Spirit Bound - Christine Feehan [138]
She was already in bed, not a stitch on, just the way he liked it, her long hair in a braid, as if it was really going to stay that way. He shucked his jeans and stretched out beside her, gathering her close, curving his body around hers protectively. His hard cock snuggled perfectly between the soft firm globes of her ass. His hands stripped off the tie at the end of the braid to release the thick mass. He smiled at her resigned sigh, cupped the soft weight of her breast in one palm and held her close.
“Go to sleep, angel. Sweet dreams.” He kissed her bare shoulder and lay quietly, waiting for her even breathing.
It didn’t take long before she succumbed to her exhaustion. Stefan took another half hour for himself, just enjoying being able to lie so close to her before carefully slipping from the bed as he had each night they’d been together. He was surprised how reluctant he was each time to put on his “shadow skin,” but there was no safe place for them until Ivanov was out of their lives. Sorbacov had no idea of Thomas Vincent, but Ivanov did. He’d tried to draw him out and so had Lev, but either Ivanov was really hurt and lying low, or he was too cunning to be tricked. Stefan suspected the latter.
He looked down at Judith, her face relaxed, long lashes two thick crescents on her face. He loved that she slept naked for him and never protested when he took the braid from her hair. No matter how often he reached for her, she always met him eagerly. No matter how often he stripped off her clothes, she laughed and complied no matter where they were in the house and once, out on the grounds. Even now, he was tempted to reach between her legs and caress her, knowing she’d be damp and ready for his possession.
He reached down and took strands of her silky hair between his fingers, his heart in his throat. She took his breath away every time he looked at her. He could hold her forever. It seemed a miracle to him to be able to curl his body around hers, the soft weight of her breast resting in his palm, breathing in the scent of her, of them, combined. Most of the time he lay awake and exulted in his ability to feel such intense emotion.
He didn’t have pretty words for her, but he had his body to show her just how much she meant to him. He could do all those little things that counted, watching and noting all the things that were important to her, all the habits she had. He wanted to be her everything.
Stefan looked around the room. The space was feline cream, serene and calm, with splashes of silken color that would always be Judith, that bright well of deep joy and compassion. She might try to feed the passion of her anger and need for revenge, but her true nature would always rise to the surface, her empathy for others always there, forcing her to see their side. The artist in her ran too deep.
With a sigh, he pulled on his clothes and weapons. He was a little late meeting his brother, and it was becoming difficult to deceive Judith. He didn’t like it at all. If they were going to be together, and he wasn’t going to have it any other way, then there had to be honesty between them. His first reaction was always her protection and the less she knew about Petr Ivanov the better. And the less Ivanov knew about her, the better. But damn it all—he reached down and brushed back her hair—leaving her out of what he was doing felt wrong.
Resolutely he turned and left, careful to set the alarm before jogging down the road to meet Lev. His brother waited for him beside a small Jeep. He flashed a quick grin and slid behind the wheel, waiting for Stefan to jog around to the passenger’s side.
“You look like hell, brother,” Lev greeted.
“I feel like I’m lying to her,” Stefan admitted.
Lev had driven down the road, but he slammed on the brakes, giving Stefan a disgusted look. “Are you telling me you’re lying to her about what you