"No," she said softly, eyeing his thick erection and appreciating his concern even more because it was obvious he was urgently aroused. But then, so was she. She removed her panties and sat down on the bed.
Instantly he was there, a strong arm wrapped around her, supporting her as he eased her down and in the same fluid motion mounted her. Lying between her legs, he carefully propped his weight on one elbow and fondled her breasts with his free hand, lightly rubbing her nipples until they were throbbing. Her own hands were on his chest, stroking, delivering pleasure. His erection nudged between her folds, but he didn't enter her.
"I'm not wearing a condom now," he said, kissing her.
"I know." Karen wrapped her arms around his neck as ancient instincts surged to the fore. Their gazes locked, his fierce and bright, hers soft and darkly mysterious, yielding. She didn't make this decision lightly; she knew full well what she was doing. "I don't want you to," she murmured, arching her hips a little. She wanted all of him, now. She wanted his seed, the possibility of his child. She felt unbearably aroused, though he had scarcely touched her.
"We're taking a risk." His voice was thick. His mouth moved down her neck.
"Yes. Please." She arched again, desperate, hungry, aching. He pushed into her, hard and urgent, as if he couldn't hold back a moment longer. The head of his penis was already slick and eased his penetration. She cried out as satisfaction replaced desperation, pleasure replaced pain.
He groaned, and sweat beaded on his forehead, dampened his close-cropped black hair. "Have mercy," he whispered. "I haven't done this since I was a teenager." She clung to his shoulders, her hips rising eagerly to meet his restrained thrusts, enveloping every inch and trying to hold him. "Making love? I know better." Speaking was an effort when everything in her was concentrating on the tightening spiral of desire. She was almost there, trembling on the edge, hanging on a point of pleasure so sharp it was exquisite, wonderful pain.
"Not wearing a rubber." He shuddered at the tight internal clasp of her. Suddenly, he gripped her shoulders and began thrusting hard, fast, deeper with every stroke. "I can't wait," he said tightly. He didn't need to. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and she arched, crying out in the intense grip of orgasm. He made a rough, helpless sound and began coming, spurting into her, milked dry by the rhythmic pulse of her climax.
He hung over her for a few moments, his head down, his arms trembling as he supported himself rather than letting his weight down onto her. Karen managed to stroke his shoulder with one hand, but even that small effort exhausted her, and her arm fell to the bed. Finally, he eased out of her and collapsed on the bed beside her, breathing hard, his eyes closed.
Drowsily, she turned on her side and nestled against him, sighing at the pleasure that was quite apart from the sharp need of sex. Tears prickled her closed eyelids as she tried to contain a happiness so acute she ached with it.
He groaned. The sound was that of an unconscious man struggling toward awareness, and it startled her into laughing.
A smile tugged at his lips, and he rolled onto his side to face her, sliding his arm under her neck and draping his other arm over her hips to anchor her close. "You need to laugh more often." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Every time I see your solemn brown eyes, it's like being kicked in the gut."
"I laugh," she protested sleepily.
"Not enough. And before your fertile imagination comes up with any more off-base scenarios about what just happened here, we are deeply involved in a serious relationship. Is that clear?"
"Clear," she whispered, barely able to get the word out over the pressure in her chest. She felt shaky inside, as if she might crumble. She loved him so much it actually hurt, but it felt good at the same time.
"If you get pregnant, we get married. I refuse to let a child of mine grow up illegitimate. I don't care how many actresses do it or whether or not a woman really needs a man around now to help her raise their children."
"You're damn right we'll get married," she said with sharp force. "The odds are I didn't get pregnant this time, but if you don't plan to stay around, we'd better decide on a method of birth control and stick to it. I don't want a broken marriage." Knowing what being abandoned by her father had been like for both her mother and herself, she was determined her own children would never know that pain if she could possibly help it.
He caught her hand and carried it to his lips, being careful not to hurt her raw palms. She snuggled
against him, unable to decide which she wanted to do most: turn cartwheels or sleep. She didn't do either, because she'd never been a head-in-the-sand type of person, and reality at present was a bit dicey.
"It all comes back to here," she murmured, unable to hold the thoughts at bay any longer. "To Dad. His murder is at the center of it, because otherwise why would I be targeted? But I don't know anything about what he was doing. I hadn't seen or talked to him in years."
"What about your mother? Did she have any contact with him?" Marc brushed her hair back from her face, kissed her forehead, and held her closer as if he couldn't get her quite close enough.
"More often than I did. After I grew up, I refused to see him when he blew in for a couple of days, usually when he was out of money, but I know he called her sometimes, though not very often. She didn't tell me much about his calls because she knew how angry I was at him."
"Had there been any calls from him since she died?"
"If he called, he didn't leave a message, but then he wouldn't." A memory surfaced, pulled out by his questions. Marc thought like a cop, looking at angles she hadn't considered. "Wait. She died at the end of January. A few weeks after that, I got a package he'd mailed to her. I was still in shock and hurting a lot, and getting that package made me so angry because she loved him all of her life and he didn't stay in close enough touch that he would know she was dead. I almost threw the package away." A subtle tension had invaded the muscled arm under her neck. "Did you open it?"