Immortal in Death

She scraped her teeth over him, down him, until the muscles he had toned trembled helplessly. His vision wavered when she took him into her mouth, worked him hard, fast, so that he had to fight every instinct or explode.

"Don't you hold back on me." She nipped his thigh, slid her way back up his torso while her hand replaced her mouth. "I want to make you come." She sucked his tongue into her mouth, bit, released. "Now."

She watched his eyes go opaque seconds before she felt the orgasm rip through him. Her laugh was shaky with power as she assaulted his ear. "I won again."

"Jesus. Christ Jesus." He managed, barely, to wind his arms around her. He was weak as a baby, and tangled with embarrassment at his complete loss of control was a giddy delight. "I don't know whether to apologize or thank you."

"Save it. I haven't finished with you yet."

He nearly chuckled, but she was nibbling her way around his jaw and sending fresh signals to his battered system. "Darling, you'll have to give me a minute."

"I don't have to do anything." She was drunk on pleasure, energized by her own power. "You just have to take it."

Straddling him, she pulled her shirt over her head. Watching him, she skimmed her hands up her own torso, over her breasts and down again. Saliva pooled in his mouth. Smiling, she took his hands and brought them to her. With a sigh, she let her eyes close.

His touch was familiar now, yet always fresh. Constantly arousing. His fingers played over her, teasing her nipples until they were hot and on the point of pain, then tugging until there was an answering clutch in her center.

Obliging them both, she arched back as he reared up to cover her with his mouth. She cupped his head, let herself become steeped in the sensations – the scrape of teeth on sensitized flesh that ran from tender to brutal, the flex and release of his fingers on her hips, the slick slide of flesh against flesh and the hot, ripe smell of sweat and sex. And when she urged his mouth back to hers, the explosive taste of reckless lust.

He made a sound caught between a groan and an oath when she pulled away. She rose quickly, delighted to find herself shaky on her feet, her body heavy with need. She didn't have to tell him it had never been – she had never been like this with anyone but him. He knew it already. Just as she had come to know that he found more with her, somehow with her, than with anyone else.

She stood over him, no longer trying to level her breathing, no longer shocked by the shudders that coursed through her. She toed off her shoes, unhooked her trousers, let them fall away.

Heat swamped her as his eyes skimmed up, then down, then up again to her face. She'd never thought much about her body. It was a cop's body, and had to be strong, resilient, flexible. With Roarke she'd discovered how wonderful those aspects could be for a woman. Trembling a little, she planted a knee on either side of him, then leaned forward to lose herself in the giddy pleasure of mouth on mouth.

"I'm still in charge," she whispered as she rose up.

With his eyes burning into hers, he smiled. "Do your worst."

She lowered herself to him, took him into her slowly, torturously. And when he was deep, when her body went rigid, bowed back, she let out a shuddering sob as the first glorious orgasm rippled through her. Greedy, she lunged forward again, gripped his hands with hers, and began to ride.

Explosions burst in her head, in her blood. Behind her closed eyes, riotous colors danced, and there was nothing inside her but Roarke and a desperate need for more of him – still more of him. Climax slammed into climax, slapping her up before she was able to float down again. The grinding ache in her was met, then built again until at last her body slid limply down to his. She buried her face against his throat and waited for sanity to return.

"Eve?"

"Huh?"

"My turn."

She blinked groggily as he rolled her onto her back. It took her a second to realize he was still hard inside her. "I thought you'd – we'd – "

"You had," he murmured. He watched fresh, stu

She started to laugh, but it ended on a moan. "We'll kill each other if we keep this up."

"I'll risk it. No, don't close your eyes. See me." He watched those eyes glaze as he quickened the pace, heard her strangled cry as he drove himself deeper, deeper inside her.

Then they were both bucking, plunging, her hands grappling for purchase, his hips thrusting harder. Her eyes went blank and wild. He covered her mouth ruthlessly with his and swallowed her scream.

They were tangled together, like two boxers down for the count and gasping for air. He'd slid slightly down her body, and found that though her breast was handy to his lips, he didn't have the energy to take advantage of it.

"I can't feel my toes," she realized. "Or my fingers. I think I broke something."

It occurred to him that he was probably cutting off most of her air and her circulation. With an effort, he reversed their positions. "Better?"

She took a long, wheezing gulp of air. "I think."

"Did I hurt you?"

"Huh?"

He tipped her head up and studied her foolish, blank-eyed grin. "Never mind. You finished with me yet?"

"For the moment."

"Thank God." He dropped back down and concentrated on breathing.

"Jesus, we're a mess."

"Nothing like sticky, sweaty sex to remind you you're human. Come on."

"Come on where?"

"Darling." He skimmed a kiss over her damp shoulder. "You need a shower."

"I'm just going to sleep here for the next couple of days." She curled up, yawned. "You go ahead."

He shook his head. Gathering his strength, he shoved her aside, got to his feet. After a deep breath, he reached down and hauled her up over his shoulder. "Oh sure, take advantage of a dead woman."

"Dead weight," he muttered and crossed the gym to the changing area. He shifted her more securely, then stepped onto the tile. With a wicked grin, he turned around so that her face would encounter the full force of one of the crisscrossing sprays. "Sixty-three degrees, maximum spray."

"Sixty – " It was all she had time for. The rest of her words were lost in screams and curses that echoed off the shining tiles.

She wasn't dead weight now, but a wriggling, wet, desperate woman. He clamped down hard, roaring with laughter as she sputtered and swore at him.

"Ninety-two," she shouted. "Ninety fucking two degrees. Now."

When the spray pumped hot, she managed to catch her breath. "I'll kill you, Roarke. The minute I thaw out."

"It's good for you." He set her carefully on her feet and offered her the soap. "Clean up, Lieutenant. I'm starving."

So was she. "I'll kill you later," she decided. "After I eat."

Within the hour, she was showered, satisfied, dressed, and attacking a two-inch sirloin. "You know, I'm only marrying you for sex and food."

He sipped a deep red wine and watched her plow through the meal. "Of course."

She nipped into a shoestring fry. "And because you have a beautiful face."

Unruffled, he only gri

Those weren't the reasons, but good sex, good food, and a beautiful face could certainly mellow a mood. She smiled at him. "How's Mavis?"

He'd been waiting for her to ask, but he had known she'd needed to get something out of her system first. "She's fine. She and Leonardo are having a kind of reunion in her suite tonight. You can talk to them in the morning."

Eve looked down at her plate as she cut into the steak again. "What do you think of him?"