Bonds of Justice (Psy-Changeling #8)

Bonds of Justice (Psy-Changeling #8) Page 39

“Sophie, my sweet, sexy, Sophie.” His jaw brushed over her neck as he lowered his head to kiss her breasts, his mouth possessive in a way she’d never known she craved until this moment, until this man. Twisting under the grip he had on her rib cage—holding her in place for his maddening caresses, she felt the oh-so-intriguing outline of his erection pressing against her thigh.

“Max, please.” She pushed at the sleek heat of his shoulders.

He lifted his head, his hair hanging messy and touchable across his forehead. “Sophie?”

“I want to see.”

Shuddering, he let her roll him onto his back. His jaw was a brutal line, the muscles in his arms rock hard as he gripped the bars in the headboard, but he said nothing as she rose beside him, as she ran her hand down the muscled plane of his chest in sensual exploration. “Your chest is smooth.” Dark gold and free of hair. “Except here.” A thin line of black that began just below his belly button and arrowed inexorably downward.

Max hissed out a breath as she followed that path with her finger. Looking up at him through her lashes, she felt something a little bit sinful come to purring life deep within her soul. “I’m a very quick learner, you know.”

He said a word that turned the air blue. “I’m not exactly in the mood to be teased.”

“Are you sure?” Feeling an odd exhilaration in her blood, she went to the button of his jeans and found it already undone. She could see why. He was straining against the zipper. Tugging at the metal tab, she went to pull it down when Max said, “I’ll do that,” and reached for it.

She caught his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “Don’t you trust me?”

A heated look. “You touch me and it’s over.”

“So we’ll start again.” Pressing her lips to their clasped hands, she untangled their fingers. Though he gave her a scorching look, he didn’t try to halt her again when she skimmed her hands over the lean-hipped beauty of him, began to tug at the zipper. She was careful, but not hesitant. And that was Max’s gift to her. With no other man could she imagine being this open, this vulnerable.

Max’s abdomen relaxed a fraction as she finished unzipping him. He was—only just—contained within his briefs. Curiosity swept over her in a wave of unashamed lust. She’d seen medical images of men, been taught about sexual organs in her health lessons, but no one had ever told her that everything would change when it was her man. Her fingers itched to stroke him, her heart thundering in excitement, mouth dry with anticipation.

Looking up, she saw that he’d closed his eyes, the cords of his neck strained white against the warm tone of his skin. And she knew he wouldn’t stop her, no matter what she desired. Trembling with need that made her skin tight, her body slick, she gave in to the luscious molten heat uncurling in her stomach and began to kiss her way down that thin path of hair. The texture of it was surprisingly silky rough against his heated flesh, and it was instinct to stroke her hand over his skin as she tasted.

“Jesus baby.” Strangled words as she lay her cheek on his abdomen and reached down to close her fingers over the stiff length of him through the black fabric of his briefs. Max’s entire form went rigid . . . and it just felt exquisitely right to lick her tongue across the very edge of his briefs, to squeeze her hand firmly along the masculine heat in her hold.

“Sophie!”

Max walked out of the bathroom to find Sophia curled up under the sheets. There was a look of distinct guilt on her face. Joy warmed him up from the inside out, but he kept his expression stern. “That’s twice you’ve rushed me.” He hadn’t lost control like that . . . well, ever. “Don’t think I’m not going to punish you for it.”

Color tinged her cheeks as he slipped in under the sheets beside her. But no matter the temptation, he didn’t pull her into his arms, having noticed that she was reacting much more quickly to even the slightest touch. “It’ll take a while for you to recover.”

A stubborn look that faded into a sigh. “You’re right. I think I’ve pushed it as far as my senses will take today.”

“I guess it’s like a person who’s been starving,” Max murmured. “When you start to eat again, you have to do it in small bites at first.”

“Can I bite you?” A teasing question that didn’t surprise him now that he’d met the wicked side of her.

“If you ask nice.”

They lay together for a time, talking about nothing, and then later as they sat side by side in the living room, about the complex jigsaw that was the Nikita investigation. But eventually, she had to go to her own apartment. “I wish I could spend all night with you,” she said to him as he walked her over. “But it’ll be too much today.”

“Next time,” he said, keeping his distance as she unlocked the door and entered. “Sophia?”

She glanced back, so beautiful with those amazing eyes and that soft dark hair.

