Dangerous To Love

by Toni Anderson, Barbara Freethy, Dee Davis, Leslie A. Kelly, Cynthia Eden, J. Kenner, Meli Raine, Gwen Hernandez, Pamela Clare, Rachel Grant

  He chuckles, the sound soft and low, then kisses his way down my jaw before brushing his lips over mine. “That’s my job,” he murmurs, before kissing me so sweetly, the gentle pressure turning demanding when he pulls away, his teeth tugging on my bottom lip and sending a coil of heat all the way through my body, from my greedy mouth all the way to my pussy.

  I whimper, then shift my stance, spreading my legs and relishing the sensation of the air between my thighs. I’m wet and needy, and I’m craving his fingers, his mouth. He’s taking his damn time, though, and so far he hasn’t even ventured south of my breasts.

  “Jack…please.”

  “Please, what?”

  “Touch me,” I beg.

  “I am touching you.” His lips move against my ear as he talks. “I want to hear what you want.” As he speaks, one hand slides down, moving south on my belly. “Tell me how to touch you, Denny. Tell me what you like.”

  “This,” I say, and I’ve never spoken truer words. I’m opening up after a long hibernation. I’m back in my husband’s arms, and I don’t even care that he doesn’t know it. He’s bringing me back to life, just like a princess in a fairy tale. “This,” I repeat. “I want all of this. And more.”

  “Me, too.” His voice is a growl. Rough. Edgy. And I know that he’s as desperate as I am.

  “Denny,” he says as he drops to his knees. “I have to taste you.”

  I tremble, overwhelmed with desire as his hands cup my thighs, and he slowly eases them up until his thumbs are teasing the tender skin between my sex and my legs. He tilts his head up and meets my eyes just long enough for me to see the hunger on his face. Then he gently strokes my clit with his tongue, sending shockwaves of pleasure rushing through me, so intense it’s a wonder my legs don’t collapse beneath me.

  I whimper when he pauses, then suck in a sharp breath when he orders, “Play with your nipples.”

  My body tightens in response. Mason isn’t usually this demanding, but I like it. I want to arouse him as deeply as he’s aroused me. I want to hear what he wants, share his fantasies. Hell, I want to be his fantasy.

  I want to surrender to his every whim, and that’s why I eagerly tease and pinch my nipples as he laves my clit with his tongue, his hands cupping my ass as he holds me firmly in place.

  I could stay like that forever, but Mason changes the game. His hand on my rear shifts, and he slides it between my ass cheeks, then further still until his fingertips find my core. I’m incredibly wet, and he thrusts inside me as I grind against him, craving every pleasure and sensation that he is giving me.

  Too soon, he pulls his hand away, then teases his wet fingertip along my perineum before stroking the tight muscle of my ass. I gasp at the unfamiliar sensation, but I can’t deny that it feels fucking incredible.

  “You like that.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “Yes. God, yes.”

  But it’s as if my admission is a indictment, because he stops. I whimper, and he stands, his expression teasing and devious. “I like the look on your face,” he tells me. “As if you want to beg, but don’t want to give me the satisfaction.”

  “I’ll beg,” I say. “I’ll do anything you want me to.”

  “I like the sound of that,” he says, then kisses me hard and deep. It’s a wild kiss, all tongue and teeth and violent demand.

  When he pulls away, we’re both breathing hard. “You should beg. You should tell me everything you want, every naughty thought, every wild fantasy. Because all I want is to satisfy you. To feel you surrender. To hear you scream. I want to make you explode, Denny. And then I want to do it all over again.”

  I stroke his face, his stubble rough against my palm. “Who are you?” I whisper.

  Mason’s not shy in bed—not by a long shot. But this intensity is so much more. I don’t know if it’s because of our time apart or his new boldness, but I’ve never been so turned on in my life, and every one of his touches sends shivers through me.

  He smiles in response to my question. “I’m the man who’s making love to you.”

