The_Color_of_Love_-_Radclyffe (Рэдклифф) - страница 137

“Emily,” Derian warned, “I’m close.”

Emily splayed her fingers over Derian’s tense stomach and took what she’d been aching for all day. The sweet heat of Derian’s surrender pierced her, impaling her with awe. She stroked and caressed and drew her deeper until she felt the telltale tightening everywhere. At the last second, she slipped inside her and Derian convulsed, a hoarse cry of surprise and pleasure torn from her throat.

“So beautiful,” Emily whispered, her cheek pressed to Derian’s thigh. Derian’s fingers played in her hair, her breathing harsh and unsteady.

“I never had anyone own me the way you do,” Derian said.

Smiling, Emily kissed her stomach and climbed up beside her on the sofa. She pulled Derian down, and they tangled together again.

“I never knew I had so much craving inside me,” Emily said. “It’s a little maddening.”

“I know.” Derian kissed her. “Maddening and amazing and something I never get enough of.”

Emily tapped her fingers on Derian’s hip. “Although if we keep putting off dinner, we might die of starvation.”

“Never.” Derian wrapped a hand around Emily’s nape, holding her close. She wasn’t ready to let her go. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted beyond lying right where she was. She sighed.

“What?” Emily asked, in no hurry to get up. Derian had a way of making her forget everything she needed to do.

“I got a call this afternoon from some nervous investors. I need to show up before the race in Rio. Sponsor-type stuff.”

Icy tentacles slithered through Emily’s chest. “Oh. When?”

“The day after tomorrow. I tried to put it off, but—”

“No, of course you can’t. You’ve been away for quite a while now,” Emily said, starting to sit up. She couldn’t be this close to her and know that she was leaving. She was more than half-naked, she was exposed and feeling incredibly vulnerable, as if her skin were peeling away. At any moment she was afraid she might start bleeding. She had to gather her strength, somehow re-erect her shields. She ran both hands through her hair and tugged as she untangled her curls, the tiny spears of pain clearing the fog of sex and false security. Jumping up, she searched on the floor for her jeans. She couldn’t be naked any longer. “I should do something about dinner.”

“I know I might be leaving you in the lurch at the agency, but I took care of one problem.” Derian got up, grabbed her pants, and shook out the wrinkles in a quick, automatic move.

“Oh?” Emily said, trying to think of what to do with her hands. She couldn’t touch her right now. She couldn’t bear to touch her and want her and know that she’d be leaving soon. Of course she’d always known that, expected it, but hadn’t let herself think about it. Just the night, just the now. She’d made that deal with herself, hadn’t she? She couldn’t go back on it now. She couldn’t expect it to be any different than what it was. She’d never lied to herself. She wouldn’t start now. She backed up.