“Constant.” His lips curled in a slow, hot smile that made her heartbeat accelerate. “I’m… willing if you are.”
“Oh, I’m willing.” The next sentence came out before she could manage to reel it back. “I haven’t had sex since I was Bitten.”
“Wait, what now?”
“When you’re in your Burning Moon, there’s a tendency to bite, and I was afraid of infecting anybody.”
When Conal’s eyes widened, she added quickly, “I’m not talking… Bite, bite. I just mean… But even a nip, if the skin breaks… Merlin’s Curse rises with sexual arousal. You can normally control the magic, but when you’re in your Burning Moon, not so much. But it’s not an issue with you.”
“Because I’d already be furry otherwise, as many times as they bit me.”
She nodded. “Sidhe genetics and Merlin’s Curse aren’t compatible, even in people with some mortal blood.”
But he was staring at her, and the look on his face said he really didn’t give a damn about Sidhe genetics. “You’ve been working for Maeve for years.” The words sounded a little hoarse. “You mean all this time…”
“No. Werewolves and a few Magekind made offers…” She shook her head and looked away. “But you tend to be pretty fertile with werewolves, and I didn’t want to be charity for some vampire, so…”
He stood in an abrupt rush of very male muscle and moved around the table, his eyes fixed on her. “You could never be charity. Not for anyone.”
She froze, staring up at him as he loomed over her, so damn gorgeous he took her breath. Sidhe genetics. Damn. For a moment he just stood there, staring down at her, broad and hard and fierce. Helena, who’d been wet all night, felt herself grow even wetter. And it wasn’t just because of the Burning Moon.
Conal extended a big hand, and she put her own in it. His palm was surprisingly hard and rough with calluses. Whatever the man did for exercise, he didn’t get manicures. He gave a tug and pulled her effortlessly to her feet. “Let’s see about putting out the fire.” His warm hand encircling hers, he led her from the room.
In a daze, Helena followed Conal across the living room to the massive metal spiral staircase that led to the apartment’s upper floor. With every step they took, the fire raging in her grew until she was almost panting. It was comforting to realize his breathing wasn’t exactly smooth either. Helena cleared her throat. “One thing. Do you have condoms? Because I really am fertile as hell.”
He shot her a look, and she caught the curve of his lips. “Yes, I have condoms.”
When they reached his bedroom, the view was so stunning that it managed to penetrate even the hot blaze of the Burning Moon. New York lay spread out before them in all its technological glory, as if someone had shaped a starfield into buildings. She could even see the Freedom Tower, a 1,776-foot middle finger to terrorists everywhere. “That view’s amazing.”
“So’s this one.” Conal turned to face her, warm hands cupping her jaw, as his thumbs came to rest on her cheeks. A wave of burning steam rolled from her pussy into her head, and Helena gasped in need, staring up at him in hypnotized fascination. The light illuminated half his handsome face, the spark of violet magic in his shadowed eyes. Slowly, so slowly, his head lowered.
Conal didn’t dive into the kiss. He started out shallow with parted, brushing lips rather than thrusting tongue. Her Burning Moon appetite wasn’t having any of that, and she tried to slip her own tongue into his mouth. Conal promptly pulled back. “No,” he said, his voice dark, rough velvet. “I want to call the shots.” Helena swallowed, staring up at him, a bit stunned at just how hard that erotic purr hit her.
Conal took a step back, reached for the hem of his shirt, and pulled it off over his head. He was inked. She vaguely remembered seeing the sigil before, but he’d been dying at the time. The magical design shimmered high on his pectoral, an intricate Sidhe glyph that maintained his illusion of mere humanity. Aching, hungry, Helena took a half step forward.
“No.” There was a whip-sharp note to his voice that sliced right down to reflexes engrained in the FBI academy. She froze. Conal’s voice dropped. “I’ll let you call the shots the next time. Tonight…”
Yeah, maybe he did need to give a werewolf orders after today. His hands dropped to his fly. She watched with hypnotized fascination as he unzipped it. His cock had pulled the fabric so taut, he had to wrestle with it for a moment. “Damn it…” Helena might have laughed if she wasn’t working so hard not to leap on him and rip those pants right off.
But a moment later he managed it and pulled the zipper down, with a sigh that sounded like relief. Helena saw why, as his cock jutted, barely contained by the stretchy black cotton of his boxers. He paused to toe off his shoes, then stripped pants and underwear down his long, muscled legs. Conal stepped out of his clothes, picked them up and strode across the room. He seemed utterly unselfconscious as her gaze flicked down the length of his broad back to his narrow waist, to the strong curves of his ass and long, strong legs.
He emerged from the bathroom without his clothing a moment later, and… Oh, sweet Jesus -- that cock. She’d seen her share of erections before she’d become a werewolf, but Conal’s shaft was long, elegant and uncut, deliciously exotic, and she swallowed, imagining how it would feel inside her. When Helena finally dragged her eyes away from his erection, she realized he was watching her. He sauntered over, a very satisfied male smile on his face. “You’re doing this deliberately,” she accused.
His return grin grew a little twisted. “Yeah. I don’t normally strut, but I’m feeling a little… lacerated.”
The smile fled her face. “Yeah. I know how that feels.”
Conal’s eyes widened, and he looked startled, as if it had just dawned on him he wasn’t the only one who’d endured a traumatic werewolf encounter. Helena tensed, afraid he was going to ask. But Conal only gazed into Helena’s face for a long moment, searching, as if he could somehow sense the pain Helena had worked so hard to forget. Finally he took her into his arms in a slow gathering that felt exquisitely kind. His kiss was just as tender, just as rich with understanding. She felt her eyes sting, yet for once she wasn’t ashamed.
His hands slid down the length of her back, drifting over her shoulders, the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, until she felt the hard, wracking quiver of need roll through her. As if in response, Conal slipped his tongue into the depths of her mouth in a slick, suggestive entry that sent an electric tingle from her nipples all the way to her clit. As they kissed, his hands glided to the buttons on her top. The smell of his arousal filled her senses as his cock brushed her belly.
And yet his hands were steady, controlled, as he undid each and every button. For something to do with her own hands, Helena fumbled with Liam’s belt and managed to get it off. She started to drop it to the floor, but it pulled out of her hands and floated over to the bedside table, landing with a little clunk. In easy reach.
Apparently, there was only so much privacy Liam was willing to give. Considering her IQ had begun dropping the minute Conal took off his shirt, Helena decided to be grateful.