One Woman

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  I press my hand to his chest. “What happened down there?”

  His hand slides to cup the back of my neck, and he drags me to him. “God, woman,” he murmurs, and the words are low, guttural. “My bother isn’t a killer, he’s not, but for just a moment, in my mind’s eye, I saw you go over the ledge together, and I swear I stopped breathing.”

  I don’t know what this has to do with that call that upset him, but I’m pretty sure everything. “He hates me.”

  “And what do you think I feel, Emma?”

  The question surprises me. It’s not a denial of his brother’s hate. I’m not sure what it is. “What do you feel, Jax?” I whisper, afraid yet eager to hear his answer. Brody might have had me standing on a physical ledge, but Jax, Jax has me standing on an emotional ledge, and in some ways, that is far more terrifying.

  “It’s damn sure not hate, woman.” And then he’s kissing me, a deep, drugging, own me kind of kiss, filled with angst and torment, and I don’t fight it. I don’t fight it because this is how he’s telling me what that call meant to him. I don’t fight him because I understand him. Because I want him. I need him. Beyond all reason, as he’s said to me, I need this man. So I let him own me. I’ve never wanted to be owned so damn badly in my life. I have a flashback again of me tied up, of my eyes being covered, and I mentally amend, no. I’ve never wanted to be that any time in my life while almost everyone in my life has tried to own me.

  Dominance.

  Power.

  Jax is those things and life has taught me that those things equal trouble.

  I tear my mouth from Jax’s and stare up at him, searching his face for a reason to hold back, willing myself to be careful with my heart, but my God. Yes, he not only personifies power and dominance, but I have no alarms with Jax. Defying my past, my deeply rooted history, this knowledge doesn’t push me away. Everything about this man draws me in, pulls me closer, makes me want him. I want and want and want some more. My hands slide over his body, muscles flexing beneath my touch, igniting the burn in my belly.

  For long seconds, Jax just stands there, a hooded stare, watching me, staring down at me, unreadable, more stone than man by sight, but he’s not. I feel the push and pull in him, between us even. I feel his desire, his needs, more of that torment in him I’d tasted in his kiss. He watches me, letting me touch him without touching me, but when I tug his shirt from his pants, his iron control snaps with a low rough, masculine sound, and he follows it by kissing the hell out of me and catching the hem of my blouse. His hands, warm and strong, slide under the silk, and it’s over my head in an instant, and I don’t even know how my bra goes with it, but it does.

  He eases back then, his gaze raking over my naked breasts, and at that moment, I’m vulnerable, naked while he’s fully dressed. The past charges into the room, demanding to be noticed and that damn flashback of me tied up again comes with it, but I shove the memory aside. I won’t go there. I might have learned the wrath of a controlling man, but I never cowered. I did regret. I don’t plan to regret Jax North.

  I pull the knot on his tie down the silk and then give my command, “Undress.”

  He catches me to him and swings me around, planting me on the bed, and the next thing I know, my knees are bent, and he’s on one of his own knees between my legs. His lips, those damn beautiful lips, curve with mischief before he leans in and licks my clit. I gasp with the unexpected intimate invasion that is not an invasion at all. He does own me. He’s still dressed, and I’m wet, warm, and officially all his, but I’m not sure Jax is all mine.

  He gives me a devilish smile and unbuttons a few of the buttons on his shirt. “Just in case you thought I wasn’t going to finish what I started.” He pulls away his tie and tosses it before reaching behind him and pulling his shirt up and over his head. He then leans in and licks my clit again before he inches up and above me, his hands pressing my hands to the mattress. “Don’t move, or I swear I won’t do that again.”

  Lord help me, his command has me burning alive. This man commands and I am set on fire. He leans in and presses his lips to my ear. “I’m not going to let that ledge be the way you remember this night. That’s a promise.” He leans back and meets my stare, those piercing blue eyes branding me as easily as his touch. “Don’t move your hands,” he repeats, and then his hands are slowly dragging down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His fists plant in the bed by my head. “Don’t move at all.” And then he’s leaning in, teasing one of my nipples with his tongue, and I’m panting with the spiral of sensations from my nipple straight to my sex.

