“Or maybe you prefer redheads?” This time the change was jarring, from blue black to milk white flesh and copper curls. “Well?”
“You want me to choose?” He shook his head, stifling the helpless laughter that bubbled up his throat. “I can’t. I like them all. You could be all green and I’d still find you sexy.”
His confession elicited a look of speculation, but the minx morphed back to the initial blonde with Tatar eyes who’d entered his room.
Damon stretched out his arms. “Come here. I want to make love to you.” That was stating the obvious, what with his cock tenting the sheet. He needed to touch her. How could it be otherwise after that bewitching show and her naked body less than a foot away?
“You’ve lost a lot of blood and just had surgery,” Rory protested, rearing back. “You have to rest.”
He stared at her in disbelief. She’d put on that show without any intention of putting out? “It’s just a scratch.”
“I watched them dig the bullet out. That wasn’t ‘just a scratch.’ ”
“It was whole, wasn’t it? It didn’t tumble around inside?”
Rory nodded hesitantly. “I guess.”
“It was lodged in muscle, nothing important. It was the blood loss that took me down.”
“All the more reason we shouldn’t be doing that,” she insisted, her face set in stubborn lines. “They had to put I don’t know how many bags of blood into you.”
Damon grinned ruefully. “If that were a problem, I’d’ve passed out when I got this hard-on.”
When she still kept him at arm’s length, he played his trump card. “It’ll be worse, if you make me chase you.” He looked her in the eye to emphasize his sincerity, not letting his gaze drop to ogle the fine pair of breasts pouting at him under an overlay of goose bumps. “I’m fine. I need you more.” He placed his hand over her mouth to forestall the argument he could sense rising. “I want you around me, melting over me, coming with everything you have.”
Rory muttered something against his fingers that sounded suspiciously like “domineering bastard,” but Damon ignored it because he also sensed her resolve wavering.
She pulled his hand away. "On one condition.”
“Name it.” Reminded of the condition she’d tacked on to their first negotiation that had been the start of his fall, Damon smiled, anticipating victory.
"You don’t move.”
His jaw dropped.
“What?”
Her brows gathered in a glower, her full lips set. “I don’t want you doing anything that might open your wound.”
“But—”
“You don’t have to move to have me melt over you.” She settled back on her heels, projecting steely determination that was incongruous against her nudity—especially when she crossed her arms under her breasts. “Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take you.”
Rory drew away.
“Hey!”
“If we’re going to do this, me melting over you and you not hurting, I have to speed things up. We can put your imagination through its paces once you’re recovered.” That said, she cupped her breasts, caressing them, pulling on their tight nipples and circling the rosy areolas. Sweet pleasure radiated from her as her lashes fluttered down, emerging in a low, throaty moan that hit him like a fist in the gut.
Damon groaned—or maybe it was something like “Gah!”— he wasn’t sure, just that he’d made a sound. The sight of her playing with herself turned him on faster than anything else he’d ever seen. His cock was suddenly tight to the point of pain. “I can do that.”
The minx smiled, her eyes opening to lazy slits. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
He didn’t care. Given how he felt right then, a bomb could go off beside him and it wouldn’t register. “Some things are meant to be borne.”
“Nope, we’re doing this my way.” Rory rose to her knees and reached between her thighs. Her slender fingers delved into her creamy pussy in a carnal display guaranteed to torture any red-blooded man. The musky female perfume that wafted to him only underscored the desire and delight his mental sense was picking up from her.
She might be doing it to get herself quickly to the melting point, but her performance also served to incite Damon’s libido to rebellion—sure torment when he wasn’t in much of a shape to do anything about it. After weeks of frequent lovemaking, he was hardwired to respond to the dark scent of her arousal.
Spiked need coiled in his balls, a savage hunger to have this one woman, Rory, around him, squeezing him, shuddering with unconstrained ecstasy. To know that she was his and have her acknowledge his claim.
Only her.
The image stole his breath. “Oh, you just wait till I’m better.”
“I look forward to it.” Self-satisfaction tilted the corners of her mouth, gratification in her feminine power, but not triumph. In this game, they would both emerge as winners.
The minx danced before him, an exotic temptress seducing him with her brazen play. That she was doing this to avoid hurting him was even more amazing. The thought made his cock throb even harder, and the hedonic emotions she radiated didn’t help.
Finally, Damon couldn’t stand the searing ache a second longer. His skin felt like it was stretched taut across his entire body and ready to split. “I need you now.”
Dropping to all fours, Rory clawed the blanket off him and crawled up his legs, her hard-tipped breasts prodding his belly, her sleek abdominals gliding over the sensitive head of his twitching cock.
The contrast and her aggressive stance were almost more than he could bear. The hunger she’d whetted threatened to boil up from his balls before she took him into herself.
Digging his fingers into the hapless mattress, Damon fought to hang on to his threadbare control. Just a little longer and she’d be around him, exactly the way he wanted.
Come on, Venizélos, don’t go off yet!
