was only one
single driving desire. Kissing him wasn’t even a choice. She lifted her head,
surging up to claim his lips from below, because to wait another second would
have been a sin.
Julian made a hoarse,
startled sound in his throat, but his hesitation didn’t last longer than a
heartbeat before he was devouring her just as eagerly as she was him. And was
she ever eager. She’d never before realized how intensely erotic it was to be
pinned like this, pressed between his unyielding strength and the firm floor,
his thigh hard between hers. He must have appreciated it too, because as his
tongue thrust into her mouth, stroking against hers, she felt his erection grow
hard against her hip. She wanted that hardness, that heat.
He transferred both her
wrists to one hand, keeping her arched like a drawn bow beneath him, and fisted
his free hand into her hair, drawing her into an even tighter arc, angling her
for a deeper, stronger kiss.
Lust. That’s all it
was. Pure, animal, physical need. But knowing that didn’t stop her from pulsing
her hips up, rubbing against his firm thigh as something tight and hot ignited
at the luscious friction. Julian broke the kiss, unerringly zeroing in on the
sweet spot on her neck beneath her ear. He bit and she shuddered. He licked and
she moaned. He sucked and an internal cord snapped taut between that point and
her clit, until each draw of his mouth made her pant his name. Then his hand
was beneath her shirt, his touch against her bare stomach so light it forced
her to arch into him, demanding more. She shifted her legs, spreading them
wider until his weight settled hard, right where she needed it. She wanted to
wrap her arms around him, hold him so tight he would never get away, but he
still held her hands pinned above her head so she hooked her legs around his
instead, locking her ankles together behind his thighs, rocking up into him,
the pressure, the friction, all of it building, so hot and unbearably sweet—
Julian jerked back, his
head snapping around to stare toward the kitchen. Only then did Mirage hear the
ringtone.
“No,” she moaned, not
even sure what she was protesting—the interruption? Reality?
But the mingled denial
and plea had no effect. Julian was already moving, disentangling himself,
releasing her wrists, easily pulling free of her leg-lock. All that delicious
pressure was gone, but her body still yearned for it, throbbing with
unsatisfied desire. Damn it. At least his erection looked damned
painful. He deserved the world’s bluest balls for leaving her to get a fucking
phone call. This was a textbook example of why voicemail had been invented,
thank you very much.
Julian snatched the
phone from the floor. He blushed like a schoolboy, his face turning an impressive
shade of crimson as he punched the screen to connect the call. “Lucien. What’s
our status?”
* * * * * * * * * *
He was going to Hell. The
phone call was like a message straight from God. He’d been well on his way to
stripping Mirage naked and plunging into her until he couldn’t tell where he
ended and she began, and her brother—her violently overprotective brother—just
happened to call.
“Shitty,” Lucien
replied, his voice so dark Julian flinched, certain Lucien somehow knew what
he’d just been doing to his precious baby sister. “The cops are waving the new
regulations around and refusing to lift the charges against Mirabelle and now
Darla and I have to leave the country.”
“What? You have to flee
the country?”
“Leave, not flee. It’s
this earthquake in Guinea. Haven’t you seen the news?”
“No, we’ve
been...busy.” Guilt made the words stick in his throat. He couldn’t face
Mirage, but he could feel her arch look.
“Huge quake. Thousands
trapped. We’re flying down immediately to help. Unless you need me to stay
behind. Is Mirabelle…?”
“She’s fine.” He tried
to keep the strain out of his voice, but Lucien must have heard it.
“I
single driving desire. Kissing him wasn’t even a choice. She lifted her head,
surging up to claim his lips from below, because to wait another second would
have been a sin.
Julian made a hoarse,
startled sound in his throat, but his hesitation didn’t last longer than a
heartbeat before he was devouring her just as eagerly as she was him. And was
she ever eager. She’d never before realized how intensely erotic it was to be
pinned like this, pressed between his unyielding strength and the firm floor,
his thigh hard between hers. He must have appreciated it too, because as his
tongue thrust into her mouth, stroking against hers, she felt his erection grow
hard against her hip. She wanted that hardness, that heat.
He transferred both her
wrists to one hand, keeping her arched like a drawn bow beneath him, and fisted
his free hand into her hair, drawing her into an even tighter arc, angling her
for a deeper, stronger kiss.
Lust. That’s all it
was. Pure, animal, physical need. But knowing that didn’t stop her from pulsing
her hips up, rubbing against his firm thigh as something tight and hot ignited
at the luscious friction. Julian broke the kiss, unerringly zeroing in on the
sweet spot on her neck beneath her ear. He bit and she shuddered. He licked and
she moaned. He sucked and an internal cord snapped taut between that point and
her clit, until each draw of his mouth made her pant his name. Then his hand
was beneath her shirt, his touch against her bare stomach so light it forced
her to arch into him, demanding more. She shifted her legs, spreading them
wider until his weight settled hard, right where she needed it. She wanted to
wrap her arms around him, hold him so tight he would never get away, but he
still held her hands pinned above her head so she hooked her legs around his
instead, locking her ankles together behind his thighs, rocking up into him,
the pressure, the friction, all of it building, so hot and unbearably sweet—
Julian jerked back, his
head snapping around to stare toward the kitchen. Only then did Mirage hear the
ringtone.
“No,” she moaned, not
even sure what she was protesting—the interruption? Reality?
But the mingled denial
and plea had no effect. Julian was already moving, disentangling himself,
releasing her wrists, easily pulling free of her leg-lock. All that delicious
pressure was gone, but her body still yearned for it, throbbing with
unsatisfied desire. Damn it. At least his erection looked damned
painful. He deserved the world’s bluest balls for leaving her to get a fucking
phone call. This was a textbook example of why voicemail had been invented,
thank you very much.
Julian snatched the
phone from the floor. He blushed like a schoolboy, his face turning an impressive
shade of crimson as he punched the screen to connect the call. “Lucien. What’s
our status?”
* * * * * * * * * *
He was going to Hell. The
phone call was like a message straight from God. He’d been well on his way to
stripping Mirage naked and plunging into her until he couldn’t tell where he
ended and she began, and her brother—her violently overprotective brother—just
happened to call.
“Shitty,” Lucien
replied, his voice so dark Julian flinched, certain Lucien somehow knew what
he’d just been doing to his precious baby sister. “The cops are waving the new
regulations around and refusing to lift the charges against Mirabelle and now
Darla and I have to leave the country.”
“What? You have to flee
the country?”
“Leave, not flee. It’s
this earthquake in Guinea. Haven’t you seen the news?”
“No, we’ve
been...busy.” Guilt made the words stick in his throat. He couldn’t face
Mirage, but he could feel her arch look.
“Huge quake. Thousands
trapped. We’re flying down immediately to help. Unless you need me to stay
behind. Is Mirabelle…?”
“She’s fine.” He tried
to keep the strain out of his voice, but Lucien must have heard it.
“I
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