  My lashes lower, and his mouth is on my mouth, my tongue reaching for his tongue, but already, he’s moving lower again. His mouth is on the other nipple, suckling, licking. Oh God. I’m spiraling again, and it’s all so damn good. He moves lower, his tongue caressing a path right to my belly button, where it teases the sensitive skin, but my body is all about where he licks next. Where I want him to lick next. He licks lower, a line that heads toward my hip where his teeth scrape, his tongue licking the pinch he’s created. But then he’s gone, and I don’t know where he went. I don’t know how it happens, but suddenly, I’m back on the ledge, the wind whipping at my back and at my legs.

  I jerk to a sitting position to find Jax now naked, his cock thick, jutting forward, his body perfect lines of lean muscle. His eyes meet mine, and in a blink, he’s back over me, pressing me to the mattress, his hands pushing my hands back over my head. “Don’t move, baby.”

  He doesn’t understand. When I lay still, my mind is wild, not my body. “I want to move. I want to touch you. I want you to stop teasing me.”

  He eases lower, his breath a warm fan on my lips. “The only way to forget that ledge is to be completely right here with me.”

  “I am.”

  “No. You aren’t. I can almost feel you thinking about more than what comes next.”

  He’s right and I start to tell him so. “I’m—”

  He leans in and kisses me. “Mine for the night, if you let that happen. Are you going to let that happen?”

  “Yes,” I say, no hesitation in me.

  His eyes narrow, searching mine, and then he’s straddling me, pulling my wrists together. The next thing I know, he’s reached for his tie, and I now know his intent. He plans to tie me up.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Emma…

  Panic driven by the past undoes me. I don’t think. I just react. Breathing hard, I sit up. “Jax.”

  He catches the back of my head and kisses me, a long stroke of tongue that somehow still manages to heat my skin and my body. “I won’t hurt you. Never, ever will I hurt you.” His voice is low, raspy, affected.

  “Not tonight, Jax,” I whisper because I feel how much he wants my trust; I feel it, and I want to give it to him, but I can’t do this.

  “Tonight. Trust me, Emma.”

  “I do, or I wouldn’t be here, but,” I hesitate, “this isn’t about you. I promise. And I’ll explain at some point. I’m just—not now. Not tonight. I don’t have the capacity to talk about this after the Brody thing. I don’t, Jax.”

  His hand goes to my cheek and tilts my gaze to his, his inspection probing before he tosses the tie and cups my face. “Not tonight. Fuck, baby. I’m sorry.” He rolls us to our sides and catches my leg with his, aligning our bodies. “I’m so damn sorry.”

  Relief washes over me, and damn it, this man is trying to steal my heart. I’m going to fall in love. I probably already have. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You listened. You stopped. And for the record, you can tie me up. Just not yet. Okay? Just not yet.”

  “You have no idea how many questions that reply just made me want to ask, but I won’t. You tell me when you’re ready, and Emma, I’m going to make sure you trust me, that you know you can. I’ll earn that trust.”

  “You’re off to a pretty good start, Jax,” I whisper, though I don’t know how I can ever tell him my past, but he d
oesn’t make me think about that right now. He kisses me, and it’s tender and passionate, a kiss that is so much more than a kiss. This kiss is everything I can’t define, everything I have never known with a man. He tears down my wall. He lifts me up. He buries the past.

  His lips part mine, and he whispers, “You weren’t supposed to happen, but I’m damn glad you did, Emma.” He rolls me to my back, his lips curving. “Don’t move.”

  I can’t explain how charming the teasing note in his voice is, or how intimate this moment is, but I smile with him, I smile inside and out. He kisses my shoulder and then he’s easing back down my body, easing my legs apart, his mouth lingering on my belly, his eyes meeting mine. “Any objections to me finishing what I started?”

  My cheeks heat with the very idea of what he’s asking me. “No,” I whisper. “No objections.”

