opened the door. She stepped inside and found Terror sitting at the small table, his tablet propped up against a couple of empty medication boxes. His gaze flicked from the tablet to her and then back to the tablet.
Steeling herself for a possible rejection, she reached for the zipper lining the front of the dark blue coveralls. She drew it down slowly, staring at Terror and waiting for him to notice. He did almost immediately. A master of his reactions, he didn’t show even the slightest bit of surprise. His gaze followed the slow slide of the zipper to just below her navel before moving back to her face.
Looking right at him, silently daring him to tell her stop, Maisie pulled the coveralls off her shoulders. The fabric fell to her waist, baring her breasts to his heated gaze. He rose slowly and took a single step forward. He seemed to be giving her a chance to change her mind. Boldly, she pushed the coveralls down her hips, letting the stiff fabric pool around her bare feet.
Terror closed the distance between them in three quick steps. He snatched her right up off the ground, hooking one arm under her bottom and using the other to jerk the coveralls from her feet. In the next moment, his hand settled on her nape and he crashed their mouths together in a nearly violent kiss. She wound her arms around his shoulders, gripping his shirt in both hands, and met his mouth with the same passion.
He walked them back toward the door, and she hissed at the shock of cold metal against her bare skin. He flipped the lock, sealing them safely inside, and then pivoted toward the nearby couch. She let her legs fall from around his waist and dropped down to her knees on the cushions, letting him support her so she wouldn’t fall. Desperate for him, she tugged his shirt from his jeans and urged him to take it off.
She stared at his broad chest and rippling arm muscles as he shrugged out of the shirt and threw it aside. Unable to help herself, she ran her palms over the surface of his lean abdomen right up to his chest. He had no tattoos on his skin, just scars. So many scars. Big ones. Little ones. Some with crudely outlined sutures and others fine lines. There were pink scars, red scars and older, darker purplish ones. Some were so old they had faded to pale white.
She pressed her lips to the biggest scar on his abdomen. It was a freshly knitted bit of skin from one of the wounds he had suffered during his captivity. She outlined the jagged scar with soft kisses, remembering how bloody the wound had been that morning she had come into his cell. It had taken her almost an hour to piece him back together. Her skills with a suture kit weren’t terrible, and the scar left behind wasn’t as rough as some of the others on his body. Still, she wished she had been able to patch him up with more finesse.
Lifting her gaze to his face, she let instinct take hold and dragged her tongue over the scar, all the while never breaking eye contact. His chest heaved, and he shuddered before combing his fingers through her hair. He fisted a handful, tugging her head back and her chin up. His other hand settled on her throat, gently and comfortingly. He captured her mouth in a sensual kiss that made her throb in all the right places.
When he ended the kiss, he stepped back, leaving her there panting and aching on the couch. He crouched down to unzip his boots and tug them free. His socks followed, and then he unbuckled his belt. He let it dangle from his hand for a moment, almost as if he were trying to decide whether or not he wanted to use it on her.
If any other man had looked at her that way, silently threatening to belt her bare bottom, she would have flown into an aggressively defensive rage. Seeing the flush of red on his skin, and the hungry way he stared at her now, she found herself wanting to turn around and offer her bottom to him. She wanted him to hurt her, just a little bit, to show her what everyone else meant when they talked about pleasure and pain.
She was nearly full-blooded Harcos, after all. Her body shared the same physiology as