Page 92 of Light

“I was so hoping you’d say that.” My rasp, hoarse and needy, comes from places I hardly recognize—from the person I was before a trip through the Source irrevocably changed me. Enforced in me that every day is a gift, filled with moments to seize and savor. Yes, even moments like this. Especially moments like this, which are about more than the carnal pleasure for the taking.

They’re about the giving too.

Offering myself, bared in body and soul, for his full consummation and pleasure.

Opening myself, emotionally as well as physically, for the glowing completion of his touch.

Exposing myself, to the core of my sex and the center of my heart, for the full, hot penetration of his.

Oh dear God, I certainly hope so…

“I always know what you want to hear, my beautiful bunny.” His rumble is so delicious and deep, my ovaries start splintering again—especially as he uses the pause to rearrange our positions. By the time I drag my senses out of their Bolty-growl stupor, my ass is parked where his just was, with my thighs spread and locked by his possessive grip. Reece is on his knees before me, as magnificent as a conquering gladiator, the mountainous muscles of his torso gleaming with humidity and lined by water drips…with his masculine V arrowing my sights down to his glorious erection.

I swear to every higher power there is…this man’s penis alone qualifies him for superhero status.

I plan on saying as much after hungrily licking my lips, but my stunning husband cuts in once more with his decadent, dominant snarl. “Now I want you to tell me what I want to hear.”

One tangle of my stare with his, and I’m the magical mind reader now too. What I decipher brings a slow, sultry smile across the lips I’ve just shined with the tip of my tongue. “But you don’t want me to tell you, Zeus.” I murmur it while fitting my hands atop his…and urging his hold closer to the part of me that’s thrumming, aching, and dripping already. “You want me to beg you.”

A new roll of thunder from the darkest storms deep inside him. “Fuck,” he grates. “Yesssss.” And then again, both words rougher and needier, as he works his hands down and in, stretching his long blue digits toward the golden honey at my center…

“Em? Em?”

Crap, crap, crap. As dire as the shout is, it definitely doesn’t belong to Reece. He’s become the stunningly still hunk between my legs, even managing to go stealth with his chuckle as I muffle my moan in the meat of his shoulder.

“Baby girl, I’m sorry about this.” Lydia’s tone gets terser, though I don’t detect any come-now-someone’s-bleeding-or-dying notes in her call. “Reece told us you needed some alone time, and I really respect that, but unfortunately—ohhhh, holy shit!”

I should be screaming in mortification, but as soon as my sister swings open the bathroom door with the gusto of Maria Von Trapp in the middle of “My Favorite Things,” only to be record-scratched into scented candles, dripping bubbles, and Ariana singing about dangerous living and rising temperatures, all I can do is explode in insane laughter. Luckily, Reece is right there with me. His chest is filled with hearty chuckles; his shoulders shake as he stuffs that exquisite erection back into his trunks. At the same time, I grab my après-bath robe and make haste about the decency factor, as well.

“Okay now, missy,” I chide. “We promise no more seared retinas for Auntie ’Dia.”

“For now.”

Lydia rewards Reece for his cocky taunt by dousing him with my “Coconut Lime Breeze” body spray. “Dick,” she mutters, earning her one of the warm, confident chuckles that always takes my breath away.

In moments like this, the effect is made even better by the halo of gold energy I watch around the damp waves on his head. He’s my dark, beautiful angel. The hero who knows how to keep me safe and sane. The man who even shares my utterly twisted sense of humor—providing specific proof by looping an arm around ’Dia’s neck and then murmuring, “Come now, sweet sister. No need to turn this into a praise service. It is one of my finer features, but your sister can take care of making sure I know it.”

“When I’m not interrupted.” I punctuate with a giggle, looking forward to ’Dia’s zinger in return.

“That so?” She seesaws her accenting glower. “Maybe you’d better be glad it was me and not Mother.”

Okay, any zinger but that.

“Why the hell would it be Mom?”

“Because she just called your cell—and like the good, decent sister I am, I picked up.”

“And?”

She folds her arms. Taps one foot. And prompts, “‘Annnnd, what did our beloved maternal unit tell you, oh honorable best little sister in the whole world?’”

“Lydia!”

She forgives me at once for the retaliation, which actually reverts my gut to its giant sewer ball of dread. Her insta-absolution can only mean she’s about to relay one really disgusting piece of news.

“She and Dad have just cleared Malibu. They’ll be up here in half an hour.”

Chapter Three