desire. From a need for her touch, her heat. He was so cold inside. He hadn’t realized it until he’d held her earlier and felt it seep into his soul.
Her blue eyes were wide as she placed her hand on his chest, gently trailing her fingers over his pecs, watching him for some reaction.
“No pain,” he assured her. He didn’t tell her that the form muffled his feelings.
She smiled and put her other hand on him, too, running them across his shoulders, biceps, even down his forearms. She stepped around him, letting her fingers follow to his back. Her movements stilled.
“Can I touch them?” she asked.
No one had ever touched his wings, other than in combat.
“Yes, but you’ll feel an electrical pulse.”
He held his breath as her fingers dipped into the energy of his wings. While combatants tried to cut or damage each other’s wings, Lyra’s touch was gentle. Every feather transmitted her touch right down to his core. She breathed softly, tickling her way across the width of both wings.
She came around to the front again, her fingers working the buttons of her top. It slipped to the floor, followed by her bra, and he had to keep from sucking in a breath at the beauty of her. Beauty he could touch. She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. “Touch me,” she whispered, as though sensing his thoughts.
His hands trembled as he ran them down her silky hair to her bare shoulders and back. So soft, smooth, so female.
She held tightly to him, her fingers splayed on his lower back, her breasts crushed to his chest. “Take my heat.”
He closed his eyes at her offer. He pulled it into his body, her heat and everything about her. He drank in the feel of her skin, the bumps of her spine, and then the beauty of her face as he tilted it back and kissed her. All he could taste was the absinthe, but her mouth was warm and wet and everything her body would be if he buried himself inside her.
Even muffled, he felt enough to know that this would taunt and claw at him for the next hundred years. That he would want more, would want to feel everything in vivid Technicolor. That he would be tempted to do the Essex. He should stop this now. His fingers tangled through her hair as he devoured her. Gods, her tongue, the way it swirled through his mouth and sparred with his, and the purring sound she made.
He picked her up and carried her to the kitchen, setting her on the counter, never breaking the kiss. His body tingled as it came to life. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling that feminine part smack up against his erection. That was the only painful part of his body, throbbing, pushing against his jeans.
His hands explored her breasts, across her stomach, everywhere he’d wanted to touch earlier when she’d slept. He slid his hands down her back and beneath the waistband of her pants to cup her ass. She groaned and pressed even closer, rocking against him.
His wings contracted, pulling in with a pinch. The pain returned, pounding like the beat at the Deuce nightclub. He dropped to his knees, hands on the floor, and had to catch his breath with the suddenness of it.
“What happened?” she asked, breathless herself.
“I couldn’t hold the form any longer. Damn it.” But her heat still swirled in him, even as he got to his feet.
She remained on the counter, gripping the edge, beautifully half naked in the soft light, with the glitter of Miami behind her. Her Dragon tattoo shifted on her skin. Its yellow was even deeper than it had been, its eyes as heavy as Lyra’s.
“I wish it had lasted longer,” she said.
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t say he did, too, or that he was glad it hadn’t because he had enough trouble letting her go even with the pain.
“So was this”—she winked—“premature transformation?”
“You’re trying to make light of it?”
“It’s better than crying.”
He laughed then. “Too true.” He snatched her shirt from the floor and
Her blue eyes were wide as she placed her hand on his chest, gently trailing her fingers over his pecs, watching him for some reaction.
“No pain,” he assured her. He didn’t tell her that the form muffled his feelings.
She smiled and put her other hand on him, too, running them across his shoulders, biceps, even down his forearms. She stepped around him, letting her fingers follow to his back. Her movements stilled.
“Can I touch them?” she asked.
No one had ever touched his wings, other than in combat.
“Yes, but you’ll feel an electrical pulse.”
He held his breath as her fingers dipped into the energy of his wings. While combatants tried to cut or damage each other’s wings, Lyra’s touch was gentle. Every feather transmitted her touch right down to his core. She breathed softly, tickling her way across the width of both wings.
She came around to the front again, her fingers working the buttons of her top. It slipped to the floor, followed by her bra, and he had to keep from sucking in a breath at the beauty of her. Beauty he could touch. She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. “Touch me,” she whispered, as though sensing his thoughts.
His hands trembled as he ran them down her silky hair to her bare shoulders and back. So soft, smooth, so female.
She held tightly to him, her fingers splayed on his lower back, her breasts crushed to his chest. “Take my heat.”
He closed his eyes at her offer. He pulled it into his body, her heat and everything about her. He drank in the feel of her skin, the bumps of her spine, and then the beauty of her face as he tilted it back and kissed her. All he could taste was the absinthe, but her mouth was warm and wet and everything her body would be if he buried himself inside her.
Even muffled, he felt enough to know that this would taunt and claw at him for the next hundred years. That he would want more, would want to feel everything in vivid Technicolor. That he would be tempted to do the Essex. He should stop this now. His fingers tangled through her hair as he devoured her. Gods, her tongue, the way it swirled through his mouth and sparred with his, and the purring sound she made.
He picked her up and carried her to the kitchen, setting her on the counter, never breaking the kiss. His body tingled as it came to life. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling that feminine part smack up against his erection. That was the only painful part of his body, throbbing, pushing against his jeans.
His hands explored her breasts, across her stomach, everywhere he’d wanted to touch earlier when she’d slept. He slid his hands down her back and beneath the waistband of her pants to cup her ass. She groaned and pressed even closer, rocking against him.
His wings contracted, pulling in with a pinch. The pain returned, pounding like the beat at the Deuce nightclub. He dropped to his knees, hands on the floor, and had to catch his breath with the suddenness of it.
“What happened?” she asked, breathless herself.
“I couldn’t hold the form any longer. Damn it.” But her heat still swirled in him, even as he got to his feet.
She remained on the counter, gripping the edge, beautifully half naked in the soft light, with the glitter of Miami behind her. Her Dragon tattoo shifted on her skin. Its yellow was even deeper than it had been, its eyes as heavy as Lyra’s.
“I wish it had lasted longer,” she said.
He couldn’t speak, couldn’t say he did, too, or that he was glad it hadn’t because he had enough trouble letting her go even with the pain.
“So was this”—she winked—“premature transformation?”
“You’re trying to make light of it?”
“It’s better than crying.”
He laughed then. “Too true.” He snatched her shirt from the floor and
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