The Hidden

He followed.

She closed the door and kicked off her shoes. Her T-shirt hit the floor in seconds, her bra following suit without a pause. She shimmied out of her jeans and panties while he watched, and then she stood naked before him, smiling.

He grinned, pulling his holster and gun from his waistband, then set them on the bedside table before practically tearing off his shirt.

There had been a time when she’d hated the gun, when she’d asked him to put it out of sight the minute he got home, a request he hadn’t recognized for what it was: an attempt to forget about his job for a little while and have him all to herself.

She didn’t ask that tonight.

The minute he ditched the rest of his clothes she moved into his arms, her heated skin practically setting his aflame. “Remember how to do this?” she teased.

“I remember everything,” he told her seriously. “I remember that one of the things that drives you the craziest is when I stand behind you and run the tip of my tongue down your spine. Want me to show you?”

She started to say something, but he didn’t give her the chance. He caught her lips, then lifted her and set her down on the bed. He kissed her long and deeply, and he never really broke away, he just trailed down to her throat and her breasts, and then her midriff and along the soft silky flesh of her inner thighs.

She writhed and moaned against him, her fingers on his shoulders, her body arching in a way that fed his hunger and desire nearly to the breaking point. He made love to her slowly, despite the burning need within him, taking her almost to the point of no return, then backing off and finding her lips again, teasing her flesh as he savored the feel of her, the pleasure of being with her again.

She cried out softly again and again, until suddenly she became the aggressor, shifting until she was on top of him, burning his skin with kisses and caresses, and then sliding onto him again until he rolled her under him again and drove them both to a violent climax. Finally, exhausted, sated, the sound of their heartbeats like a crescendo in the night, they rested.

As he held her, he remembered how they had promised each other forever...and how soon they’d broken that promise.

He was surprised when she spoke.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He turned to her. “No, thank you,” he said, and smiled.

“I—I haven’t, um, I haven’t really even dated since...” Her voice trailed off, and she looked away.

Resting on an elbow, he watched her face in the pale light that seeped in through the window. “Neither have I.”

“What? I don’t believe you.”

“One dinner,” he told her.

“Was she nice?”

“Yes.”

“Was she pretty?”

“Very.”

“Then what happened?”

“She wasn’t you,” Diego said softly. Then he pulled her against him. “Let’s get some sleep. I really did get up at the crack of dawn.”

“Whatever you want,” she said, which sent his mind running in a direction conducive to anything but sleep. But a moment later she said, “Thank you for coming here.”

“Of course.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did.”

“That’s who you are,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say.

“Diego?”

“Yes?”

“That’s an admirable quality, you know.”

Her fingers closed around him, and to his chagrin, he was instantly aroused.

Apparently forgetting her promise to let him sleep, she slid atop him. “And so is this,” she teased.

They made love again, and it was a very long time before he went to sleep.





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