“Tell me if anything happens.” His hand tightened on the doorjamb at the thought of losing her to the ferocity of her gift, of never again seeing her lying rumpled and smiling in his bed, never again hearing her talk in that prim tone that held an undertone of wild emotion.

“I will.” A steady answer, but when she looked up, her eyes were bruised. “I’m so angry, Max,” she said in harsh whisper. “How am I supposed to fight my own mind?”

CHAPTER 33

Sophia Russo may require further persuasion re the Valentine case.

—Jay Khanna to unnamed contact via e-mail

Frustrated, choked up with a rage that had nowhere to go, Max made a cup of coffee and tried to lose himself in work. Sophia had updated him on everything she’d discovered during the time he’d been tied up in the wrenching aftermath of the discovery of Gwyn Hayley’s body, but now he began to read her notes in depth. She had one hell of a brain, he thought. The information was not only neatly bullet-pointed and outlined, but cross-referenced in a way that told him she had an innate understanding of how his own mind worked.

Near the end of the file, he came across something that made him frown. Knowing he needed Sophia to explain the relevance of the information in a Psy context, he began to get up—when he caught the blinking time code on the comm panel.

One a.m.

His gaze went to the wall that separated his apartment from Sophia’s, and he couldn’t help but remember the softness of her skin, the way her pulse had rocketed under his touch, the delicate, enticing scent of her. His body, having finally stopped riding the steel edge of need, grew hard, heavy once more. Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, he threw down his pen and got up, intending to take a cold shower when something stopped him.

A noise.

Angling his head, he listened again. A soft thump. Once. Just once. But he’d heard.

Sophie.

He grabbed his stunner and walked quietly to the door. Activating the outside cameras, he checked that the space immediately outside his door was clear before exiting—with a vigilance all cops learned on their first day on the job. The corridor proved empty, the lighting muted to night levels. Stepping to Sophia’s apartment, he scanned himself in using his palm print, his access courtesy of Sophia herself.

Worried that she’d had a blackout as a result of the previous day’s events, but forcing himself to move with caution in case of an intruder, he made his way through the unlighted living area and to her bedroom.

The bed held only rumpled sheets and an organizer with a bright, glowing screen. She’d been awake, too, he thought. Whatever had happened, it hadn’t taken her unawares.

Fur across his foot. Morpheus.

Following the cat’s night-glow gaze, he felt his toes nudge something on the floor.

He froze, bent down. The feel of cotton covering warm skin. No. Continuing to hold his stunner at the ready, even as he checked Sophia’s pulse, he said, “Lights, night mode.” The lights came on, on a dim setting, making the transition from dark to light much easier. No one jumped out, the shadows hiding nothing malignant. He looked over the bathroom quickly just in case. Nothing. Whatever had happened, it had happened in Sophia’s mind.

Returning, he bent down to check her for injuries, found no cuts, no abrasions. But when he lifted her eyelids, it was to see her eyes swallowed by black. “Sophie,” he said again, his tone firm though an anguished rage tore through him—driven by a part of him that didn’t understand logic, only a powerful, visceral need for her voice.

No response.

Sliding his arms beneath her body, he lifted her up and took her to the bed, pulling a comforter over her before his hand went to the pocket of his jeans, where he’d left his cell. Pressing in a familiar code, he said, “I need Psy help.”

But the Psy who turned up a bare ten minutes later with a tall amber blond male wasn’t anyone he’d expected. He recognized her of course—that distinctive red hair, those cardinal eyes. Faith NightStar was said to be the strongest F-Psy in or out of the Net, her ability to see the future a gift and a curse both. But Max knew he’d always see it as a gift after the way she’d saved their lives. “Thanks for coming.”

As Faith hurried past and unerringly to the bedroom, Max paused long enough to say, “You got here quick.”

“Faith,” the changeling male said, “woke me up an hour ago and told me we’d be needed in the city around now.”

Max, walking back to the bedroom, stopped for an instant. “I guess I never thought about the reality of being mated to an F-Psy.”

Vaughn slapped him on the back. “Ask me sometime about how fucking difficult it is to surprise her with a gift.” It was said with affection, his tone that of a man who wasn’t only delighted in his mate, but didn’t care if the whole world knew about it.

They entered the bedroom at that moment, and everything else faded. Faith was sitting beside Sophia’s stiff form, her hand on his J’s forehead. “Her telepathic shields are terrifyingly thin, but they are continuing to protect her,” Faith said, before pausing for almost ten seconds. “Her PsyNet shields appear fine. A little unusual according to my contact, but not damaged.”