  “Yes,” I say. “Oh, yes, you are.”

  He takes my hand and tugs me to the small sofa under the windows that look into the kitchen. He sits, then holds up a hand to stop me when I start to go toward him. “Wait. I want to see you.”

  “I’m hard to miss. I’m right in front of you and very naked.”

  His mouth twitches. “Touch yourself.”

  My pulse kicks up, and a delicious heat settles more firmly between my legs. “What?”

  “You heard me.” He moves his hand to his cock, stroking it through the denim of his jeans. Even from where I stand, I can tell how hard he is. And I can feel how wet I am.

  “Denny,” he says. “I want to watch.”

  It’s such a simple statement compared to the intensity of his gaze, and I find I can neither protest nor resist. He wants to watch, and damned if I don’t want to perform. Want to feel his eyes on me as I play with my clit. Want to watch the motion of his hand quicken on his thick cock as I thrust a finger in my pussy, then suck my sex-slicked finger.

  I want wildness. Fantasy. Desire.

  I don’t know. Maybe I want to make up for lost time.

  Mostly, I just want Mason, and as he watches, I close my eyes and slowly slide my hand down, then start to tease my hard, slick clit.

  “Baby,” he murmurs, the need in his voice so intense it sounds as though it’s laced with pain.

  I’m wet—so wet—and it’s all because of him. I slip my fingers inside myself, and as I do, he tells me to open my eyes. I comply, and the passion on his face rocks through me, the precursor to a wild explosion.

  He sees it and I watch as his hand tightens on his straining cock.

  “Take off your clothes,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s my turn. Because I want you.”

  He doesn’t make a move, so I climb onto his lap, straddling him, then rub myself over the bulge in the denim.

  I whimper, and he laughs. “I like watching you.”

  “Yeah? Would you like fucking me, too?”

  He doesn’t answer aloud, but he unbuttons his fly, then slowly takes his cock out. He’s huge and hard, and I stroke myself over the length of him as he groans, then closes his eyes and tilts his head back as he holds my rear and guides my movements.

  He’s harder than I’ve ever seen him, and tonight we’ve been wilder than ever before. “What are we doing?” I ask, as I continue to rock my hips and he teases my rear with his forefinger. “We’ve never—”

  “What?”

  I gasp as his finger explores me more intimately, my whole body craving him, wanting to be filled by him.

  “This,” I say when I can force out the words. “Everything.”

  “So I was right. You. Me. The past. We did have a thing. This isn’t our first time.”

  I swallow, trapped in my own obfuscation. “You know it isn’t. And please, please, right now I just want—”

  “Tell me.”

  “I want you inside me. Please, Jack. Please fuck me.”

  “I don’t have a condom,” he says, breathing hard.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “It’ll be fine. Just please, don’t stop.”

  I start to shift, rising up so that I’m no longer riding his shaft. I want the head. I want all of him inside me.

  “Denny, I don’t think—”

  “I’m on the pill,” I say, which isn’t technically accurate anymore, but he’s also not going to get me any more pregnant than I already am.

  “Denny…” He looks into my eyes, his gentle and sad. “We can’t risk it. I’m not worried about a baby—”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know what they did to me. I don’t know what I did. And I won’t risk you—”

  I kiss him, then smile when I pull away and look into his confused eyes. “It’s okay,” I assure him. “Seagrave and his team did every test imaginable on you. You
’re clean, I promise.”

  I think that will reassure him, but he looks even more confused. “Why on earth would they tell you that?”

  Because as your wife they thought I might want to know.

  “We’re partners.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t—”

  “Jack,” I say firmly. “Do you want to debate privacy policy at the SOC, or do you want to fuck me?”

  Shock flickers in his eyes, changing swiftly to amusement.

  “Trust me, sweetheart, debating is the last thing on my mind.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it.”

