Enigma (14 page)

Maybe Oscar Ochoa had sent him on to the afterlife after all, because this had to be a dream.

“Now who’s dangerous?” she asked softly.

He bit back a fucking plea. He wasn’t going to beg. Not yet, anyway. “Still you.”

“With you looking at me like that?” She wrapped her fingers around him and licked a droplet of water from the corner of her mouth. “I could get used to it. That’s the definition of dangerous, isn’t it?”

He couldn’t look away from her mouth, couldn’t relinquish the sight of her tongue—not until she squeezed his shaft with just enough pressure to taunt him. She had all the power, even on her knees, and it freed him to snarl a command that would have sounded too harsh directed at a weaker woman. “You wanna see a dangerous look? Suck my goddamn dick.”

Anna shivered and licked the head of his cock, then slid her lips around him with a muffled moan, and now he
knew
he was dead. Or dying. Or the luckiest bastard in the world, because watching her wrap those lips around him was just as hot as feeling it.

He fisted his hands against the wet tile as her tongue rasped over him. “You’re not even a little scared of me, are you?”

Instead of answering, she met his gaze and made a low noise in the back of her throat. She took her time, one long lick after another, never fully releasing him.

No, not even a little. He dropped one hand to tangle in the wet strands of her hair, cupping the back of her head without trying to urge her forward. “I’m going to do this to you tomorrow. Pin you up against the tile and suck your clit until you can’t take it anymore.”

Anna pulled away then, only to bite his hip. “I want you. Now.”

He tugged at her hair, closing his hand into a fist. “Then get the fuck up here.”

She nibbled his skin as she rose and muffled a hoarse laugh against his shoulder. “I like it when you get dirty.”

“Lucky me.” He hoisted her up against the slippery wall and curled his hands under her thighs to pull them wider—

—and froze when he remembered that he’d already used his only condom. “Fuck.”

She met his curse with a groan. “Want me to jump out and grab a condom?”

“We don’t
have
any more, unless you snuck out and bought some in the middle of the night.” He dropped his forehead to the tile with a curse. “It’s just pregnancy, right? I mean, shapeshifters don’t have to worry about STDs.”

“No, just pregnancy.”

He couldn’t think of a less sexy topic than the fact that he’d paid a witch doctor for a vasectomy a decade ago. He didn’t want to explain
why
, didn’t want to get into the fucking mess of his past or revisit the dark path he’d walked during his early twenties.

“I’m safe,” he muttered, the words barely audible over the spray. “I can’t knock you up. But I get it if you don’t want to risk—”

She put two fingers over his lips to silence him. “It’s okay. You wouldn’t lie, especially not about that.”

Not about this, and never to her. “You sure?”

Anna slid her hand over to his cheek. “I trust you. Always.”

The knowledge warmed him more than the hot water pounding against his side, more than the pleasure that came from pushing into her. She clasped him, tight and perfect, and so damn
intense
with nothing between them.

He’d never fucked a woman without a condom before.

With a murmured, breathless plea, she locked her arms around his neck. “
Yes.
”

Pushing deeper, Patrick claimed her mouth, driving his tongue between her lips because tasting her was the second most important thing in the world after being inside her.

Anna ran her hands over his back, her wet skin sliding easily over his but her nails digging in to his flesh every time he thrust against her. Every time he bit her jaw or growled against her ear.

She liked it rough and he liked it hard, and a cramped hotel shower wasn’t the best place for either. Everything was slippery and wet, and he couldn’t get the leverage or the damn space to go faster, but he found a rocking grind that hit her clit just right.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she rasped out a plea as she arched off the tile, trying to get closer. She tensed, more and more with every rock of his hips, until she opened her eyes to lock on his.

Lifting a hand, he rubbed his thumb over her lower lip and focused on pushing her over the edge with that hard, steady rock. “Come on, baby. I wanna feel you come.”

