Fury of Desire (39 page)

With a whimper, she twisted, arching beneath him, rising hard, asking for more. He didn’t deny her. As he
suckled, wetting the lace, increasing the pressure when she begged, he fingered the front of her bra. A quick snap released the clasp. Cool air washed over her breasts. The tip of his tongue flicked over her. She moaned his name. Wick licked her again, then raised his head to look at her. The heat of his gaze touched her skin. J. J. arched, riding a wave of desire, loving the burn as he groaned in reaction.

“Jesus, Jamison. You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his tone full of wonder. “I want to see the rest of you.”

Fingers spread wide, she stroked his back, hands playing against his skin before pushing beneath the waistband of his jeans. Taut muscle met her exploration and… oh yeah. He was incredible, every flipping inch of him. Undulating beneath him, she pressed up and rocked her hips into his. “Take the Levis off first. Then I’ll let you strip me.”

“Tit for tat?”

“Something like that.”

Amusement sparked in his eyes. “Only fair since I get to fuck you.”

“
Fuck
me?” The outrage in her tone set him off. He smiled at her, flashing straight white teeth, looking so mischievous it made her want to let him get away with pretending she was a fast lay on a fine afternoon. The devil. Playing along, she tugged a lock of his hair. “You better rephrase that, mister, or I’ll rescind my offer.”

His expression went from playful to serious in a heartbeat. “Make love to you, then. I get to make love to you… touch you everywhere, stroke deep when you’re ready, make you come so hard you scream my name.” The pad of his thumb traced her mouth, then dipped inside, treating her to the stunning taste of his skin. “A dream come true,
vanzäla.
I thank you for the privilege.”

Her breath caught. Oh wow. What an incredible thing to say. “Wick?”

Tugging the T-shirt over her head, he drew the bra over her shoulders and threw it over the side of the bed. “Yeah?”

“Hurry,” she whispered. “I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

“Impatient?”

“Needy. I want you.”

He kissed her softly. A second later, his jeans disappeared, leaving him naked in her arms. J. J. moaned in relief. Thank God. Tania had told her all about the disappearing clothes thing all the guys used, and… oh, Nelly. Her sister had been right. The trick belonged in the record books, in the oh-thank-you-baby-Jesus section.

Planting his fists on either side of her, Wick pushed upward to land on his knees. As he straddled her leg and palmed her walking cast, J. J. ran the gauntlet, letting her gaze skim over him. She swallowed. Had she said strong earlier? Well, stacked sounded better. Ripped worked too, ’cause… holy moly. He was a golden-skinned god, muscle poured over bone, so hard-bodied he took her breath away. Anticipation sizzling in her veins, her mouth parted on a long, drawn-out sigh. The rip of Velcro sounded as Wick undid the straps holding her footwear in place.

J. J. barely noticed. She was too busy staring, wondering if he would…

Curiosity made her reach out.

Licking over her bottom lip, she caressed him with her fingertip. His erection bobbed. White cream pearling on the tip, Wick twitched. Hands still cupping her calf, he cursed and closed his eyes. She stroked him again. His hips curled toward her as though asking for more. Growing bolder, she
pushed up onto one elbow and wrapped her hand around him.

“My God, Wick.” Soft skin poured over hot steel. So hard. So thick. So ready to please her. “How about we put this to work?”

With a snarl, Wick ripped that last strap free. Gentle hands pulled the cast from her foot. Impatient ones flung it over the end of the bed. “Not until I taste you.”

The reminder of what he wanted to do to her set her cheeks on fire. As the blush spread, heating her face, J. J. tightened her grip and stroked him from base to tip. “Later. We have lots of—”

“No. Now.”

With another “fuck,” he grasped her wrist and pulled her hand free. Hooking the waistband of her sweats, he peeled her out of her pants. The lacy panties went next, leaving her wearing nothing but skin. J. J. froze as he looked her over, skimming her body with predatory intent. Possessiveness too. And in the moment, she felt owned… as though he held the deed to every inch of her. With a low growl, he cupped her breasts. His thumb brushed over her nipples, teasing her, exciting her, making her want as his gaze traveled to the dark curls at the junction of her thighs.

