by Cait London
“I want honesty. In this, you’re honest with me. Your body tells me what runs between us.”
Hogan had shaken her deeply, and she struggled to make sense of the melting of her heart, the need to hold him close. Terror leaped through her and she needed time.... “You’re cold. I mean, it’s cold tonight and you’re not dressed—”
“No, I’m not,” Hogan said, standing and taking away the towel. She fought to keep her eyes above his waist and failed as he walked toward her. Her body tightened as unwillingly, she found his arousal, awed by the bold, jutting shape.
Jemma shivered, a painful memory slashing at her, that of cold marital sex. Hogan would be too thorough and demand too much. He’d forge too deeply, taking a part of her that no one else had reached.
He touched her lips with his fingertips, her cheeks, her lashes, then lifted her hair back from her face, studying her. “Jemma?”
“Yes,” she whispered, knowing that she had to have Hogan, to taste him, to feel his body ripple within her keeping. She could do this— enter a relationship, learn how to control her senses. But not just now, not when she ached to hold Hogan tight, and feel his breath sweep across her skin, to have him in her arms... To give herself to him, here, without restrictions in the pure, fragrant air seemed as natural as breathing. It seemed as if all the years knowing him as a boy and a man had led to this....
He undressed her carefully, studying her body so intently— the slope of her breast, the indentation of her waist, the reddish nest of curls between her thighs— that she shivered. Unused to being treasured, admired, she folded her arms in front of her and Hogan drew them away.
He touched her nipple with a fingertip, his expression darkening as he watched it contract. He skimmed her throat with his thumbs, framed her shoulders with his hands as if measuring her for his body’s fit. Then his hands flowed down her, learning her, smoothing the indentation of her waist.
His thumbs traced her hipbones, fingers digging possessively into her hips, his palms hot and hard against her. He lifted her hands, brought them to his lips and suddenly lifted her in his arms, walking out into the stream to bathe her in the chilly water. He quickly soaped her body while she shivered and pushed at him. “Oh! Hogan! Stop!”
“Okay.” Then he placed his large hands over her breasts, caressing them. There was that quiet moment, his hands burning her skin, callused palms gentle upon her nipples, his eyes locked with hers, when Jemma forgot they stood in an icy stream.
“I think I’m turning blue,” she whispered, and wished she could leap upon him and—
He laughed outright, the first rumble startling her— the first real laughter she’d heard from him. Grinning as she swatted at him, he carried her to the bank and briskly dried her.
“Oh! Oh! I’m freezing.” Jemma ran for the sleeping bags and scooted into one, drawing it up to her throat and glaring at him. “Hogan, I’m going to make you pay for that.”
“I know. I’m looking forward to it.” He dried, hurled the towel aside, and walked toward her, a man standing outlined in the moonlight, waiting. “Are you going to let me in there, or not?”
“I should let you freeze.” But Jemma knew that tonight Hogan was definitely on the menu. She flipped back the edge of the sleeping bag and shivered, fearing that he’d take too much, that she’d give too much.
He eased into the sleeping bag and gathered her close against him. The naked impact of Hogan’s burning skin against hers tore through her, locking heat deep within her.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised again, and lowered his head for a long, sweet kiss that left her floating.
“Hurry,” she whispered, desperate for him now, her body humming, tight with hunger.
Against her mouth, he whispered softly, “I’ll treasure this, here with you.”
He’d startled her, the words spoken as a romantic vow. The frantic blush rose up her cheeks, and she looked away, shy of him as a gentle lover. In her mind, despite the heat and need of her body, she knew that making love with Hogan would change her life....
In that instant, she knew that Hogan had chosen her for his own, that he’d brought her here to claim her, not to serve a sexual need alone. He’d wanted to forge and deepen the ultimate tie with her. This moment would bind them in a way she could not ignore... Hogan wanted her quickly this first time, a primitive male need for reassurance from a woman....
“Look at me,” he ordered softly.
Jemma shivered as Hogan eased over her, his hard arousal branding her stomach. He held her hands, roughly nuzzled her breasts, and when she cried out, arching against him, fighting for him, against him, Hogan held her wrists. He lowered his lips to hers, suckling gently, giving her his scent, taking....
His hand ran down her thighs, fingers firm upon her, smoothing, easing, and stroking. Against her skin, his was fever-hot.
“Don’t hold back with me, honey, let yourself fly,” he whispered rawly, that smooth control growing thin....
His taut shiver told her that Hogan wasn’t certain of his need, of her or himself.
Hesitating, needing to reassure him that she wanted this tumbling river of heat between them, Jemma reached to touch him, to curl her fingers around him, to explore.
Hogan groaned slowly, unsteadily, his hips lurching against hers. Yet he held her firmly, carefully, his hands light and erotic upon her skin, touching, brushing, sensitizing. Then she eased him closer, damp and warm and hard against her. The blunt pressure pressing intimately against her, and the gentle, seeking nudge reminded her that Hogan would wait, controlling himself until she was ready.
“Slowly,” he whispered unevenly against her breast, his skin burning hers. “You’re so tight.”
She tried to tell herself this was a simple act. She’d been married after all.
But this was Hogan— huge, trembling, his heart racing against hers, his hard body braced above hers. He eased deeper, just there at the beginning, where she was tight and aching, her body clenching, resisting his.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, suckling her breast, caressing her as he eased into her full length, drawing up her legs beside his hips until she cradled him.
His kisses were sweet, tender as he lay still upon her, bracing his weight away.
“Look, sweetheart. Look how we are together.” Hogan’s usually low even tone was raw now with emotion.