Anna pulled his hair as she dragged his mouth to hers for a frantic kiss, a kiss that ended when she cried out and bit his lower lip. Her pussy clenched around him as she came, tight and hot, and suddenly it wasn’t
enough
.

Nothing ever would be. Not fucking her a dozen times, a hundred—but Christ only knew how many chances he’d get to do this, to speak the one language they both understood.

No quickies. He resolved that in the time it took to shut off the shower and reach for her again. They were both dripping wet, but they didn’t go far, just to a towel on the floor. Anna breathed his name as he leaned her over the edge of the tub, knelt behind her and grabbed her hair.

“Like this?” He tugged her head back but didn’t thrust into her, teasing her with the glide of his shaft over her clit instead. “Tell me how you like it.”

It startled a laugh and then a moan from her. “Fuck me like you mean it, honey.”

A challenge from an alpha wolf to her lover, and Patrick met it with a hard thrust, pushing as deep as he could. Deeper than in the shower, and she gripped the edge of the tub, her fingers tight and trembling on the chipped porcelain.

“Harder.” Just a whisper, but he knew she meant it when the shivers spread to the rest of her body too. Biting back a groan, he released her hair and caught her hips instead, steadying her for his next rough advance. Then she slammed her hand against the tub with a harsh curse, and he gave in to the rhythm, gave in to the dirty hot pleasure of riding her while she whispered and begged and finally screamed.

He caught her when her arm slipped and jerked her up against his chest. Better this way, with her writhing on his dick while he covered her breast with one hand and stroked her clit with the other. Having her squirming against his chest was the best damn part, which shattered any hope of pretending this was nothing more than a casual fuck.

Maybe if he got her off hard enough, she’d be too dazed to notice he was half in love with her.

She’d gone hoarse by the time she shuddered again and reached for him, her nails scratching over his hip. “So good,” she rasped. “Tell me.”

“So fucking good.” He closed his eyes and pressed his face to her temple as her body clenched tight, dragging a moan from him. He managed an unsteady thrust, then another. “Better than heaven,” he whispered, and let her final orgasm pull him over the edge.

She wiggled and moaned, a sound full of as much satisfaction as pleasure. “
Patrick.
”

“Anna.” It came out hoarse, still hungry, and he knew he shouldn’t have said it. Her name was never safe, because he couldn’t hide how damn much he wanted her. Not just her body, but
her
.

Like this.

Forever.

She relaxed in his arms, her skin hot against his. “Best shower ever, McNamara.”

He was a fucking idiot.

She was a horrible person.

Anna forced herself to confront that truth as she sat on the edge of her bed, turning a cracked, ancient ashtray over in her hands and waiting for Patrick’s call to end. She was horrible, and it would serve her right if Patrick ditched her, even though she knew he wouldn’t.

Maybe the sex would keep him around. It was nothing short of
explosive
, better than she’d dreamed—and maybe exactly the kind of distraction he’d proclaimed it would be, so they had to be careful. So careful. What was it he’d said?
I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on work if I was busy reliving the hottest fuck of my life.

That sounded about right, but it wasn’t why she’d pulled away from him in the bathroom, why she’d reverted back to last names and slightly mocking banter. That had been borne of desperation, a gut reaction to the need in his voice and his touch. Instinct had demanded she protect herself, no matter the cost.

Jenny’s voice over the tinny speaker on Patrick’s phone drew Anna’s attention. “Uh, no, I’m telling you. I checked that case number three times. There’s nothing in the database.”

Patrick’s eyebrows drew together as he leaned across the bed and swept up the missing-persons bulletin. “I’m staring right at it, Jen. It didn’t materialize out of nowhere.”

“I searched the name too. Nothing’s in the system.”

Anna frowned. “What if someone’s withdrawn the report? Like they found him?”

“No, the report number would still be there,” Jenny said, “along with the disposition of the case. This is like it never happened.”

