Instead, there was . . . relief. And that crazy, desperate need he’d felt almost from the first moment he’d laid eyes on Ms. Ressa Bliss.

Chapter Eleven

“It’s a raven.”

Trey lay sprawled facedown on her bed.

There was a box with a few bits of crusts and one half-eaten slice of pizza. They’d destroyed the better part of a bottle of wine. Okay, she had destroyed the better part of a bottle wine. He’d taken half of a glass, and she couldn’t say for sure if he’d even taken a sip of it.

And out of the five rubbers she’d had with her, there was only one left.

It was one in the morning and both of them were exhausted but she couldn’t sleep. The burning edge of hunger had eased, yet she couldn’t sleep.

Didn’t want to sleep.

Bent over his back, she took her time studying the amazing beauty of the raven on his back. The eye was red, glinting with a wicked light that spoke of omens and warnings. Save for the eye and the beak, just about everything else was black and the raven took up just about all of Trey’s back, its head tucked against his shoulder, curved, as though he was looking up at the man, wings outspread.

“Ding, ding, ding,” he said.

She slapped his butt. Then, because his butt was yet another work of art, she squeezed. “Why a raven? Another literary thing?”

“Quoth the raven.” He popped one eye open and smiled. “One of my brothers does tattoos.”

“Hmmm. I know. Zach.” She leaned forward and grinned down at him, but he seemed too busy looking at her breasts. When he finally looked up and met her eyes, he looked abashed, but she just winked at him. “I know who he is. I have that TV series on Blu-ray. Love it.”

Trey groaned and buried his face in the pillow. “If you tell me you’re one of his zealots, I’m leaving.”

“No.” She laughed, all too familiar with what he was talking about. Over the past few years, Zach had developed a huge following on Facebook. They called themselves Zach’s Zealots and they followed him with a zeal that would have driven Trey nuts. Zach ignored them—completely. He had cut himself out of Hollywood like that part of his life had never existed.

“Did he really tell a TV show producer that he kept the bodies of ex-girlfriends in a freezer?”

“Probably,” Trey said, his voice still muffled. “I don’t ask because it just feeds into his crazy. He doesn’t need that, trust me.”

Ressa chuckled, amused by the idea. “So . . . did he do this?”

“Yeah.” He turned his head back toward her, popping one eye open. “Zach nagged all of us, kept telling us he needed the experience and shit, but honestly, I think he just liked making us bleed then charging us money for it. I figured if I was going to do it, I’d make sure it would be something that was important. Poe and Potter—those are the kind of stories that turned me into a storyteller.”

She studied his face. “When did you know you wanted to be a writer?”

“Always.” His lids drooped lower again, a soft sigh escaping. “I’d been jotting stories down in notebooks for pretty much forever. Didn’t do much with it until . . . college.”

The pause was long enough that she knew there was something else he’d been planning to say, but he’d stopped himself. Stretching herself out at his side, still absently tracing the raven with her fingers, she watched him. “It had something to do with your wife, didn’t it?”

His back rose and fell and then he levered up on his elbows, a faint smile twisting his lips. “Yeah. Something.” Then he shrugged. “Pretty much everything.”

He rolled around and sat up, presenting her with his back. It was a nice view and maybe under other circumstances, she would have enjoyed the view of the tattoo, but she wanted to kick herself. She pushed herself to her knees and crawled to him, settling down with her front pressed to his back. Sliding her arms around him, she pressed her lips to his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad. I should have left it alone.”

“It’s okay.” He covered her hands with his. “You didn’t make me sad. I just . . . I don’t want to think about this tonight.” His body tensed. “I should probably go.”

Common sense told her it was a good idea. But she shoved common sense into a tiny closet in the back of her mind.

He turned his head to look at her.

It was so easy to just lean in, kiss him. It was a soft kiss, soft . . . gentle. Tender enough to make her heart ache. She brought one hand up and murmured against his mouth, “Stay.”

*   *   *

Dawn came in like a golden ribbon through the curtains when he woke. It didn’t matter that he’d been up way too late. By his internal clock, Trey had overslept and even though he knew Clayton wasn’t going to come in looking for breakfast, his body was already awake.

A warm, female body was pressed against his and he closed his eyes, let himself enjoy it for another moment before he let himself start to think.

He could do one of two things. She was still sleeping, so he could leave.

Or . . .

There wasn’t much thought required to make his decision.

One night and she was already an addiction.

As she continued to sleep, he slid under the covers, his mouth tracing over the curves he’d committed to memory last night. There was strength here. Strength and beauty and softness, so much it made him ache for more, and more.

He caught one nipple—already tight—in his mouth. She curled an arm around his neck, mumbling, not entirely awake but getting there. But when she would have tugged him closer, he moved lower, his lips skimming along the slight curve of her belly, her hipbone, the crease of her thigh.

“This is one hell of a wake-up call.”

Catching the covers in one hand, he slid his gaze up over her body, staring at her in the dim light. Her eyes were still closed. He smoothed his palm along the outer curve of her thigh, watched as her chest hitched—and the way it caused her breasts to move. Warm, smooth brown skin, her nipples just a few shades darker. His mouth watered as he rubbed his lips against her pubis.

Her hands tangled in his hair.

“You keep teasing me like that, boy, and we’re gonna . . .”

He laughed softly, although the feel of her, the scent of her already had his cock throbbing. “It’s not teasing so much as . . . wanting.”

She arched against him. “Please.”

He opened his eyes, saw her staring at him.

There was naked need in her eyes. Naked need, naked trust.

With a groan, he lowered his mouth to the mound of her sex. He opened her with one long, slow lick and the taste of her had him growling, jerking her closer, one hand going under her to lift her tight against him.

“Trey—”

It was a harsh, choked cry, her hands clutching at him. He barely even heard her over the rush and roar of blood in his ears. Not enough. Nowhere near—

He drove his tongue into her, blind to everything but the taste of her and the feel of her straining against him.

And then even that wasn’t enough.

Lowering her to the bed, he moved up and hooked her knees over his elbows. Mindless, he thrust deep, spearing her on his cock. She erupted around him, her pussy milking him like a fist as she started to come.

He caught her cry in his mouth, the hot, wet grip of her driving him mad.

“Son of a—”

He stiffened and shoved up onto his hands, unintentionally driving himself even deeper.

She whimpered, rolling her hips against him and that sent chills shuddering down his spine. “Ress . . .” he choked out, squeezing his eyes closed as the feel of naked, female flesh, wrapped around his cock, threatened to push him over the edge. “Stop . . . just . . .”