She lifted her hips, welcoming the hard, silken length of him when he plunged into her. He moved within her with fevered strokes, as though each one would be the last, each slick glide melting into the next.
Her eyes clenched shut, her jaw locking at the sweet heat he stirred in her. Hot flames licked between her thighs, signaling the beginning of the end. Delaney couldn’t fight the tendrils of climax, couldn’t slow the impending tidal wave of sensation as it lifted her high, pounding into her, then dropped her with a sudden sharp jolt.
Clyde’s thrusts peaked with a frenzied tempo, sinking deeper into her until he roared his satisfaction. He stilled for a moment, then collapsed against her.
Her breathing was irregular, hurting her throat on the way out of her mouth. Holy Clyde gone wild. Every inch of her body was sated, and unable to move a muscle.
Clyde rolled off her, pushing strands of hair from her face and mouth. “Are you okay?” His question was smattered with sweet concern she could clearly hear.
There were levels of okay. This okay was like a level nine point five on a scale of one to ten. Totally okay with the intensity of their lovemaking, but concerned about what had brought on the sudden need Clyde had displayed.
But as she came down, caught her breath, had a moment to reproduce a brain cell or two, she suddenly understood without him having to say a word. Clyde needed affirmation. He needed to feel—to connect—because he didn’t know when he’d do that again after they located his body. He was on overload. That he’d turned to her, even if it was just for comfort of a physical nature, made her heart tighten.
When she finally answered, she looked him directly in his eyes. “I’m more than okay. The question is, are you okay? I was getting pushy in my excitement.”
“I’m okay. It’s a lot to wrap my brain around. All this time I thought I was outta here when my assignment was done, and now I find that that might not be the case. I’m just wondering what the hell we’re going to find when we find me and if I want to get back into a body that’s supposedly comatose. At least in Hell I’m not bedridden.” The emphasis he placed on the word bedridden was hard to miss.
He’d mentioned being sick as a kid—it must be a sore spot for him. She rolled to her side. Seeing him fully naked in the light for the first time took her breath away. He was the most beautiful, magnificent man she’d ever seen, and she couldn’t help but be thankful that wherever his body was, it was alive. Whatever that entailed, she didn’t care. Just the thought that the possibility existed that he could recuperate made her want to do a happy dance. She just wanted to keep looking at him, soak in every last minute of time with him before they had to deal with what was next. “What is this from?” There was a scar on Clyde’s chest, long but clean, extending from his clavicle to his breastbone.
“Heart surgery.”
“Yeah. You said you were sick when you were a kid.”
“I was.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t see this when we . . . you know . . .”
He grinned and winked. “You mean when we wonked, slammed, hooked up?”
She playfully punched him on the arm. “You know what I mean.” Unfortunately, it didn’t mean the same thing for her anymore. There was no one to blame but herself and her Richter scale estrogen levels for the kind of deep she was now in.
Clyde wiggled his eyebrows, making them rise above the top of his glasses, which he’d put back on. “That’s because we’ve done the wild thing mostly in the dark.”
“So you were sick.”
“Very. I was born with a congenital heart defect that worsened as I aged. I went through a bunch of corrective surgeries as a kid. I was in and out of hospitals most of my life.”
“Well, that explains your over-the-top knowledge of useless facts like album names and song titles.”
“Yeah. I spent a lot of time reading, watching TV. I’m a sponge, what can I say?”
“Which also explains your love affair with isolation.”
“Thank you, Jenny Jones. What explains yours? Oh, wait—I know the answer to that. Fear.” He smiled to soften the blow of his harsh words.
She ignored his jab. “That must’ve sucked.”
“Not as much as you’d think. I had supportive parents. They tried to make up for my lack of friends in their own way.”
“And your obvious distaste for the word bedridden. Is that what’s upsetting you? Knowing we’re going to find your body in a hospital bed?”
“That’s part of it. I’m not loving the idea that my body’s useless, because I worked so hard to keep it in tip-top physical condition, but what troubles me more is, if I can get back into my body, or whatever you’re hatching in your pretty little head, who’ll help you when Satan makes his next move? In all of this, we’ve sort of forgotten about you and your predicament with the devil, and I just can’t let that happen.”