Breathing hard, she watched him swallow and… oh God. She knew what he was thinking. He was imagining what she tasted like there. She could see it on his face, hear the whisper in his mind, feel the anticipation rushing in his blood. The connection should’ve scared her. Instead it heightened the intensity, sending bliss unfurling like a whip. As each stroke lashed her, J. J. lost control. She pulsed deep inside, squirmed on the sheets, the mere thought
of having him between her thighs making her throb with anticipation.

“Please. Wick, please just—”

“As you wish.” Tracing her curves, he stroked over sensitive skin, his focus absolute. The heat of his mouth brushed over her belly, then drifted away. Needing an anchor to ground her, J. J. buried her hands in his hair, begging without words to be taken. Leaving moist tracks on her skin, Wick paused to kiss her mound of top curls. “Invite me in, baby… I’m hungry.”

So was she, but J. J. obeyed anyway and—

“Oh God. What are you… holy shit… oh… my… God!”

J. J. writhed as he settled between her thighs. He showed no mercy, stroking deep with his tongue, licking between her folds, whipping her into a bliss-fueled frenzy. And she begged. Begged for release. Begged for more pleasure. Begged for him. Promised him whatever he wanted in return for the orgasm she could feel coming, but couldn’t catch. God, she wanted it. Needed the rush of delight, and for him to keep his word. He’d promised to ride her hard and make her scream. But even as she reminded him, he took his time, extending his enjoyment as he reveled in her taste. As he worshiped at the source, tongued the nub at the top of her sex, driving her mad as he drank deep and made her body weep.

“Mmm baby, you’re so wet. So hot. So fucking sweet.” Treating her to another round, he sucked harder, arching her spine off the mattress. As she whimpered, he growled, “Come for me, Jamison. Right now. I want to taste it.”

His words released her, flinging her into a pleasure palace of his making.

The explosion set her free, and as she flew into the bliss of rapture, Wick lifted his head from between her thighs. His hips replaced his mouth, pushing her legs wider. Whispering her name, he set the thick head of his shaft against her core and…

She came again the second he thrust deep.

Shockwaves lit off, drowning her in delight. Buried to the hilt inside her, he shouted, the sound half-roar, half-curse, and withdrew only to come right back. Flex and release. Thrust and retreat. He rocked her with the power of his body, giving her everything, taking it all, doing what he promised, making her scream his name as he pushed her to the brink, throbbed inside her, then followed her over the edge into oblivion.

A whole afternoon spent in sexual play.

Wick still couldn’t believe it. He’d not only survived, but thrived in the circle of a female’s arms.
His
female. Jesus. Talk about amazing. He hadn’t shied away from physical contact or felt sick once, and he knew why. Jamison. It all came back to her. She was incredible. A rare treat. A beautiful gift. One he knew he didn’t deserve but craved just the same.

Lucky bastard didn’t begin to describe him.

Still deep inside her, not wanting to let go, Wick gripped her hips and fell back onto the mattress. Breathing hard from the latest round of lovemaking, she moaned—amping him up, making him so proud his heart expanded—and slumped forward, falling into him, trusting him to catch her. Cupping her face, he kissed her again, licking into her
mouth before enfolding her in his embrace. She murmured his name as her breasts touched down on his chest and… yum. She felt like heaven, and he couldn’t get enough: of the contact, of her inferno-like heat, and the way she trusted him to keep her safe. Skin-to-skin. Heart-to-heart. She made him believe she belonged to him. And as she nestled in, pressed her cheek to his heart, and sighed in contentment, Wick thanked his lucky stars yet again.

Beautiful, beautiful female. Precious beyond words.

“My God,” she mumbled, shifting her hips before she went boneless against him. The wiggle pushed him deeper inside her. Wick groaned, loving the raw burn of pleasure. Man, he was sensitive. So ready to go again. Insatiable when it came to her. Unable to get enough of what she did to him. “I had no idea it could be so good.”

