“And I’ll love you,” she whispered.
Her hands went to his chest, smoothing over his skin, her fingertips testing the muscle beneath. Taking the washrag from her, he dropped it carelessly on the small shower shelf beside him. He watched as her eyes closed, the water cascading over her hair, her pale face. She luxuriated in the heat of the water, moving her head to allow it to soak every strand.
“Let me wash you then, beauty,” he told her, his voice soft. Too soft for his own peace of mind. How he wanted her. His body ached with his need, both physical and emotional. Into his cupped palm he deposited a generous amount of shampoo and began to work it into her hair. His fingertips caressed her scalp, drawing the wet silk through them, stroking the tender skin of her head. She moaned in pleasure, her body brushing against his as she leaned into his chest, her tongue washing over his flat male nipple with slow sensuality.
His body tightened, growing hotter by the second. He moved her beneath the spray once again,
watching as suds rinsed from her hair, rolled slowly over her shoulders, her full br**sts. Caressing her as he wanted to caress her. Kissing her skin with satin softness, hiding the hardness of her rosy ni**les for the briefest second. When the last of the suds had washed away, he retrieved the soap from the shelf. He left the washrag. He wanted nothing but the smooth slide of suds between his hands and her flesh. He worked the soap between his hands as he stared down at her. Her eyes were passion glazed, her body trembling with weariness and passion.
“You’re eating before you go to sleep,” he told her softly, an involuntary smile edging his mouth. The smile disappeared when he touched her. She gasped, arching against the hands that cupped her br**sts, the fingers that gripped her ni**les. Slowly, inch-by-inch he covered her body with creamy lather until he was kneeling at her feet, pressing her legs apart, his fingers running over the slick flesh of her smooth pu**y.
“I love the way you touch me,” she gasped as his fingers began to stroke her, wash her. Suds rolled down her thighs, mixed with the heady scent of her feminine need. Callan laid his head against her abdomen, one arm wrapping around her upper thighs as he held her steady, the other parting her legs further. He had to taste her. He could wait no longer. His tongue swiped through the satiny folds, then curled around her swollen clit. She shuddered in his grasp. Her hands dug into his hair, holding onto him as he teased the little bud with soft strokes, careful to keep the rougher portion of his tongue well away from it. With only the tip he stroked around her clit, feeling her shudder, her stomach contract. He sucked it into his mouth then, applying just enough pressure to have her grinding her h*ps against him, her needy moans filling the shower stall as he teased her.
“Callan, please.” She bucked against his mouth as he pressed her against the wall, then lifted her thigh to his shoulder.
She screamed out as his tongue speared into her. Deep, hard, spreading the muscles of her vagina as he sought the addicting taste of her desire. The fingers of one hand continued the teasing strokes against her cl*t as he ignored her demand for instant gratification. He didn’t want to rush this, he wanted to savor the taste and the touch of her.
He licked at her gently then, moaning as her juices coated his tongue and his lips. So ready for him. She wept for him, pleaded with him, her muscles clenching on his invading tongue as she reached for the release she would only ever attain with him.
“Mine,” he groaned against the folds of flesh, licking in swifter, firmer strokes.
“Mine,” she cried out, her hands clenching in his hair, her voice wild with her need to cl**ax. “Always mine.”
And he was. Hers. She was his. He came to his feet, lifting her to him, pushing between her thighs, his c**k plunging inside her in one quick stroke that took him to the hilt. Callan gritted his teeth at the fiery pleasure that washed over his body. She was tight, gripping him in a silken fist so damned hot it took his breath.
A wail of pleasure sounded from her lips. She tightened, rocked against him. He pulled back and thrust
hard again. She cl**axed instantly, her release raining over his erection, destroying his self-control. He held her close in his arms, his h*ps powering into her then as he fought to get deeper, closer. God help him, she was all that mattered to him now. Being inside her, heart, soul, body. This was all he dreamed of and more than he had ever believed possible.
Stroking desperately inside her, he heard her building moans of renewed need, felt the emergence of the barb and knew ecstasy was only seconds away. He held her tighter, thrust harder, faster. Merinus tightened in his arms once again and as his c**k lodged deep, his seed spurted into her, he heard her scream and felt her cl**ax rush over her for the second time. And in her arms, for those few endless seconds, he found peace.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
They stayed buried in the house for two days while Callan paced the floors and checked the hidden email account he had. Everyone had checked in. They were secure but two of the messages had his instincts raring in self-defense. The first from Dayan, swearing Kane and the Tyler men were seen meeting with the soldiers, coordinating a search for Callan that covered every inch of the mountains. The other from Sherra, informing him that she and a relative were desperately searching for them to relay information. He cursed violently when that email came through. He told her to stay put, to put off the meeting with Kane Tyler. Why had she taken this into her own hands? And who was lying? Sherra or Dayan? For the first time since their births Callan began to question the loyalty of the Pride.
“Is everything okay?” Merinus stood between the kitchen and the living room, watching him in concern. Her hair was tangled around her face, drowsiness still flushed her skin. He had left her sleeping in the bed hours before after another bout of sex that damned near left him drained. She was dressed in one of his T-shirts. The hem of the blue cotton covered her thighs and hung on her slender shoulders. The intimacy of her wearing his clothing left a gut punch of desire that he couldn’t deny. Possession, raw and hot flared in him. His woman.
“Everything’s fine,” he assured her quietly, unwilling to worry her further. He saw the concern in her eyes though, and knew he hadn’t fooled her. Their lives were hanging by a thread now, the dangers inherent in the situation terrified him. Merinus had no scope of the evil that
inhabited the Council and he prayed she never learned.
“We need to contact Kane, Callan,” she broached the one subject he wasn’t willing to discuss yet.
“He’s going to be worried out of his mind. That’s not a good thing, either.”
He could see her absolute belief in her brother reflected in her expression. She thought of her family before she thought of herself. She trusted them when she could trust no one else, especially that damned soldier brother of hers.
“I have to be certain he didn’t betray us first, Merinus.” He shook his head, staring back at Sherra’s email.
He could assume the betrayal came from Kane, or from one of his own. Which was more likely to want to see him and Merinus captured or dead?
“Kane wouldn’t betray me, Callan,” she told him quietly.
There was no anger in her tone, no doubt. She trusted her brother implicitly.
“How can you be so certain, Merinus?” He sighed roughly. “The attack came hours after your call to him.”
“I know because I know Kane.” She shook her head, moving further into the room. She went to the couch near him, sat down and regarded him solemnly.