Black Ice - Anne Stuart [80]
He pulled his shirt over his head, his chest streaked more darkly with blood, then stripped out of the rest of his clothes, keeping a steady arm around her as he did so. She took the soap from him and scrubbed at his chest, covering him with lather, desperate to wash any trace of blood away, desperate for it all to be washed away….
“Enough,” he said, taking her hand, making her drop the soap onto the tiled floor of the shower, pulling her against him under the full force of the shower, her body pressed up against his, wet and naked, the both of them.
She needed it to go away, all of it. The water wasn’t enough, the soap couldn’t banish it. She needed more, and his erection against her belly was proof that he did, too. In normal times he might not want her, but at that moment he needed her just as badly as she needed him. Needed the oblivion.
She reached down and touched him, and he jerked in her hand, big and heavy, engorged with the same need that swamped her.
She looked up at him through the heavy downpour of the shower. “Please,” she whispered, letting her fingers slip down the solid ridge of his cock. “I need…”
“I know,” he said.
He didn’t turn off the shower. He simply picked her up and carried her into the darkened bedroom, laying her down on the bed, following her, covering her, pushing inside her before she could even catch her breath.
But then, she didn’t want to breathe. She just wanted this, hard and fast and deep, and she came almost immediately, hard around him, tight and clenching as her entire body suffused into heat and light and a kind of star-studded prickly darkness that went on forever, as he moved inside her, seeking his climax with mindless concentration.
It didn’t take him long either. She was still shivering around him when she felt his cock thicken and jerk inside her, and her own climax began again. She tightened her legs around his hips as he spilled inside her. Hot, wet life filling her, driving away death and darkness.
She must have made some sort of noise, because he covered her mouth with his hand, silencing her. She welcomed it, letting go of the very last of her strength, sobbing against the hard flesh of his fingers, until there was nothing left of her, nothing at all.
Bastien pulled away from her, and her arms fell away. She was already unconscious. He would have liked to think he’d fucked her into oblivion, but he knew better than that. She craved the release, the forgetting, as strong as a junkie craved his drugs, and he’d given it to her, taken it for himself, and she’d found healing sleep before he even pulled out of her body.
Her body hadn’t followed her mind yet—the last, stray shiver of orgasm stirred her body. He’d needed her so badly, and he still couldn’t believe her need had been just as strong.
He hadn’t kissed her. But then, this hadn’t been about kissing. It had been about life, reclaiming it. It had been about sex and rebirth, pain and need, and he was getting hard again, just looking down at her.
He wondered if it would ever be about them. About him wanting Chloe, and Chloe wanting him, or whether it was just a weapon, a drug, a tool. He wasn’t going to find out. He was going to finish his job, tonight, and get Chloe on a plane. He was going to survive, because he had to, because he had to make sure she was safely out of there. And then he was going to wait to see what happened, if they would come for him or let him go.
The shower was still running. The Hotel Denis had unlimited hot water, as befitted an exclusive, discreet establishment. He looked down at her, envying her sleep, envying her oblivion. He had too many things to do, to keep her safe, to finish this. He couldn’t crawl beneath the sheets with her, wrap his body around hers and sink into the warm, sweet pleasure of her. All he could do was pull the covers from under her, covering her body. All he could do was lean over and put his mouth against her lips.
All he could do was leave her.
Chloe opened her eyes. She didn’t want to. For a brief moment she couldn’t remember where she