Neither had he. Live and learn. An excellent way to go.

And he just might, considering Jamison’s appetite… and his need to appease it. She’d ridden him hard that last time. Liked being on top. Enjoyed watching him while she taunted and teased. Reveled in the rasp of his voice as he begged her for release. Another first. He didn’t beg. For anything. It was one of those rules he lived by, but… shit. She blew that to hell about an hour in, forcing him to submit while she took the wheel.

And drove him straight over the edge.

For the… well, he didn’t know what number that had been.

He’d lost count—along with his mind—somewhere after the second round. Now all he wanted to do was hold her and wallow in the afterglow of physical conquest. Hers over him. His over her. Wick didn’t care which qualified. It
didn’t matter. Both worked for him, even though he knew it couldn’t last.

The thought weighed on his heart. A heavy burden to carry. Especially since their time together was almost up.

He could feel the stir in the lair. His brothers were awake, up for the night and busy helping Daimler prepare for the mating ceremony. Any minute now someone would come bang on his door… and steal Jamison away. Take her from his arms and tell her to get dressed. To do her part. To take her place around the sacred circle. Bare witness as Tania married a member of his pack.

Battling the urge to lock her in his room and keep her all to himself, Wick brushed her dark hair over her shoulder. One hand playing in the thick strands, he stroked the other down her back. She purred, stirring beneath his touch. He hummed. So soft. So sweet. So unabashed in her passion. “Jamison?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me another secret.”

Jamison huffed a second before her lips curved against his chest. Wick smiled in reaction. She liked this game. So did he. They’d been playing it all afternoon. Talking between bouts of lovemaking. Asking personal questions. Revealing secrets long kept. Well, some of them anyway. Although she’d traced over his scar, fingertips lingering on the numbers burned into his forearm in Dragonese, she hadn’t asked. Instead, she waited, patient in the swell of his mounting hesitation. He didn’t want to tell her about his past. Didn’t want to explain what had happened or see the pity in her eyes as he told her about the cage and collar. About the fighting. Or about the killing he’d done to save his own life.

Deceitful much? No question. She deserved to know the truth. Needed the insight in order to understand him… the who, what, and why of the male he’d become. Selfishness stayed his hand. He wanted their time together to be without shadow. Untainted by his past. Unblemished by guilt. Pure in every way. So he held back, omitting the one thing he knew he should tell her.

“Let’s see. Another secret.” Sky-blue eyes met his as she raised her head. Folding her forearms on his chest, she set her chin down on the stack. She pursed her lips. “I stole a guitar off my neighbor’s porch when I was eleven.”

“Really?”

“Un-huh.”

“Did you get caught?”

“Kind of. Lady caught me red-handed.” When he raised a brow, she huffed. “Mr. Hufferson’s bulldog.”

“Mr. Hufferson.” Brushing a stray lock of hair from her temple, he grinned at her. “The owner of the guitar in question.”

She nodded. “I didn’t know it at the time, but the dog always hid in the front flower bed, squishing all the petunias. Funny thing, though, she never told on me.”

“If only dogs could talk.”

“If only.” Her expression dimmed a little. “I felt really bad about it, but—”

“Not enough to return it?”

“No.” As she broke eye contact, a frown pushed her brows together. “It was a terrible thing to do, but I wanted a guitar so badly. We didn’t have a lot growing up. Most days we didn’t have enough to eat, so no way Mom could afford to buy me an instrument, never mind send me to music lessons.”

Her voice cracked, and Wick ached for her. Could see her as an eleven-year-old girl, big blue eyes brimming with tears as her Mom said no to the one thing she couldn’t do without. Her music.

“All I wanted to do was write my songs,” she whispered. “And Mr. Hufferson always left the Bedell beside the rocking chair. I walked by it every day after school, so—”

“The Bedell?” Needing to soothe her, he caressed her back, running his hand over her soft skin, telling her the only way he knew how that he understood.