Saving Amber - Zoe Dawson Page 0,80

his face again. “Amber, are you all right?”

“Tristan, please make love to me.”

He rose up on his elbow, his face caught between tenderness and desire. “Amber, you’ve been through so much…maybe that’s not…”

She tightened her hand in his shirt. “I need you, please. I need to get the memory of his hands on me out of my head. I need you, Tris,” she pleaded.

“Amber—”

She cut him off with her mouth settling over his. He made a soft sound as if he could find no way to resist her. Already the memory of Garza was fading, fading away with the heat of Tristan’s mouth.

“Kiss me, Tris,” she commanded on a phantom breath.

His deep midnight eyes locked on hers, his gaze lethally intense, her body so aware of his. For a moment they just breathed, their lips barely touching. Every time he caressed her, she felt cleansed, pieces mending and returning back to being whole, the shattered part of her healing. She shivered at what she saw there in the depths of that ocean of blue. Then he lowered his mouth a fraction of an inch and kissed her softly, gently. His lips, firm and smooth and oh-so-clever moved against hers, rubbed over hers, seduced her as she softened and responded.

“Yes, Tristan, like that,” she whispered. “Just like that.”

He slid his body closer, pushing her onto her back with the force of his kiss. As he deepened it, he groaned at her surrender, his hand sliding along her face. She winced and whimpered at the pain. “Sorry, baby,” he murmured, gentling his hand, caressing her temple as his fingers delved into her semi-bound hair.

She wanted him. It was a litany that played over in her head. The terror, the uncertainty of whether he was dead or not, the agony of not knowing all dropped away at the heat of his mouth.

She slipped her hands under his layers of shirts and he reached back and grabbed the neck, wrenching everything over his head and off. Then his mouth was back to hers.

She sent her hands over his wide chest, the muscles flexing as he kissed her, exploring the smooth planes and ridges of his body, marveling at the strength there, drowning at her response to his fever-hot skin. Seeing the white bandage stark against his arm, she brushed her fingers over it, so thankful it was a minor wound.

She couldn’t get enough of touching him, feeling his solid strength under her hands when she had thought maybe she’d lost him. Her own life hanging by a thread.

She needed the life that pulsed in him, rubbing over his heart, feeling the hard, rapid thud, his erratic response to her, her heart matching his beat for beat. She pressed against him, needing that power and warmth against the length of her body, to absorb him through her pores. He trailed fire down her throat and over her breasts as she arched her back, his mouth burning her nipple, sucking on her until everything in her clenched with the pleasure of it, what was left of her breath vaporizing.

Tristan growled low in his throat as he sucked powerfully on her, tracing his hands down her back, exploring every graceful curve, every plane and hollow. He pressed and arched her more as she cried out when he used his teeth.

Then both his hands were on her butt and he lifted her into him, pressing her hips to his, showing her how badly, how urgently, he wanted her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on, mirroring his actions over the smooth material of his alpine pants.

“Too many clothes,” Amber groused, making a soft protest when he pulled back from her. But her gaze fastened on his, and she watched, breathless and intent, as he discarded his boots. Everything in her focused on the man as he shimmied out of his protective layers.

He was a work of art, the way a man should look. Everywhere on his body were ripped muscles, cutting into his abdomen, his chest, his thighs and his arms. He’d carried her for miles when she could no longer walk. Had sheltered and protected her with everything he had, every ounce in him.

Because of him, she’d survived. Because he was a master at knowing what to do, a master of the cold, a master at being prepared—her master defender all the way to his core.

She was in love with him. In love for the very first time in her life. A feeling that