Anna met Patrick’s gaze over the flyer bearing Daryl Sathers’s picture. “Only two things that can do that.”

“Hackers or magic.” Patrick closed his eyes, but not before she saw the flash of pain. “Kat could probably tell us how hard it’d be to hack. Maybe even if they left a trail. But my gut says magic.”

Anna’s reply came automatically, without thought. “Then we go with your gut. Thanks for checking, Jenny.”

“Anytime.”

“We’ll be in touch.” Patrick ended the call and met Anna’s eyes again with a rueful smile. “I didn’t want to give her a chance to say she’d try a locator spell. She knows she can’t do it, but she gets stubborn and stupid.”

“I know the feeling.” Anna tossed the ashtray in the air and caught it with her other hand. “So. We know we didn’t make this up. You think he was a witness, and whoever killed Oscar is making this guy disappear, literally?”

“Maybe.” The next time she tossed it, Patrick snatched it out of the air and turned it over. “Or he knows Oscar’s dead, so he’s found a way to make sure he won’t be next. Every town big enough to support a supernatural underworld has at least one fixer.”

“Only one way to find out, right?”

Patrick grinned. “You asking me to go breaking and entering with you?”

She couldn’t help her answering smile. “It’s more exciting this way, isn’t it? Not knowing what we’ll find?”

“If nothing else, we can snag something to use as a focus.” He abandoned the ashtray and snatched up his coat. “If we shake the bushes hard enough, I’m sure we can find a caster who can pull off a basic tracking spell.”

With the tension between them gone—for now—she could almost feel the low buzz when he passed by. Magic, tickling over her skin. “You could try it.”

“The spell?” Once he’d shrugged into his jacket, he rubbed a hand over one arm, almost as if he could feel the prickle of power too. “I believe I have the power bouncing around inside me, but hell. Like I said, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Yeah, but…” Anna hesitated to bring up a topic as painful as his past, but they didn’t have the luxury of tiptoeing around one another. Not right now. “You’ve probably done it before, even if you can’t remember. You know that, right?”

His expression tightened, eyes narrowing as a muscle in his jaw jumped. “Yeah, but that’s the point. I can’t remember.”

“I know a couple of simple spells. I can’t cast them, but I know them. Would it hurt to try?”

“I don’t know.” After a moment, he exhaled. “No, probably not. I mean, what’s the worst I can do? Blow our eyebrows off or something?”

It wasn’t a joke—and he obviously didn’t want her to press him further. “It’s okay. We’ll find another way.”

“No.” Patrick settled a hand on her arm. “It’s a tool, right? Better to figure out now if it’s one I can use, while we still have other ways.”

“Not if it scares—” She bit off the words.

His smile was gentle. “You can say it, Anna. My ego’s not
that
fragile.”

“This isn’t about your ego.” It was about her, about the way she couldn’t seem to keep the slightest damn bit of distance between them. “Let’s go.”

She started to turn, but his hand jumped from her arm to her chin, dragging her back to face him. “No quips?” he murmured, his lips so close to hers she could taste him in the air. “No jabs? C’mon, Lenoir. Not even one crack comparing my ego to my dick?”

It would be easy—but not as easy as digging her fingernails into his forearms and fixing her gaze on his mouth as the corners tilted up into a wicked smirk.

“Don’t go soft on me,” he murmured, every word puffing warmth and promise against her lips. “I need my ass-kicking partner, the one who expects me to pull my own weight, even when it freaks me out. I’m a big boy.”

“You’re infuriating.” The wrong word. Agitating, maybe. Bewildering, or beguiling.

Seductive.

“Says the woman who jumps in front of bullets,” he rumbled. But he didn’t give her a chance to answer, just closed that tiny distance and kissed her hard, lips rough and demanding, teeth scraping in a raw reminder that there was nothing weak or fragile about him.

Nothing at all.

She broke the kiss before she could fall into it. “Fine, I get it. You’re a badass motherfucker. No worrying about you.”