Drake Sisters 05 - Safe Harbor

he devoured her. Her body spasmed, her stomach, her thighs, her buttocks, even her breasts, as lightning streaked through her.
    His mouth was merciless, driving her up and up, so that her inner muscles rippled and clenched and waves of sensation burst through her. It wouldn't stop, not even long enough for her to catch her breath. He was eating her alive, making her his, leaving his brand on her.
    Hannah gave herself up to him, letting him have her completely, her body no longer her own. Jonas stood up, lifting her into his arms, shoving her against the wall.
    "Wrap your legs around me, Hannah." His voice was a harsh rasp in her ear.
    She circled his neck with her arms, and his waist with her legs, feeling the broad head of his erection poised at her entrance. And then he dropped her body over his, locking them together. She heard her own shattered cry as he filled her, driving through her ultrasensitive folds. He was so thick, almost too big for her, the friction hot and tight and dragging over the fiery knot of nerves so that it threw her into another shocking orgasm.
    She looked at his face, the glitter in his eyes, the harsh intensity of his desire written into every line of his face. Her breath stilled. Her mind. Everything in her went quiet for just one moment of realization. That was love in his eyes—for her. If he owned her body and soul, she owned him right back. And then the moment was gone because he was holding her hips still and lodging so deep inside her she felt him bump hard

    against her womb. Once again she was drowning, going under as waves of sheer ecstasy washed over and through her.
    He began to thrust hard, pumping into her, her channel hot silk, muscles swollen and gripping him tightly as he drove into her, his mind coming apart as he felt the climaxes building and tearing through her over and over. Her body fit his perfectly, squeezing like a fist, sending fiery streaks rushing through him from his toes to his head. His body strained, muscles locking as his own climax ripped through him like a firestorm, his heart thundering in his ears, pounding against hers as he fought for air.
    They collapsed against the wall, arms holding one another up, until, shaky, he allowed his body to slip from hers and they sank onto the floor. "Give me a minute, Hannah, and I'll carry you to bed."
    She curled her fingers around his arm, wanting to hold on to him. "We can just sleep here."
    "You'll get too cold," he protested. "Besides, I want to make love to you in my bed so I can wake up with your scent on my sheets."
    "We can't possibly again."
    He reached for her, his smile slow and sensual. "Anything is possible, baby."

Chapter Eighteen
    JONAS woke with his heart pounding and sweat beading on his body, the echo of his nightmare still ringing in his ears. He dragged in air and turned his head to look at Hannah. She was lying facedown beside him. Soft morning sunlight spilled through the window, bathing her in celestial light, so that her skin seemed luminous. The contour of her bottom was heart-stopping, nearly driving the nightmare from his head.
    He slid his hand possessively down her long back, noting he was shaking as he traced the long, beautiful line of her. He touched the dimples on either side of her spine, and then ran his hand over the enticing curve joining her back to bottom.
    She looked tired, sprawled out, one arm flung wide, hair spilling everywhere. Tired—
    and vulnerable. He'd made love to her over and over, pushing her beyond her comfort zone more than once, but she'd gone with him and they'd exploded together often, like rockets going off on the Fourth of July. He'd never experienced sex the way it was with her and he could only conclude that loving a woman wholly, with every breath in a man's body, took mere sex into a whole different realm. He didn't want to wake her just because he was so needy with nightmares crowding close, but he considered it.

    His body was already reacting to the sight and scent of her.
    He tried to recall the dream that had awoken him. He'd been back in the alley, watching the Russian mobsters, hiding like a coward in the shadows while one of them had put a bullet in an undercover agent's head. Terry, the driver, had run to him, begging for help, and he'd calmly continued to film as Karl Tarasov walked up behind him and shot him. And then Hannah was there, smiling at Tarasov, and he leaned down to kiss her, only a knife was clutched in his hand. He lifted it