Through a Crimson Veil by Patti O'Shea Page B

it too. It’s going to be so hot with us,” she said.
    McCabe’s reply was unintelligible, but the guttural noise was worth a hundred words. Lazily, Mika dragged her fingers over his abs, tracing the ridge of each hard muscle. She lightly circled his navel, then trailed the tip of her index finger down the line of hair that started just below his belly button until she reached the waistband of his shorts.
    He arched back, but his arms remained locked at his sides—which wasn’t good enough. Mika wanted him outof control. Completely, totally, utterly lost in her. The position of her body prevented her from exploring beneath the elastic, but with agonizing slowness she slid her palms up his skin until she could tease his nipples.
    Conor bucked. He grabbed her hips, holding her in place for an instant, then ran his hands up her back. As he pulled her down to him, Mika braced her palms on either side of his head. The nubby fabric of the sofa abraded her skin, but she was only aware of that for the briefest moment before his lips were on her breasts. He kissed, licked, took her nipples into his mouth and used his tongue to pleasure her.
    “More, please,” she gasped. When he gave her more, it wasn’t what she wanted. If the man couldn’t take a hint, she’d have to spell it out for him. “Damn it, bite me,” she ordered.
    He did, light little nibbles that made her whimper and grind against him. She was close to orgasm, but she wanted Conor inside her when she came, and she told him that.
    Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close and began to shift his body. It didn’t surprise her that a Kiverian male wanted the dominant position during sex. The realization made her inner muscles clench, and Mika pressed her teeth gently into his shoulder. His groan was silent, but she felt it vibrate through him.
    Conor shifted faster. The solid support of the couch gave way to empty air, and Mika only had enough time to widen her eyes before they landed on the floor. McCabe took the brunt of the impact, his body cushioning hers. For an instant, Mika was dazed, then she realized Conor wasn’t moving.
    The coffee table—it was so close to the sofa that he must have hit his head. She scrambled off him, but was careful not to hurt him further. “Conor!” She knelt beside him.
    His eyes opened, the glow banked. “I’m okay,” he said.
    She leaned closer, but there wasn’t much space. Impatiently,she gave the couch a shove, sending it halfway across the room, then pushed the table the other direction. “Are you sure?” Without waiting for answers, Mika started feeling the back of his head for bumps.
    Conor grabbed her hand and sat up. “I’m fine,” he said.
    The thread of impatience in his voice froze her. Then she smiled. His annoyance was understandable; they had been on the verge of mating. “Well, since you’re fine…”
    She pressed herself against him, and freeing her hand, turned his face toward hers to kiss him. He didn’t respond. Confused, Mika eased back. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
    “Nothing.” He pulled away from her and stood. “Get dressed.” His voice was flat, almost cold. He put a few steps’ distance between them.
    For a split second, she felt strangely uncomfortable kneeling in front of him in nothing but her panties—embarrassed, ashamed—until she saw the way his sex strained against his shorts. Mika sat back on her heels, arching to accentuate her breasts, and looked at him from beneath lowered lashes. A rumble came from low in his throat, but she didn’t need it to know the effect she had on him. She could see it.
    “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have me finish un dressing, McCabe?” she asked.
    He didn’t reply, so Mika lifted her gaze. His eyes were glowing red. Oh, yeah, he definitely liked looking at her. She rose to her feet, going to him and winding her arms around his waist. His muscles became more rigid. Another rejection. The pain was so sharp, she couldn’t