  He inches down just a bit more, his breath a warm tease on my clit. “Can I lick you here, Emma?”

  “Oh God, did you really just ask me that?”

  “Can I lick—”

  “Yes. Yes, you can lick me there.”

  He laughs, low and deep, the sound rumbling from his chest, whispering out of his mouth, fading with his tongue on my clit. I arch into the intimate play of his tongue and moan when his mouth comes down fully on me, suckling, even as he slides a finger inside me, and then another, my sex clenching in response. My hips lifting. He’s ruthless with his tongue, licking here and there, in all the right places, suckling then licking again. My fingers grab for the blanket, twist anywhere they can find to twist. I arch into his touch, and fight to find my orgasm, but he doesn’t let me have it. I pant his name, and he pulls back. I’m almost there again, and he pulls back yet again. It’s not until I pretty much yell his name in desperation that he proves he reads me like a book. He licks just right and thrusts his fingers just right, and the force of the spams overtake me. Jax doesn’t let those few intense seconds be it. He eases his tongue and fingers, in a slow sensual perfect pace until I melt into the mattress in utter satisfaction.

  He returns to me, his knee hitting the mattress, the sweet weight of his perfect body on top of mine; the thick ridge of his erection presses to the wet heat of my sex where I want him. “We’re not them,” he says, his thumb stroking my cheek. “They don’t decide who we are or what we are together.”

  I don’t have to ask who he means. He means the Norths and the Knights. “We can’t hide from who we are.”

  He pushes inside me, sliding deep and settling in, his hand cupping my backside. “We aren’t denying anything. You’re Emma fucking Knight, and I’m Jax fucking North and fuck the rest of them if they don’t like it.” He rolls with me then, and suddenly, I’m on top of him, staring down at this gorgeous man. And he’s not staring at my body. He’s watching my face, searching for my reaction, and I don’t make him guess.

  I lean forward, my hands on either side of him, my face close to his face. “I know why you just did this.”

  “Why?” he asks softly, a gentle prod.

  “To give me control. Only I don’t want control. Not right now. Later, yes, but not now. And you know why? Because you did it to prove something to me, and you have nothing to prove to me, Jax North. Nothing at all.”

  His fingers catch in my hair, and he drags my mouth to his, but he doesn’t kiss me. We linger there, breathing together, seconds ticking by in slow motion. And in those seconds, there is warmth, intimacy, and so much silent push and pull that I can barely breathe. I feel this man like I have never felt another man, ever. Like I didn’t know I could feel another human being. “God, woman,” he whispers, “what are you doing to me?” He doesn’t give me time to reply.

  He rolls us, and suddenly, we’re on our sides, face to face, our bodies molded close and so very intimate. “How about we share control?” he asks, his hand on my backside, pulling me forward, as he nestles deeper inside me, the feel of him stretching me, clenching my sex all over again.

  “Good,” I whisper. “It’s good.”

  “Good?” he asks, his fingers catch my nipple, and heat rushes over my neck and across my chest. “Just good?” His fingers flex on my backside, and he arches into me, thrusting hard, sensations rocketing through me. “Just good?” he demands again, his hand running over my hair and tilting my mouth to his. “Are you sure?” He thrusts again and moans with pleasure, but somehow, I still manage to tease him.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Good.”

  His lips curve, and even before the next thrust, there’s no denying that his body and my body together aren’t the only thing a whole lot better than good. Everything about me with this man is a whole lot better than good. Except, of course, the hate between our families.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Emma…

  I’m lost in Jax, and I can no longer remember why that might be dangerous. Nothing this good could be bad. And Jax really does feel good; we feel good. He doesn’t press me to tell him how good. He lets that tease go. Instead, he kisses me, and we begin this slow, seductive dance, our bodies moving and grinding together. Our breathing heavy, mingling together, lips touching and parting, our tongues licking and withdrawing. I’m lost, and somehow, I’m found with this man. A woman everyone wants for her last name, while Jax wants me despite that name.

