Chapter 6: The Stairs

I was standing in the middle of his room when the storm broke.

Rain hit the window like thrown gravel.

The lamp flickered twice and died, and the only light was lightning, white and sudden across the black sheets.

I heard him on the stairs.

Slow boots, one step at a time.

The door opened.

Rafe stood there with the dark hall behind him and rain on his shoulders, where he had stopped to look at the weather.

"You made it," he said.

"I told you."

"No rail."

He shut the door behind him.

For a long moment neither of us moved, and the thunder walked across the roof.

"I'm going to ask you once," he said. "You can say no, and I'll sleep in the garage. Nobody ever hears about it."

"Do you want me to say no?"

"God, no."

"Then come here."

He crossed the room in three steps.

His hands found my face, and his mouth came down on mine, and it wasn't careful anymore.

It was deep and hungry and angry with wanting.

I fisted his shirt and dragged him closer, and he groaned into my mouth.

He walked me backward until the iron bed frame hit my knees.

"Ribs," he muttered against my jaw.

"I don't care."

"I do."

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me astride his lap, slow, with both hands under my thighs, and I felt exactly how much he wanted me.

I gasped.

He was hard against the thin gray cotton, thick and hot, and I rocked against him before I could stop myself.

"Look at you," he said roughly. "Four days and you're already trying to kill me."

I pulled his shirt up and over his head.

His chest was covered in ink, a long gray wolf across his heart and a date in black numbers under it.

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