“Yes.” Her eyes glittered through the dark sweep of her lashes as she looked up at him. Opening her knees wider, she hooked her inner thighs around his waist. “Please. Oh God, Kellan. Don’t stop. Please.”
Something about the way her tone shaped the last word hit him square in the chest. He wasn’t shy in the bedroom, and clearly, Isabella wasn’t either. Talking dirty was a hell of a turn-on. But all at once, Kellan realized she wasn’t asking because she liked the feel of him fucking her, or even because she wanted to come for the sake of the pleasure. In this moment, she needed the release, like food or water or breath.
And he was going to give it to her. Even if he had to lose control to get her there.
Kellan brushed his mouth over hers, just a fast stroke of lips on lips before beginning to thrust again. Isabella met his motions, rocking with him, daring him to move faster and harder until the space between them didn’t exist. Her nails curved into the bare skin of his ass, but not even the sweet sting could distract him from his purpose. He pushed inside her, over and over, watching his cock disappear between her pretty pink folds until finally, her eyes flew wide.
“I won’t stop.” Kellan pistoned his hips, filling her pussy as proof. “I know what you need, sweetheart. Go on and take it. Come for me.”
Her voice broke on a cry as her body began to tremble, and the combination blindsided him. His release razored up from deep between his thighs, gripping him and forcing him to let go all at once. Isabella knotted her legs around his waist, her muscles clasped against him both inside and out, and the sensation was too much. With a moan that turned into a shout, Kellan climaxed, burying his cock deep as he came in wave after wave of uncut pleasure.
They lay together, forehead to forehead, chest to chest, bodies joined, until inevitably, he had to slip across the hall for a quick clean-up. He returned to find Isabella still in the middle of his bed, holding her T-shirt over her otherwise still-bare chest.
Although Kellan’s gut knotted in concern, he kept the emotion far from his face. “Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah. Absolutely,” she said, although he could’ve spotted the lie from forty paces out. “I should probably go.”
But she didn’t make a move to do it.
“You don’t have to,” Kellan told her. Yeah, saying so was a risk. But for fuck’s sake, the look on her face matched her lack of definitive movement toward the door. Something had happened yesterday, something that had prompted Isabella to come over to his apartment and wait for him to come home.
“I know,” she said, dropping her gaze to the black cotton still clutched across her front. But again, she didn’t move, and screw propriety and impulse and risk.
He wanted Isabella to stay.
Kellan grabbed his boxer briefs, slipping them over his hips before sitting down on the bed next to her. “Is that what you really want? To go?”
For a second, he thought she’d say yes—Christ, her knuckles were damn near white from her death grip on that T-shirt.
But then she looked up at him, her gorgeous brown eyes brimming with too many emotions to name, and shocked him by whispering, “No. I don’t want to go.”
20
Girl, it’s official. You have lost your goddamn mind.
Isabella closed her eyes, digging deep for a breath that would calm her racing heartbeat and slap some sense back into her clearly malfunctioning brain. After dividing her night between pacing the floor in her living room and staring at the ceiling in her bedroom, she’d finally given up at dawn and left her apartment. She’d thought about going to the gym or taking a nice, long trip to the gun range—or hell, even making an about face back home to crack open the bottle of Patrón Silver she kept in the cabinet over her fridge in case of emergencies. But what she’d really wanted was to lose herself, to forget for just a little while that Angel had been killed and that Sinclair had tossed her off this case, and she’d come to Kellan’s apartment to do just that.
But now she didn’t want to forget at all. As impulsive and uncharacteristic and insane as it was, Isabella wanted to tell him everything.
“Okay.” Kellan’s voice brought her back to the reality of his bedroom, smoothing over her frayed nerves. He shifted from the mattress to the floorboards, pulling down one edge of the dark blue comforter to reveal a set of crisp white sheets. “Come on,” he said, getting under the covers.
For a second, she nearly panicked. She’d never post-sex-snuggled anyone in her life. Was there some kind of protocol for this? Something she was supposed to do or say?
As if he’d lasered in on her thoughts, Kellan said, “Hey. None of the questions have to be hard, remember?”
His expression was so easy, so laid back and no-great-shakes, that before her defenses could protest, Isabella pulled her T-shirt over her head and slid in next to him.