Free In Death Collection: Books 16-20 by J.D. Robb

she trailed her fingers into his hair and used her lips, her teeth, her tongue, to seduce.
    The worries of the day slid away as she filled him. The warmth with its promise of heat, the lazy desire that was sure to turn to urgency. While he guided her in small circles, she led him in this more intimate dance with kisses that drugged the mind, with hands that aroused the body.
    As her mouth became more demanding, she tugged the jacket off his shoulders, then raked her short nails up the back of his shirt.
    He could feel the music, a kind of rising pulse inside him as he tasted the flesh of her throat. What beat inside him beat for her, and always would. Her fingers were busy now with the buttons of his shirt even as he shoved her own jacket down her arms.
    She shook herself free of it before clamping her teeth, small, nibbling bites, on his bare shoulder.
    “You’re getting ahead of me,” he managed.
    “Keep up.” Nimble and quick, she unhooked his trousers and closed her hand over him.
    His blood surged, stealing his breath so that he fumbled with her weapon harness. Though he hit the release, the strap tangled with her half-open shirt. “Bloody hell.”
    Her laugh was muffled against his mouth, and her hands were ruthless.
    She could feel his heart raging against hers now, just as she could feel his struggle for control. But she’d make him lose control this time, until he thought of nothing but her, felt nothing but that burn in the blood.
    She knew how the need would build in him—in her—gathering fast and hot, as painful as a fresh bruise, spreading until the system screamed for release.
    That was what he brought her, what they brought each other.
    They dragged each other to the floor, rolling over the rug as they pulled and tugged at clothes, as hands rushed over damp flesh and mouth sought mouth.
    She wanted him wild, mindless, raging, and knew his body—its weaknesses, its strength—well enough to exploit both. She waged power against power and felt a fresh spurt of excitement when his breath caught on her name.
    His hands were rough, she wanted them rough, as they raced over her. His mouth was hot, voracious when it closed over her breast.
    Feeding, he fed her so that even as she flew over that first whippy edge, she could crave more.
    When he clamped his hands over her wrists to still her hands, she didn’t struggle. She would let him believe he had the control, let him take and take until he thought them both sated. She arched, offering herself to that greedy mouth, and absorbed every shattering thrill.
    And when she felt him brace to plunge inside her, she rolled—quick as a snake—and reversed their positions. Now her hands cuffed his wrists, and her body pinned his.
    “What’s your hurry?”
    His eyes were madly blue, his breath in tatters. “Christ, Eve.”
    “You’ll just have to wait till I’m done with you.”
    Her mouth crushed down on his.
    His system was one raw nerve, and she scraped pleasure over it without mercy. His skin was slick with sweat, his heart a painful hammer blow against his ribs, his blood already screaming in his ears. And still she used him.
    He heard himself say her name again, again, then lost his own words in a frantic spate of Gaelic that might have been prayers, might have been curses.
    When she rose over him, her skin gleaming in the last red lights of the dying sun, he was beyond any speech.
    Now her fingers linked with his, and she took him in.
    She bowed back, her body a slim and lovely arch of energy, and it shuddered, shuddered, as his did. Then sheshifted her gaze, fixed her eyes on his. And rode.
    He lost his senses, lost his mind as she drove him. Sensations pounded him, too hard, too fast for any defense. As his vision dimmed, he could see her face, and those dark eyes focused so intently on him.
    Then he went blind as the pleasure shot through him, a hot bullet, and he emptied himself into her.
    They were both still quivering when she slid down to