His erection pulses in the hollow of my spine. When he pumps his hips—once, twice, again—sliding along the crevice of my backside, the pleasure is just short of pain.
I lift my arms, wrap them around his neck. He feels so solid and real, but I know better than to open my eyes. If he disappears right now, I’ll want to die myself.
His hair spills over my wrists, the muscles of his shoulders rippling against my knuckles. The position is odd—me with my back to him, arms twisted ballerina-style up and behind his head. But it also presses us together in a lot of great places. I shift my shoulders, rubbing my tingling skin against the sleek, sturdy length of his chest.
The movement also creates friction between his hands and my breasts, his penis and my ass. His mouth at my neck goes from soft to sharp, a caress to a cut, lips to teeth, gentle to rough, and I crave it.
One hand slides across the slope of my breast, down the curve of my waist, a thumb outlining each spike of rib before his fingers trace my belly, swirl around my navel, then dip into the curls beneath.
Unerringly he finds my center, first teasing with a brush so light I gasp then testing my control by pressing and rolling the swollen flesh between his thumb and the bone beneath.
One long finger probes lower still, imitating the act of completion as I rock my hips forward and back, taking that finger all the way in, then all the way out, as his erection rides me from behind.
I need him inside me so I reach back as I bend over, fumbling, grasping, finding, then guiding him. Draped over his arm, he supports me, even as his finger continues to worry me, keeping the tension at a near-explosive pitch as he plunges within. His movements are slow, almost tender. I nearly sob. I’m so damn close.
“Sawyer,” I say, and in my voice lies everything I feel.
At the sound of his name, he swells, stretching, filling, completing me. One final stroke between my legs and I come, too, the pulse of his orgasm fueling, fueling, fueling my own.
Limp with satisfaction, I can barely stay on my feet, but I force myself to straighten. Then I turn my head, eyes still closed.
“Elizabeth,” he whispers, and his breath caresses my cheek.
“Yes.” I rub my face against his. He never has stubble. His skin is as smooth and silky as his hair.
“You found my gift?”
The distant motor suddenly becomes louder; the weight on my chest shifts; tiny needles of pain shoot through me, and I begin to wake up.
I fight it. I can’t go yet. There are things I need to know. Even if this is a dream, my dreams are seldom meaningless.
I take a quick glance at the surface of Sawyer’s lake, but the wolf, the clouds, even the moon is gone. However, that single look is all I need to center myself again in this world. But I need to hurry. The other is calling me home.
“I found your gift,” I answer. “Someone tried to kill her.”
“That’s bound to happen.”
“Because of her mother?”
He stills. “Why would you think that?”
“They didn’t know she could shape-shift. They thought a kitten was just a kitten, which means they didn’t come after her because she’s like you.”
Sawyer takes a deep breath, his chest pressing against my back, so warm and real, I clench my hands to keep from turning and touching him.
“You’re right,” he says. “They didn’t come after her because of who she is. They came after her because of who she will become.”
CHAPTER 9
My eyes snapped open. Another set stared directly into mine. Faith sat on my chest, kneading her paws, pricking me periodically with her kitty claws and purring loud enough to wake, if not the dead, at least me.
The gray light of dawn peeked around the curtains. Luther sat in the chair by the window, staring at the parking lot.
“You never slept.”
“I wasn’t tired.” He continued to peer outside.
“You will be.”
“I can sleep in the car.”
Since I still wasn’t going to let him drive, he could. Use a gun, wield a knife, face a dragon, go nuts, kid. But drive? I had to set some limits.
“You were really tossing and turning.” Luther faced me. “Mumbling. Sighing.”
Damn. I hoped I hadn’t been moaning, too.
“Dreams,” I said.
“Anything useful?”
I sat up, and Faith tumbled off, emitting a surprised and slightly annoyed brrr as she did. Then she gave me a dirty look and stalked away with her tail in the air. I had to smile. The kitten had ’tude. She’d need it.
“According to Sawyer—”
Luther’s eyebrows shot up. “Sawyer?”
I shrugged. Dead people giving us advice wasn’t anything new. “He said they aren’t after Faith because of who she is but because of who she’ll become.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure.” But there was one way to find out. “I need to raise Sawyer and have a little chat.”