He gave a grunt that could have been agreement as he set her down on the long marble countertop that spanned about six feet. He unzipped her jacket and drew it down and away.
She tilted her head to one side, studying his hard jaw, high cheekbones, and firm lips. He was tough, no doubt about it. His words and features were blunt but compelling. He’d removed her coat as he’d done everything else since they’d met—with competence and efficiency. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to figure out what you are,” she answered honestly.
He shook his head and seemed almost amused as he reached for her tank top. There was no room for false modesty between them. Her early days in Hell had killed any human hang-ups she’d had about being naked in front of another.
On a shudder, she shoved the memory away. She didn’t like to remember those times when she’d been weaker and much more vulnerable.
“What is it?” Catching her head between his huge hands, he stared at her, his dark eyes unblinking.
God, he had amazing eyes. They were pitch black without a hint of any other color. Sorcerer’s eyes. It was easy to believe he could read whatever truth existed in her heart, mind, and soul. Not a comfortable sensation, yet they lured her.
“Nothing.” At least nothing she was willing to share. “Get naked.”
He paused, stepped back, and released her. She instantly missed the contact. To distract herself, she removed her boots and socks. Maccus watched her every movement. “What?”
“You’re so beautiful.”
Her face grew warm. Was she blushing?
When was the last time that had happened?
“Thank you.” Feeling as though she should return the compliment, she tossed out, “You’re pretty hot yourself.” God, that was so stupid. He showed no outward reaction.
Awkward.
She hopped off the counter and removed her sword, gun holster, and knife, setting them safely aside. Both her boots held knives, but they were safe in their built-in holders.
Standing in a bathroom bigger than her current motel room, wearing only a stained white sports bra and a pair of leather pants, Morrigan hesitated. He was still totally dressed.
“Well? Are we doing this?” This wasn’t about flowers and promises of forever. This was about two people having hot, sweaty, and, hopefully, satisfying sex. She shoved down the tiny part of her that yearned for the flowers and promises.
“Oh, we’re doing it.” There was a grim determination in the words and tone that raised her hackles.
“Don’t put yourself out.” Shut up, Morrigan. Great, now I’m arguing with myself. And losing. “No need to do me any favors?” Why was she arguing, when the goal was to get him naked?
“Trust me. I’m not.”
That’s not ominous. Not at all.
He removed his jacket and hung it on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. Then he yanked the black tank top over his head and dropped it on the floor, exposing the huge expanse of his muscled chest.
The man was built like a god—wide shoulders, a deep chest, and biceps like small mountains. But it was the tattoos that drew her. They were everywhere.
Lethal throwing knives covered each side of his torso. He had a haladie, an ancient weapon with blades extending from both ends of a central handle inked on both arms. The details were incredible. It seemed that if she reached out, she could pluck them off his skin and use them to kill an enemy. Push daggers were etched into his palms. Like their name implied, they were small but deadly blades with a grip that allowed you to push them into your target.
A walking arsenal, all in dark ink.
“Wow.” Unable to stop herself, she ran her fingertips lightly over the throwing knives. Her palms itched to try one. Each shoulder was covered in an intricate five-point throwing star. They were works of art.
He flattened her hand against his skin. The bulge in his pants had grown larger, and an answering pulse throbbed between her legs.
He ran his hands over her torso and upward, shoving her bra off as he went. His hands were callused and rough, but his actions were arousing. This was a man who could kill, had killed. She recognized the signs. But there was more to him than that.
Why does Lucifer want him dead?
That was a problem for later. Right now was about pleasure, something far too infrequent in her short lifespan.
Heat penetrated her skin when he covered her breasts with his hands. The mounds swelled, and her nipples hardened, poking against his palms. He squeezed, drawing a moan from her.
Need to touch him.
A sense of urgency driving her, she flicked open the top button of his leather pants. She couldn’t wait to peel them down to reveal all the hot masculine perfection beneath.
Before she could ease the zipper over his impressive erection, she was snatched off her feet.
His mouth slammed down on hers. He didn’t kiss her; he consumed her. And she loved it.
They’d only known each other for a couple of hours, but there was a sense of destiny about this moment, as though she’d waited a lifetime for it and for him.
I’m not wasting a single second.
She ran her palms over his broad back, loving the way the heavy muscles flexed under her questing hands. His skin was hot and slick, making it easier to explore. She licked his shoulder, tasting salt and heat before giving a slight nip with her teeth.
“Fucking amazing.” Chest heaving, he kissed her again, their tongues dueling for supremacy.
She moved her hands lower, tracing his spine all the way to his ass. It was firm and perfect.
She captured his deep groan in her mouth, gave him her moan when his tongue stroked hers.
He delved between her legs, stroking the ache building inside her. Her panties were wet. Her leather pants way too confining. This was amazing, but his fingers on her bare flesh… Her entire body shuddered at the thought.
He released her so suddenly, she almost fell on her ass, barely managing to catch herself at the last second. “If you want to keep your pants in one piece, take them off.” His voice was deep and guttural, barely understandable.
Now you’re talking.
She yanked the zipper open, shoved both her pants and underwear down and off, needing to get naked as fast as possible. This was no seductive striptease, but a race to see how quickly she could get the job done.
And he did the same. In seconds, they were both bare.
Panting, more from anticipation than exertion, she stared.
I was right.
His bottom half was even better than the top, if that was even possible. His penis jutted out, firm and full, and in scale with his large size.