Her guests were in the shower. Zoe knew this because the pipes in her sixty-year-old house always sounded like Niagara Falls. Sadly, the torrent wasn't loud enough to drown out the moans of rising pleasure-pain. Those were the kind of cries people made when they really, really wanted release. Given the somewhat twisted nature of her kinks, she didn't know whether to burrow under a pillow or listen harder. Alex and Bryan were screwing in her house, despite her and Alex's history, either so inconsiderate that it didn't occur to them to be quiet, or so overwhelmed by their needs that they'd forgotten to.
Zoe's hands clenched on the sheets like she meant to rip them, her own needs coiling tight inside. She was not going to let this get to her. She wasn't so pathetic that she was going to do herself while her old boyfriend did his lover. She didn't care how long it had been since she'd had a man. She was not turning Alex and Bryan into her mast***ation aid.
Groaning, she turned onto her belly, her eyes screwed shut against the images in her mind. Was Alex as big and smooth as she remembered? Could Bryan get his friend's erection all the way into his mouth? Did Alex like being on top as much as he used to? She pulled a pillow over her head, then shoved it off as someone began to come. Bryan, she thought. She remembered how Alex sounded, and that wasn't it. Then Alex's strangled snarl split the darkness, and she knew she'd guessed correctly.
No more than a minute later, the noises started up again.
With a muffled curse, Zoe flopped onto her back. Kinks be damned. No way were Alex and Bryan spending another night.
A tap on her window had her sitting up with a gasp.
"Magnus! What are you doing here?"
The casement was open to catch the breeze. Her manager pushed up on his arms and swung one long leg inside, his yellow shoe just missing her houseplants. Zoe heart began to beat faster as she yanked the sheets over her br**sts. All she had on were a short-sleeved cotton T-shirt and clean panties.
A wish flew through her mind that she were wearing something small and slinky and feminine. She squashed it down with sheer force of will.
"I don't recall inviting you in," she said coolly.
"Well, lucky I'm not a vampire and you don't have to."
He was in her room then, him and his sullen attitude—which, considering how he'd treated her, showed a lot of nerve. He crossed his arms over his powerful chest. "You sent me home tonight because you didn't want to talk our problems through."
"And if I still don't want to?"
She must have been seeing him with more than ordinary sight, because his eyes abruptly seemed to flare, green as phosphorus in the shadowed room.
"Fine with me. I'd rather show you how I feel."
For such a big man, he was unfairly fast. He moved too quickly for her to evade him, bounding onto her bed and pulling her to her knees. The sheet fell down her body with a hiss. She thought he'd kiss her, but all he gave her was a little shake.
"Your guests are rude," he said, "and obviously idiots."
"Yeah, well, they were invited."
He did kiss her then, and it was hot and angry and absolutely spine-melting. She knew she should have been madder than she was. Only a masochist would let him start this up with her again, especially with the reminder of a very similar mistake getting luck)' in her guest bathroom. But when he kissed her with those heated satin lips, when he wrapped that incredible energy of his around her, her resistance shredded like tissue.
The things he did with his tongue, the way he downright f**ked her with it, made her moan with hunger and grab his back. The arm he'd wrapped around her waist felt like it was all that held her up, but—oh—did it feel good doing it! He was pressing her against all his hardness—chest, groin, thighs—and if she hadn't been so weak-kneed from his exploration of her mouth, she'd have climbed high enough to rub more than her belly button against his target zone. The size and heat of his erection went to her head. It was a freaking python, and she wanted every inch of it. When he finally released her lips, the room was spinning.
"You're wearing your sneakers on my bed," she said faintly.
"Zoe." He made her name a synonym for exasperation. "Exactly how long do I have to kiss you before you forget to pay attention to things like that?"
Her heart was pounding hard enough to shake her br**sts, her pu**y aching with the need he'd twisted into something truly ferocious. Still, she tried to gather her pride. "I need more than kisses to forget how you left me hanging earlier."
He shook her again, his hands so large a tremor that wasn't exactly fear ran across her shoulders in an aftershock. Oh, she so didn't want to know he could get to her in more ways than he already had.
"I care about you Zoe," he said. "Whatever else you doubt, don't doubt that."
"I thought you didn't want to talk. I thought you wanted to show me." She tossed her head, and her hair fell out of its pins in a curling mass. What she could see of Magnus's face went grim.
"Oh, I'm going to show you, Zoe. I'm going to show you until you scream."
"Yeah?" she said. "You've had two years to show me. All I'm hearing now are more words."
He made a noise like a growl, which streaked straight from her ears to her sex. Then, with a swiftness that left no room for protest, he ripped her T-shirt up her body, over her head, and down her arms. Zoe was left gasping into her fallen hair. By the time she got it behind her again, Magnus's big, hot hands were covering her br**sts. Her body stilled as he squeezed the small rounded flesh, whatever snippy retort she'd meant to fling forgotten in the pleasure of his energy tingling down the nerves that led from her ni**les.
"So beautiful," he said in a tone of awe as he caressed her. "So f**king beautiful."
Her pu**y creamed for him, overrunning her tender folds and ruining her fresh panties. Sadly, her pride wasn't any harder to dissolve.
"Magnus," she sighed, her voice all breath.
He lifted his gaze for one tight-wired, glittering perusal of her face before his seal-black lashes dipped again. He squeezed her ni**les between his fingers, hard enough to make them pulse sharply. Then he bent to lick one tip slowly. His tongue felt like it was painting her in fire and ice, tickling, teasing, until every molecule of air sighed out of her lungs.
"Sighs are good," he breathed into her shivering flesh, "but I think you can do better than that for me."
She did better as soon as his mouth covered one aching peak. That wrenched a whimper from her throat. He was too damn good at this. She'd always been sensitive, but what he and his energy did to her was unreal. He rolled her nipple against his teeth and licked it, first around the areola and then the tip. He sucked her br**sts like they were perfect, and he'd never tasted anything so good. His breath rushed damply against her skin as he mounded both within the circles of his hands, turning from one breast to the other as if he couldn't settle on his favorite. The greedy sounds he made had her squirming uncontrollably. Finally, he flicked her so quickly with the point of his tongue that her cl*t twitched wildly with sympathy.