Page 90 of Perfection

“Thanks.” She served next, establishing a challenging rhythm. “Have you always lived in Chicago?”

“Yes. I moved away briefly, then came back. My family can be pretty intense.” He chuckled, although it wasn’t so funny when he was newly married and trying to strike out on his own.

Without realizing it, he picked up the tempo, hitting faster and harder with each return. She kept right up. They were both all over the table, running from left to right. Suddenly, the volley slowed drastically, as if controlled by something. For several long seconds, he eyed her. She was controlling the ball with her telekinesis. “Hey, none of that,” he said.

“You’re no fun,” she countered and released her mental hold on the ball.

Then she set one up close to the net. He returned it equally close as he came around the side of the table. She dashed forward and struck the ball, losing hold of the paddle in the process, then kept running through the hit until she crashed into his chest.

He opened his arms to catch her. And she let him. Blindly, he tossed his paddle onto the table. An awkward second of not knowing where to place her arms was solved rapidly as she hugged his neck. She met his gaze. In a furious gush of heat, their lips came together in a frantic kiss, full of pent-up energy, passion, and longing.

“This is wrong,” he said, dropping his mouth to her neck and kissing her soft, delicate skin.

“I know.” She arched back, giving him better access.

“We shouldn’t.” He lifted his head, found her lips, brushed his lightly over them, then peered into her eyes. He saw the truth there. She wanted—needed—this connection as much as he did.

He kissed her long and hard, and she moaned as he broke the contact. He dipped his head lower, feathering his tongue over the swell of her breasts above her neckline.

“Yes,” she breathed. She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him lower, allowing him to find her nipple through her thin shirt. He sucked and teased the tight bud.

A few seconds of attention—not much at all, really—and she exploded into a frenzy, tugging at his clothes, running her palms up under his shirt and over his bare chest. He crushed her mouth beneath his. He angled his head to dip his tongue deep into her mouth. She moaned. He pulled back a little, sucking on her lips, nibbling, tasting. God, she was delicious.

With both hands free, he cradled her face and repeated the sensual sequence again and again until they were both breathing hard, clutching at each other to get closer, wanting more skin on skin.

She frantically tugged up his shirt. He followed her lead. In no time, they were down to their undergarments. More hot kisses. She slid off her panties. He dropped his shorts to the floor. He pulled her to him, and her body pressed along the length of his.

So. Damn. Good.

He slid his hand lightly down her back, part of him aware enough to be careful of her injury, and cupped her ass. She nibbled at his ear and neck, driving him wild. In one fluid movement, he lifted her and set her on the ping-pong table. Amazingly, there was no awkwardness, only desperate desire. She wrapped her legs around him as he entered her sweet body. The rhythm they set had the same urgency, the same burning necessity to connect, to share, and bond that had dominated the evening.

She rocked her hips to deepen his thrusts, faster and harder until they both climaxed. He clenched his jaw, shuddering as he spilled into her. She growled low in her throat, a sound he’d never imagined she would utter, primal and sexy as hell. On the descent, he leaned into her, and she rested her head on his shoulder while she caught her breath.

In the aftermath of the most awesome sex he’d had in his life, reality slowly returned. He noticed things he hadn’t in the heat of the moment, like her lacy bra. Nowthatsurprised him. It was nice to know that even GEIs liked to be feminine beneath their self-controlled personas. He traced his fingers over the lacy edge framing her lovely breasts. “You’re so beautiful.”

She gave an almost shy smile. Then her hand came up between them. He looked down at her fingers brushing the hair on his chest and back at her face. Her brow furrowed. Even though there wasn’t an ounce of pressure from her touch, he saw and felt the distance in her eyes. Their moment of abandon was over.

He stepped back and retrieved their clothes, passing her things to her. Silently, they dressed.

“I’m going to bed,” she said in a hoarse whisper as she walked by him without a glance. Her back straightened. He’d noticed she did that whenever she felt uncertain or defensive.

“See you in the morning.” He swiped his hand over his beard and let her go, knowing they’d have to deal with what happened at some point. Just not tonight.

* * *

Kindra entered the guest room and closed the door behind her. She leaned her back against it, staring into the darkness of the room. Slowly, the lights came on, an older computerized program controlling the brightness. Her eyes adjusted to the change, yet she stayed in place, waiting for her heart rate to settle.

But that didn’t happen. The furious thumping in her chest continued.

York.He remained with her.

She inhaled his scent, which clung to her skin. Awareness of him touched every inch of her body. She’d so enjoyed their interlude that he touched her heart and soul in a way she’d never known. What did that mean?

She stepped into the room and dropped onto the bed. An ache formed in her chest, and she slung an arm up to cover her eyes. It meant she was being foolish. Her feelings sprang from the unusual circumstance—the tension of trying to save the children, of Brianna in cryo, of an attempt on her life. Whatever this feeling was, however, it didn’t change how comfortable and used to spending time with him she had become. She felt an unexpected loss at the idea of not seeing him every day once this was all over.

Exhausted, she fell into a restless sleep.