Northern Lights

the warmth, and pushed her so quickly, so violently to peak, they both shuddered.
    It was like climbing a quiet, green hill and having it turn into a volcano. That was inside of him, she realized. The dangerous surprise under the injured calm. She'd wanted him, those sad eyes, that quiet manner. But she hadn't known what he would give her when the mask was yanked away.
    She arched up, stunned, as he raked heat through her body. And when she cried out, it was with mindless pleasure. She rolled with him, digging with her nails, nipping with her teeth, her hands eager and possessive as they raced over slickened skin.
    Her lungs burned with every panting breath.
    He wanted to devour, to ravish and rule. He drove into her, would have buried his face in her hair, but her hands came up to his face. And she watched him, her eyes wild and blue as he thrust inside her, as he lost himself inside her. Watched him until he'd emptied himself inside her.
     
     
    HE'D BEEN HULLED OUT until his skin was nothing but a husk with air inside it. He couldn't remember what it was to feel that dragging, drawing weight that closed down over his mind and so bloated his body it made just getting out of bed in the morning an exercise in will and control.
    He was blind and deaf and replete. If he could have floated the rest of the way to oblivion, just as he was, he wouldn't have uttered a murmur of complaint.
    "No falling asleep while still engaged."
    "Huh? What?"
    "Reverse thrusters, cutie."
    He wasn't blind after all. He could see light, shadow, shape. None of it made any sense, but he could see it. Obviously he could hear, because the voice—her voice—was there drifting through the mild buzzing in his head.
    And he could feel her, yielding under him—that soft, tight, curvy body, damp with the sweat they'd worked up, and smelling of soap and sex and female.
    "Better give me a shove," he said after a moment. "I may be paralyzed."
    "Not from where I'm sitting." But she planted her hand on his shoulder, and put some effort into pushing him over. Then took a long, whistling breath—in and out—and said, "God!"
    "I think I saw Him, just a faint outline for a second. He was smiling."
    "That was me."
    "Oh."
    She couldn't work up the energy to stretch, so yawned instead. "Somebody was very pent up. Mmmm. Lucky me."
    The circuits in his brain were starting to connect again. He could almost hear them sizzle as contact was reestablished. "It's been a while for me."
    Curious, she tipped onto her side. She saw the scars her fingers had played against. Puckers of wounds, bullet wounds, she knew, on his side, on his thigh.
    "Define 'a while.' Like a month?" His eyes stayed closed, but his mouth curved. "Two months? Jesus, more? Three?"
    "We'd be closing in on a year, I guess."
    "Holy crap! No wonder I saw stars."
    "Did I hurt you?"
    "Don't be a jerk."
    "Maybe not, but I sure as hell used you."
    Deliberately, she traced a finger on the scar snaking down his side. He didn't flinch, but she felt him tighten and decided to keep it light for now.
    "I'd say we used each other, and so well, so thoroughly, everyone in a hundred-mile radius of this bed is lying back right now, smoking a cigarette."
    "You're okay with it?"
    "You got short-term-memory syndrome, Burke?" Now, she stretched and gave him a quick jab with her elbow on the back end of the move. "Whose idea was this?"
    He was quiet for a moment. "I was married for five years. I was faithful. The last two years of the marriage were rocky. Actually, the last year of it sucked completely. Sex became an issue. A battleground. A weapon. Anything but a natural pleasure. So I'm rusty, and I'm not altogether sure what women are looking for in this area."
    Not so light then, she mused. "I'm not women. I'm me. Sorry your ex jerked you around by the dick, but as I can attest that appendage is still in good working order, maybe it's time to get over it."
    "Long past." He shifted, working his arm under her. He felt her stiffen a little, and the hesitation in her body before she relaxed again and let him settle her head on his shoulder. "I don't want this to be the end of it. Between us."
    "We'll see what we think about that next time."
    "I wish I could stay, but I have to get back. Sorry."
    "I didn't ask you to stay."
    He turned his head so he could see her face. Her cheeks were still flushed, her eyes still sleepy. But he was too good a cop to miss the wariness just under the ease. "I wish you'd ask me to stay,