  He cups my neck, then pulls my face down for a hard kiss, with tongue and teeth and heat, and so wild and deep it’s almost fucking. But not close enough, because what I want is Mason. My body is on fire, craving release. Needing satisfaction.

  “I can’t wait any longer,” I tell him.

  “Me either.”

  I bite my lower lip, then shift my hips until I feel the head of his cock against my core. His hands are on my hips, and I let him maneuver me, lifting and lowering me as he teases himself and me, barely slipping inside me, then pulling out, then repeating again in a maddening ritual that has me going absolutely crazy.

  Him, too. I can tell from his face. From the ecstasy etched on his features.

  “More,” he demands, releasing my hips and giving me full control. I take it greedily, impaling myself over and over again as my body tightens, every atom in me pulling together, readying for a wild explosion.

  Tighter and tighter, faster and faster.

  Inside me, Mason’s close, too. He’s as tight as a spring, and I want to explode with him. I want us to come together, to be together. I want—

  The world shatters around me.

  I rock back, my body on fire, my husband’s name on my lips. “Mason! Oh, God, Mason!”

  And then I realize what I’ve done.

  His body goes tense as my eyes fly open in shock and embarrassment. “Jack,” I say. “I didn’t mean—”

  He stands up, then tugs on his jeans as I wince, feeling like an absolute shit.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as he shakes his head, then reaches down, grabs my robe, and tosses it to me.

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” He drags his fingers through his hair as I slide the robe on and pull it tightly closed. “I can’t be what you need. I can’t be a stand-in for your husband.”

  I shake my head. “You’re not. I swear you’re not. It just slipped out. It didn’t mean anything—”

  “Dammit, Denny, it meant everything.”

  Hot tears spill down my cheeks, because it’s happening just as I feared. I’m losing him all over again. “Please,” I whisper, but he just shakes his head.

  “I don’t want to be the kind of man who cheats on a friend. And you’re not the kind of woman who cheats on her husband. I don’t know what kind of madness grabbed us before, but—”

  He cuts himself off, his brow furrowing as he lifts his face to mine, a wild, almost feral look in his eyes. “You’re not the kind of woman who cheats,” he repeats, then reaches out for my left hand so quickly that I gasp with shock. “Not you,” he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the platinum band the way I do when I’m lost in thought.

  He draws in a stuttering breath, then squares his shoulders as he looks straight at me. “You didn’t cheat tonight, did you?”

  Fear and joy war for space in my heart. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? “Jack, I don’t—”

  He presses a finger to my lips and shakes his head. “I’m not Jack,” he says. “I’m your husband. I’m Mason.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  He was Mason.

  Mason Walker, not Jack Sawyer.

  Mason Walker, former Special Forces soldier turned covert operative for the Sensitive Operations Command. Not that he remembered any of that. But he knew it was true. Just as he knew that he was married to Denise Marshall. Denny. The woman who’d made his heart stop from the first moment he’d seen her inside that goddamn little cell at the SOC.

  The same woman who was looking at him now as if he were a lit fuse, and any moment he would burst apart. He stifled a wince. Considering the state of some of the amnesia victims Dr. Tam had showed him, he supposed that wasn’t an unreasonable fear. Right now, though, he felt fine. All he wanted was his life back.

  He drew in a breath. “This is our house? We own it together?”

  Her eyes widened a bit, but she nodded.

  “When did we buy it?”

  “I don’t think I should just tell you—”

  “Yes,” he said stepping closer to her. “You should.”

  “Dr. Tam said—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I know the risk. I know the concern. But my head feels fine.”

  She shook her head, and a single tear spilled down her cheek, making his heart crack open. “I can’t,” she said in a voice clogged with tears. “I get that you’re angry with me, but I’m so goddamn happy to have you back. You. And I can’t risk that. I just can’t.”

  Oh, God, she was killing him.

  “I’m not angry with you,” he said, using his forefinger to tilt her chin up. “I’m relieved. Confused. Thrilled. Awed.”

  “Awed?”

