Blindside by Jayden Alexander Page A

waiting.
    “Now, Mac.”
    A thrilling stir of air.
    “Now damn it.” Hands under her buttocks held her in place. “Please.”
    “As you command.” A quick erotic hiss of zipper, an endless moment while Mac reached into his pocket. His jeans hit the floor, a torn paper square floating above them. She shuddered in an endless moan when she slid down against the glass, thighs spread wide, Lana’s sex gliding over the hard planes of his stomach. Slick probing moment. Joint groan. Mac slowly filled her, seared her. She hadn’t known what fire felt like.
    “God, you feel good.” His harsh words wafted above her lips, his tone a rough and longing wonder.
    She couldn’t move while he held her a willing captive, couldn’t release her grip over his neck. Couldn’t do anything but let him set the pace and take her on this exquisite torture.
    “More.” Trapped between glass and living heat, she tried and failed to move against him.
    “Won’t. Last.” Mac tortured her with slow rubs of his cock, arms like iron bands surrounding her, holding her ready for another tender onslaught.
    Breathless, she bit the taut chord of his neck pressing her palm above her head to grind herself against him. Another helpless slide up the glass was followed by a decadent descent.
    A torturous flex of his hips. A breathless moment of erotic torture. And under that hot predatory gaze, the crest of pleasure took over, and Lana fought to hold it back until Mac shuddered in her arms.
    His name screamed past her lips, liquid and pulsing pleasure shattering the fire. She shuddered as time passed, a warm caress of bliss and darkness. She opened her eyes long enough to see Mac bring them down to the couch and pull his coat over her spent, shivering body. Muscles warm and pliant, Lana pressed her lips against his neck and willed for this moment to last.
    “Nothing has changed,” she managed, still held in the warm circle of his arms.
    “I know.” Velvet voice, low and husky. “Doesn’t matter for now.”

 
     
     
Chapter Seven
     
     
    Mac couldn’t keep his hands off those smooth curves, silken skin poured over firm muscle. Her hands lay flat over his heart, fingers relaxed, her breath soft as if she was sleeping.
    “I didn’t know you could send power like that.” Throaty voice that stirred up ambers of heat.
    He shifted so she wouldn’t be trapped between him and the couch, so she could get away at any moment.
    Nothing was solved. Nothing was done. “Yeah,” was the only thing he said.
    She pushed and Mac obliged, lying flat on the couch, Lana on top, her arms folded over his chest, her cheek above his heartbeat. “Is that what happened?”
    “At the harbor? Yeah.” He fought the urge to push inside her, to feel her clench so hot and wet.
    Outside, the rain tapped at the windows, the city lights gilding her skin. He brushed a long curl off her forehead, straightening the warm strand then letting it to spring back and wrap around his finger.
    “I always wondered how it was possible.”
    With the pad of his thumb, Mac smoothed the frown line between her eyebrows. “You were adopted.”
    “And?”
    “If your parents had power, it would be natural for you to be susceptible to it.”
    A sneer this time. “It was Soviet Russia. Anyone with even a possibility of power would have been taken by the government or killed.” She moved off him and snatched his leather jacket as a shield. Cold air rushed in to reclaim the warmth from where she’d touched his skin. “When did you start feeling yours?”
    “Ten or eleven.”
    “I felt nothing. No inkling. If my parents, real parents, had it, wouldn’t I have felt something?”
    He stayed where he was, sated and tense and naked, letting her look at him, his body hardening again. “I’ve never heard of someone able to keep what had been transferred. But maybe that’s your power. You’re able to absorb.”
    “Like a leech.” Hard tone under the fake disguise of laughter.
    He’d