  His leg catches my leg, leveraging every push and pull of our bodies, while we’re rocking, grinding, and pumping. And then I’m there, on the edge, no ability to hold back, and I suddenly want to hold back, but it’s just too late. The tight ball of tension in my belly and sex explodes, and I’m spasming around his cock.

  With a low groan, his muscles flex and his shaft pulses, his hot release filling me. I moan. He moans. We’re both lost in the ride that is up and higher, and then slowly down, until we’ve collapsed together, him on top of me, me all but melting beneath him into the mattress. Slowly, my leg slides from his, and he rolls us to our sides, and I don’t even care about the mess. I don’t want to move. He catches my leg with his and pulls me to him, his hand on my face.

  His thumb strokes my bottom lip, wiping away the dampness of our kisses. “I’m glad you stayed.”

  “Me, too,” I whisper, and then we just stare at each other, a million unspoken words between us.

  A little while later, he tucks my hair behind my ear. “Don’t move. I’ll get you a towel.” He kisses me and then he’s gone, and I’m aware of the stickiness on my thighs, so I do as he bids. I don’t move. I don’t even turn to watch him cross the room in all that naked perfection that is hard to ignore. Unbidden, there’s an emotional storm inside me that I don’t want to take control of. A flashback of that ledge, of me on the edge of that wall, feeling like I was going to fall to my death shifts to a flashback of my bound hands. I sit up, and Jax is already back.

  I don’t look at him.

  I’m not looking at this gorgeous man, and he’s naked. Clearly, I’m not in my right mind in the moment. He sits down next to me and hands me the towel. “Thank you,” I say, and I can feel him looking at me, his stare heavy and probing, willing my gaze to his, but I have such a transparent face, and I don’t really know what is happening inside me right now, but it’s not good.

  I scoot to the edge of the bed. “Bathroom,” I say, pushing to my feet, and oblivious of my nudity, I dash toward the door in front of me. Exposing my body to Jax isn’t the issue. It’s everything else that has me feeling raw and cut open. Once I reach the bathroom, I enter and shut the door behind me, staring at the room that is so much more than a bathroom. It’s round, literally, with stone walls and a round cushioned ottoman that is quite massive in the center. The bathtub is beyond it, a claw foot tub, and when my eyes lift, I find a skylight cut like petals of an elaborate flower. It’s a gorgeous reminder that Jax doesn’t need my money. And while some people are greedy enough to always want more, I don’t feel that with Jax.

  I pant out a breath and will away whatever this knot of emotion is in my chest, but I fail.
I settle for locating the toilet behind a door, using it and washing up, before I end up sitting on the round cushion in the center of the room. I think I almost died tonight. I think if Jax wouldn’t have come for me when he did, I would have ended up a broken body on the rocks below the tower. A smart person wouldn’t be here. God, what am I doing here?

  Jax.

  Jax is why I’m here.

  He’s not his brother. He doesn’t want to kill me.

  My mind goes back to the ledge, and I can almost feel the cold air on my skin again. A memory that wants to shift again to a less recent past, and I stand up. No. No. No. Why am I letting that part of my life live in this part of my life?

  There’s a knock on the door, and I jolt, pushing to my feet. Suddenly naked is a little too exposed with Jax when it wasn’t a few minutes ago. My gaze rockets to the door I believe leads into a closet. I rush that way, stepping inside a giant closet organized by dress clothes and casual clothes. I walk to the T-shirts and grab one, pulling it over my head.

  “Emma!”

  At the sound of Jax’s voice, I hurry to the door and find him peeking into the bathroom. “Can I come in?” he asks.

  Can he come in? It’s his house, and he’s asking me if he can come in. Just like he stopped trying to tie me up when I asked him to stop and did so with passion and tenderness, not anger. “Of course, you can come in,” I say, and I walk toward him.

  He appears in the room, a pair of pajama bottoms slung low on his hips, his torso solid muscle that can only mean good genes and hard work. His gaze slides over me, and we meet in the middle. “I like you in my shirt, Emma,” he says, a mix of warmth and concern in those beautiful blue eyes.

  A hot spot forms in my chest. “I was cold and—”