  “That you belong to me. That the woman I’ve fantasized about since the first moment I saw her actually belongs to me.”

  “It was hell having you gone,” she whispered. “I’m used to missions, but that one went long, and I didn’t hear anything and…” She trailed off with a shudder. “It was hell,” she repeated. “And then you came back, and … well, that was hell, too. I was so thrilled to know that you were alive. Thrilled to have you with me again. But it was a whole new level of hell, Mason. It really was.”

  She sniffled, then brushed tears away with her fingertips before using the sleeve of her robe to wipe her nose. “Sorry. I’m kind of a mess. I’m exhausted and, well, let’s just say it’s been an unusual day.”

  “It definitely has.”

  He took her hand. “Come with me.”

  He led her inside, a throbbing need building inside him. Not sexual—not entirely. But demanding and urgent.

  “This is our kitchen?”

  “Such that it is,” she said. “We got new appliances because you like—liked—to cook. But the countertops and new floors and all that…” She trailed off with a shrug.

  “You were waiting for me to come back.”

  “We wanted to do it together, the way we’d done the back porch. Room by room, a year or so of weekends. And then we’d have a new house by our anniversary.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No. Don’t be. We both love our work. I still do, even with everything that’s happened. And despite leaving the SOC to move over to Stark. What we both do, it’s important. You may not remember what you were doing, but I promise you it was something vital. And we bought this house knowing that anything could happen. We could get transferred to another country. We could end up on a long-term undercover assignment. One of us could get whacked on the head and end up with amnesia.” She said the last with a sad little laugh, but he couldn’t bring himself to smile in return.

  She cleared her throat. “Anyway, the point is that we knew the risks. And we knew that we might never be able to settle down like civilians. This part?” She swept her hand to encompass the room, the house. “The part where I couldn’t deal? That was all on me.” Her lips twitched with humor. “I guess I loved you even more than I realized.”

  He moved closer, then cupped her chin and gently tilted her face up. Then he kissed her. Just a gentle brush of lips on lips, but it set him on fire, and when he stepped back he was breathing hard. And he knew exactly what he wanted. Her. His life. Everything.

  “We’ll finish the house,” he said. “We’ll finish it together. We can start tomorrow.”

  Something bright shone in her eyes. “Re
ally?”

  “It belongs to me, too.”

  “Right. Of course. It does.” Her voice was soft. Breathy.

  “So do you.”

  “I do.”

  The words—a vow—sliced through him, hot and demanding.

  “Take off your robe,” he said, barely able to hear his own voice over the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” He moved closer, knowing he was pushing limits, but also knowing that he had to. That it was right here and right now that would either make this shadow life real for him, or leave him outside the glass looking in.

  She was breathing hard, her lips slightly parted as she studied him, as if trying to read his mind.

  “You’re my wife, aren’t you? You belong to me as much as this house? This furniture?” He reached for the loose end of the sash. “Love, honor, obey.”

  She met his eyes, hers sparkling with mischief. “Actually, we left the obey part out of our vows.”

  “And if I want it back in?”

  Her brows rose. “Do you?”

  “Do I want to know that this is still real to you? Me? This marriage? Do I want to know—truly know—that you belong to me, wholly and completely? Do I want to know that there is nothing you won’t do if I ask, just as there is nothing I won’t do for you? Yes, wife. I want that.”

  She didn’t answer him, not in so many words, but the color rose on her face and she was breathing hard when she closed her hand over his and tugged the sash loose. She moved her shoulders, and the robe slithered to the ground, leaving him holding only a white cloth sash in his hand, dangling down to where it was tethered to a puddle of crisp, white terrycloth.

  He dropped the sash.

  For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in every inch of her. Before, she’d been a woman he desired. But that desire had been mixed with guilt. He’d not only coveted another man’s wife, he’d pulled out his cock and fucked her.

  Except he hadn’t.

  The woman he’d craved was his. His woman. His partner, his friend.