Trying to recall his research on probable targets to ramp down his arousal didn’t work. Even multiplication tables faded from his mind at the ticklish rasp of Rory’s soft mound against his thigh.
He nearly lost it when she slid over him, the crisp curls of her delta rubbing lightly over his cock head. The gentle friction was like gasoline to wildfire. He shivered at its promise. “Hurry.” Heaven in the wet clasp of his woman was nearly within reach, tantalizingly close yet oh so far.
Then she slipped over, sheathing him quickly in a hot, creamy embrace that was the last straw.
Raw, unadulterated pleasure erupted from his tight balls, unstoppable as a geyser flood and just as hot. Damon bucked as Rory’s tight pussy convulsed around him, unable to hold still, even if his life depended on doing so.
She gasped, arching above him as her cream gushed over him, the silken proof of her pleasure coating his length. He clamped his hands on her hips, anchoring her to him, driving himself deeper as she continued to flutter around him.
Her ecstasy exploded through him in a brilliant starburst of color, scorching his mental sense with its intensity. The paroxysm of delight melded with the carnal storm rampaging in his body, magnifying its power until he couldn’t separate what was Rory’s and what was his.
Gradually, Damon came back to himself, their climax leaving him spent and barely able to gasp for breath. And feeling better than he’d ever felt before.
Sighing, Rory lay down, twisting around so her weight was off him, clearly still mindful of his injury. "You okay?”
Pulling her against his side into his heat, he smiled at the understatement, savoring the aftershocks as her pussy continued to milk him. “I’m very okay.”
He studied her brown eyes with their epicanthic folds, still bemused by her transformations. It was like making love to a different woman each time, yet she was his Rory, deep down where it counted. He supposed he’d eventually become accustomed to having a harem all in one woman.
“So, was that sufficient incentive?” She whispered the question in a husky voice that bid fair to reignite the appetite she’d just slaked. Her breathless delivery inspired a twinge of interest in his limp cock.
“You drive a hard bargain.”
“But will you take better care of yourself?” Rory persisted. How she could remember the original conversation was beyond him.
“Well, I can promise to do my best to stay in one piece.” Damon pressed a finger to her lips to silence the protest he could sense rising. “Just as I won’t ask you not to take too many risks. I know you have to, to do what you do.”
She frowned, sucking on her bottom lip, then after a thoughtful pause, nodded. “Fair enough, I guess.”
He turned on his unwounded side to sling a leg over hers, not that he could feel any pain; the level of endorphins flooding his veins was probably illegal somewhere. “So we have a partnership?”
“Hmmm . . .” Rory stroked his chest lazily, ruffling the hair on his pectorals. The rhythmic sensation was indescribably soothing, fraught as it was with a certain proprietorial complacence. “You’re still a domineering bastard, but you’re mine.”
“Smile when you say that.” Damon planted a quick, hard peck on her soft lips.
“You’re mine,” she repeated smugly, giving him a toothy grin worthy of a tigress. “Besides, someone has to hang around to pull your nuts out of the fire.”
Happiness had Damon’s heart leaping when he realized what she’d said—and meant: she loved him and intended to stick around permanently. His master thief wasn’t one to relinquish whatever—or whomever—she considered to be hers. He chuckled softly, his relief and amusement rolling up from his belly in easy waves. “Of course.” He hadn’t realized until then how much he’d wanted that reciprocal claim.
Rory kissed him, a sweet promise conveying everything she didn’t say. He answered her with all the hope and joy in his heart, content to float in the aftermath of their lovemaking.
It was a long while before Damon had the presence of mind for anything else, but eventually he remembered another question he’d been meaning to ask. “Are you ever going to tell me your real name?”
For countless heartbeats, she stared meditatively into the darkness surrounding the narrow bed, before turning to meet his gaze. “Are you going to write it down somewhere? Tell someone?”
Suspecting that her hesitation entailed issues other than trust, he shook his head, matching her gravity. “This is as far as it gets.” He meant it, too. Unless she voluntarily shared the information with the Old Man, his superior would know her only as Rory—and only in the blond persona she affected.
Still, she narrowed her eyes at him. “This room isn’t bugged, is it?”
Damon had to smile at the suspicion in her voice. “It shouldn’t be.”
Despite his reassurance, Rory pushed up close to breathe into his ear, "Aurora diScipio,” with predictable cock-hardening consequences. Then in a normal tone, she added, “And if you call me that anywhere in public or pass it on to anyone, I’ll roast your nuts myself.” She poked him in the ribs, right where she knew he was ticklish, ruthlessly exploiting his vulnerability.
Flinching away from her finger, he burst into laughter, unable to stop himself despite the pain piercing his orgasm-induced euphoria. She’d do it, too! He hugged her close, resigned to his fate. Rory would never be the quiet little woman, content to wait for him between missions, but he wouldn’t want her any other way.
Savoring his lover’s cuddlesome form in his arms, Damon smiled, anticipating their work together. She’d keep him on his toes for the rest of their lives. With Rory as his partner, he was in for a hell of a ride . . . one well worth every second of searing emotion.