spent a lifetime never feeling as if he belonged anywhere until he’d joined the GhostWalkers. Even then, he didn’t feel as if he were a fit with anyone and he never expected to find a woman he wanted the way he did Shylah.
“After we find Whitney’s scientists, are you coming home with me to stay?” He found himself holding his breath. Waiting. His birth mother had thrown him away. His foster mother had died. Living on the street had been a nightmare. As a teen, it had been difficult to trust anyone, especially when so many’d had their own agenda. If she left him …
Shylah turned slowly to face him. She was bare skin, her curves fully on display for him, those full breasts and rounded hips. Her sex. Her long legs. He only saw her eyes. Vivid. Alive. Filled with love. “If you’re going to the swamp, Draden, then I’m right there with you. You want to go somewhere else, we go. I don’t much mind where we live, as long as you’re there with me.”
She didn’t ask for an explanation of why he was suddenly insecure. She didn’t laugh at him or make him feel humiliated, she simply reassured him. Straightforward. Without hesitation. She gave that to him.
Draden found that love could be an overwhelming emotion at the most unexpected times. He crossed his ankles and kept holding her gaze. “That time at the private fashion gig, where I killed those men. It wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the second time.”
She didn’t demand to know what he was talking about, she simply stood there, watching him intently in silence. He could tell her or let it go. He knew if he didn’t give her anything more than what he’d just said, she’d never bring it up again. That was Shylah. His woman.
“I was twelve, hungry and scared. A man offered to help me. He was living on the streets too and I thought maybe he could show me how to survive there. He took me to an alley where one of his friends was staying as well. They shared some bread with me and clean water, and then laid out their spare blanket between them saying I could sleep there for protection. I hadn’t slept in days and I was exhausted.”
Shylah sat on the other side of the room, perching on the opposite expanse of white drawers. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes never once left his face.