Eve - Iris Johansen [31]
Maybe.
She didn’t feel sleepy. Every nerve was keyed, and the effort to keep from thinking about John Gallo was added stress. Homework? She’d gotten behind in that, too, but there was nothing urgent. She’d get back in the routine now that she had no distractions.
Distractions?
That was a tame word for John Gallo. Oh, yes, he had distracted her and seduced her and taught her a hundred ways to enjoy her body … and his.
But that last time at the motel had revealed that pleasure could be as much a trap as the one she was trying to escape. He was too good, and he had warned her that he would do anything to get what he wanted.
Right now he wanted her.
It might change with time and distance, but that might be too late if he persuaded her to do what he wanted. Even now she could feel her body flush, ready, as she remembered what he had done this—
The doorbell rang, startling her.
No one came to the door at that time of night.
Unless her mother had lost her key again. She misplaced it at least once or twice every few months.
She slid back the viewer in the door. “Again, Sandra? We’re keeping that locksmith—”
It wasn’t Sandra.
John Gallo.
Eve slid back the bolt and threw open the door. “What’s wrong? Why are you—”
She was crushed against him, his mouth on hers, hard, frantic.
And she was frantic, too. Her arms slid around him, and she was making sounds deep in her throat. “Why?” she gasped. “I thought you were gone. Why are—”
“This is why.” His voice was guttural; his hands ripping open the buttons of her shirt. “I was sitting at that gate at the airport, and I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I had to have you one more time.” He was tearing off her bra, his lips on her breast. “Don’t say no, Eve.”
No? She was as wild as he was. The shock of his appearance had sent her hurtling back into the sensual storm she always experienced when she was with him. She could scarcely breathe. Her hands were running up and down his back, bringing him closer as his tongue sent sensation after sensation through her. “The plane…”
“I can catch one at three. I’ll still be there on time.” He’d backed her against the kitchen table and was pulling down her jeans. “I don’t give a damn…”
And she didn’t either. “The couch…”
He wasn’t paying any attention to her. She didn’t know if he even heard her. He’d lifted her onto the kitchen table, and he was suddenly over her, in her, with one movement. She inhaled sharply. Fullness.
Hardness all around her. The table against her buttocks, his belly pressing down on hers, the stroking …
The stroking!
His breath was harsh, his chest rising and falling against her with every thrust. “I knew you … wouldn’t want it here. This is your space, and you don’t want me in it.” Another deep thrust. “You don’t want to … remember me here. You don’t want to remember me at all, do you?” He sank deep and rotated. “Do you?”
She gasped as her hands clutched wildly at his shoulders. “It’s not—” She shuddered as the pace quickened. “You told me—”
“I said a lot of things, didn’t I?” His face above her was flushed, fierce, completely sensual. “But all I can think about right now is that you have—to—remember me. I won’t let you forget me. Every time you look around you, you’re going to remember me here, doing this to you.” He suddenly slid back off the table, taking her with him.
Her legs instinctively curled around his hips.
He was walking, pausing to stroke, then walking again.
Then they were on the couch. “Do you know how many times I thought about doing it with you here?” he whispered. “You liked the reservoir because it was neutral territory, and I’d give you anything you wanted. But toward the end I didn’t want neutral.” He was moving fast, hard. “I wanted this. Because I won’t—be—forgotten, Eve.”
Wildness. Hunger. Heat.
Madness.
She had to have more.