“More,” she murmured as he went to pull away.
Kane smiled. “More?”
“Yes.”
Their words were simple, the syllables neither quick nor slow—yet every response was charged with a powerful electricity that brought along with it a great heat, a volcanic heat—
His hand captured her breast and she arched into him, her moan getting swallowed by him. And when he explored her, teasing her nipple with his thumb, stroking the weight of her and moving on to the other side, she found a rhythm in her hips so that she stroked him as well.
Stroked his erection with her pelvis.
Between her legs, her sex grew swollen and wet, and every time she moved against him, the warmth there redoubled. But it wasn’t like before. This kind of heat was nothing painful. It made her feel alive.
And… beautiful.
Spearing her hands into his hair, she held on to him, giving herself fully to what was happening between them: the teasing exploration, the promise of release, the security of knowing that this beautiful male did not judge her as less than.
But instead saw her as worthy, exactly the way she was.
As Kane stared into Nadya’s eyes, he was aware of something in the back of his mind, an alarm going off, quietly and persistently. There was a problem he needed to worry about. Something urgent…
“I love that you want to touch me.”
The words jumped out of his mouth and shocked him because they revealed a truth that was complex—and he kept the second half of it to himself: Hisshellannever had wanted to. And, dearest Virgin Scribe, there was a big difference between duty and desire.
Nadya’s touch was like a sunrise, and it brought good warmth. The healing kind.
He had a thought that he had more things to say, but then he was kissing her again, reveling in the difference of being with a female who wanted him. Maybe needed him. And didn’t that take his attraction to the next level.
To the soul level.
The next thing he knew, his lips were on the side of Nadya’s throat, but when she tilted her head to offer him her vein, he knew that was not a good idea. She seemed to have rallied. He just didn’t know for how long, and he wasn’t taking chances.
Besides, there were other places he wanted to put his mouth.
Her breast was a soft, creamy swell, unscarred and smooth, the nipple taut and ready for him to capture it. So he did. Sucking the flesh in, he rolled it with his tongue, circling, circling, before latching onto it again.
Beneath him, she was arching even more, her body so fluid, her chest inflating as she had to pull air into her hungry lungs. With his free hand, the one that wasn’t propping him up to keep him from crushing her, he explored the other side of her breasts, feeling the contrast of her skin between the tip and the contours, pinching gently the nipple, rubbing at her.
He had all the time in the world and no time at all, both desperate and patient. Which seemed to fit this strange plane of existence they were on: It was as if they were neither here nor there, not dead, certainly, but not alive, either, in the conventional sense—
He was supposed to be worried about something.
The conviction was so strong, he lifted his head and looked over his bare shoulder. The red fog that surrounded them, and gave the impression that they were floating, seemed like an impenetrable boundary, no way to get in or out of it. And yet he remembered something about the exit being right over there, at the flap.
“Kane?”
Blinking, he shook his head and refocused. “Hi.”
“Are you all right?”
“I need… something is out there, something dangerous.”
“Where are we?”
“On the mountain. I think. I don’t know.” The old female, he thought. “She told me…”
What had she told him? The gray-haired female had told him—