Strong as he was, his legs trembled as he solidified with her still locked in his arms, naked but for the identical hammered silver cuffs and still intimately joined. Two unsteady steps got them to the bed. And every tiny movement caused minute shifts in the tight sex encasing his cock. The sensations rippling up his shaft nearly drove him out of his mind. He’d wanted to draw this second time out, as he hadn’t been able to the first time. He’d wanted to wallow in the sensations. He’d wanted to savor every nibble and kiss, every caress and every taste of her.
As he lowered them to the bed, she deliberately clenched him and wiggled her hips. His stunned gaze shot to hers, and she smiled a smile that put Eve to shame.
“So, are you going to show me this beast I’ve been tempting?” she asked brazenly, flexing her inner muscles yet again. She flicked the tip of her tongue across her lower lip.
Gideon stared down at her. If he lived millennia more, he’d never forget every second, every detail of their joining, nor would he forget that look upon her precious face in that moment.
His restraint snapped. Oh, he still intended to spend hours and years and centuries exploring her, bringing her to peak over and over, pleasuring her out of her mind. Until she couldn’t tell where she started and he ended. Until she couldn’t stand the thought of him not being inside her.
He still had every intention of making love to her slowly, tenderly.
She rocked her hips up impatiently against him, seating him balls deep inside her searing heat.
Slow and tender would have to come later, he decided. He gave up fighting for control and gave in to the wild desire driving him.
The shadows moved around her. She worked to keep her breathing slow and even. Silent. Randy was here. Somewhere in the dark with her. Her skin crawled. Maggie knew what he wanted. The other girls had warned her. Even if they hadn’t, she could feel his intent. His sick, twisted hunger. It made her want to retch, made her want to shiver and scrape the creepy crawly feeling away. But she couldn’t give herself away. He’d hear her, and he’d know that wasn’t her in the bed. As it was, the bunched up mound of pillows huddled under the covers on that narrow, hard bed would only buy her minutes at best.
Maggie pulled in a silent, deep breath, bracing herself for what she had to do. Even from this distance, she could smell him, the stale sweat and sticky fetid odor of old booze. Too much old booze. Hatred burned through her, fortifying her.
She flexed her fingers, readjusting her grip on the wooden handle of the cheap steak knife she’d stolen from the kitchen. It wasn’t much, but it was all she could get her hands on that she didn’t figure they’d notice as missing right away. It was nearing midnight, but it had to be close to eighty inside the tiny room in the back of the trashy trailer house. A trickle of sweat ran between her shoulder blades—her palms were slick with it—but it had nothing to do with the heat wave sweeping through the Midwest and everything to do with anxiety.
The muffled, uneven treads of his footsteps moving across the threadbare carpet sent goose pimples rippling across her flesh. If she screamed, would her foster mother hear?
Of course she would. The walls of the trailer were paper-thin. The real question was, would she come to investigate? And if she did, would she see what Randy intended, how evil he was? Or would she blame Maggie?
Would she turn a blind eye and pretend nothing was going on, as she had with the other girls?
The blankets were ripped from the bed in fury. “You little bitch,” Randy hissed, his large, potbellied form thundering past the small window. “Where are you, Margaret Mary?”
Maggie clutched the knife tighter as he lurched closer.
“There you are,” he slurred, wiping a forearm beneath his nose. “Like to play games, do ya? Well, just you wait. I got a helluva a game for you and me to—”
His words ended on a pained howl. A gush of hot, wet fluid soaked her hand, ran along her forearm, splashed her T-shirt.
Maggie bolted upright on a huge gasp, fighting her way free of the restraining arm thrown over her waist, struggling frantically away from the hot, naked, male body lying next to hers in the bed. She twisted, thrashing, elbows flying. A whoosh of air blew her hair into her face as a hard, lean body wrapped itself around her and subdued her, trapping her in iron bands.
“Shhh,” a deep, sleepy voice murmured in her ear. A bristly cheek pressed to hers. A big body rocked her gently. “Shhh, Maggie. Shhh. It’s okay. It’s okay, love. Shhh.”
“Gideon?” she whispered, half afraid Randy was still here, hiding in a corner somewhere.
“It’s me, Maggie. I’m here. Shhh.”
He held her as she shook; the tremors always came after the terror. Then he held her as she sat, silent and ashamed, in the soft light of early dawn.
“Talk to me,” he finally said, lying back, pulling her down onto his chest.
She shook her head, burying her face in the warmth of his neck. He shrugged his shoulder up, using the crook of his finger beneath her chin to force her to face him, waiting until she looked at him.