Jemma had never played or examined her body during sex; she hadn’t really cared, but with Hogan, she wanted to know. The sight terrified and elated her, her body adapting to his more easily as the swift tug of desire caught her, winded her, knocked her resistance aside. The taut muscles inside her began contracting with pleasure, the starlit night spinning out of her control. “I can’t stop, Hogan— I—”
He caught her mouth, the kiss taking her higher, his hand lifting her hips and they moved quickly, perfectly, flying higher into the stormy heat. His body was hers, thighs hard and surging against hers, demanding, pushing, retreating—
She flung herself around him, locking him tight to her, keeping him safe as they flew... She heard thunder roll and knew it was her heart— She knew it was Hogan’s, too, that his strong body fought for release, fighting it, and then pouring into her.
One clear thought sliced through Jemma at that moment: Hogan had come to her with a shocking, primitive need to bond with her. She knew that as surely as she knew her body received his to the hilt, clenched upon him, her arms and legs binding him close.
Whatever else they sought from each other would come from this moment. Hogan’s claim was eternal, primitive, and binding at a base level they both understood. He was as much hers as she was his, each torn apart at that moment, and when restored, would carry a part of the other—
Jemma knew, deep within her, that Hogan trusted her with his essence and his storms. He needed her in a way he’d shared with no other woman, there on that primitive burning plane.
She reveled in that shocking pulse deep within her, the man upon
her, his muscles sliding tautly, rippling beneath his smooth, damp skin. Hogan’s face was harsh above hers, eyes fierce, his jaw clenched as his body quivered and trembled, his hips moving in the aftermath of passion just past. His belly quivered against her, his body easing, his head coming down to rest upon her breast.
Hogan forced the air scented of Jemma and their lovemaking into his body, his heart still pounding in the aftermath of their shattering, mind-blowing climax. He’d desired her, wanted that sleek curved body flowing with his, but he hadn’t expected the tenderness of the taking, the stormy heights that stripped away his control.
He shifted, still deep within Jemma, aware that he wanted to linger in a woman’s body for the first time. She’d been so tight, quivering around him. She took him slowly, deeply, moistly, and he could feel her clenching life-pulse, feel his life and his long-buried needs to make a child. He hadn’t expected the deeper needs, to be soothed and held later, to wait until his desire sprung to life again, that taut fit of steel and moist silk.
He smoothed Jemma’s breast, noted the quiver of soft flesh filling his hand, the still-taut nub etching his palm. He moved his palm, circling the nub, enjoying the play.
In the moonlight, her nipple fascinated him, the aureole an exciting texture. He circled the tiny bumps, noting the difference of color between dark rose nipple and creamy breast, the eternal woman— a lover and a mother, a creator of life and comfort and shelter and passion—
Jemma placed her hand over his, her voice drowsy, laced with pleasure, and perfect in its intimacy. “Stop. I know that look. You’re creating again.”
Hogan smiled. Jemma was shy of him now, and he hadn’t expected his instinctive urge to show himself for her inspection. He wanted Jemma to know how he was made for her body, how they would be locked as one. None of that had mattered before, only the need quickly filled.
He hadn’t meant to go so deep, to hold her so tightly. He hadn’t expected the passion heating him, the fever heightened by her soft cries, her nails digging into his skin, and that tiny bite on his shoulders as she pitted herself against her own desire and his.
Relaxed now, his body needing a brief rest, Hogan placed his lips over the heavy pulse in her slender throat, eased his hips down to savor her enfolding him. He rubbed his chest luxuriously against her soft breasts, noting the path of her nipples across his. He sighed, settling into Jemma as he would a work he intended to enjoy.
*** ***
At the Bar K, Carley wrapped her arms around herself. Jemma had gone with Hogan—just like that. Heat ran between them, electric charges easily sensed by the rest of the family.
Hogan had never sought out a woman, captured her, and that alone told Carley that Jemma meant more than an outlet for his needs. Carley shivered and studied Mitch beside her. She wiped away a tear. “They’ll probably get married and have ten kids. Hogan’s got that slow relaxed, nothing-can-stop-him style, and Jemma will be hurrying, and I’ll be baby-sitting the whole lot of baby Kodiaks while he packs her off again.”
Mitch wrapped his arms around Carley. For once, feeling alone without Jemma, Carley rested back against him. “I don’t even want to think about the wedding. Jemma will drive us nuts.”
“Shh!” Mitch began to rock her gently, his arms around her.
“But Mitch, I’m going to lose my best friend.”
“You won’t lose Jemma, ever. But let me help fill the gap,” Mitch whispered and bent to kiss her cheek.
Carley held very still, then eased away from him. She couldn’t bear being too close to Mitch, to feel the awesome heat of his body, sense the strength and desire humming in it. And none of it made sense— that he should want her. Mitch’s taste in women had run to experienced full-bodied Amazons.
“You want me,” she stated coldly. “As a woman? Why? Don’t you realize I’m defective? Everyone else does.”
For an answer, Mitch took her hand and placed it over his heart. “You’ve always been there.”
Mitch shook his head as Carley ran inside. He knew that he’d never love another woman, but this one was difficult to hold.
*** ***
Jemma must have fallen asleep, wrapped in that soft, pleasant cloud, drifting between sleep and pleasure, stroking Hogan’s hair, soothed by his lips against her skin.
She looked up at the stars and knew she’d never be the same, now that she’d given him a part of her soul and that he had given her something he’d shared with no one. Then Hogan caressed her breasts and surged hard and bold within her and she knew that he wanted more— the second time more hungry than the first, deeper, more fierce, more demanding—
The incredible heat shocked her, devastated her until she cried out, a high, keening sound that carried into the night.
Jemma flung herself upon him when they were through, caught him close; she bit Hogan’s shoulder to remind him that he was hers. In return, his rugged face nudged her throat, his bite gentle and soothed by the flick of his tongue.
He sighed slowly, and to Jemma, the deep, ragged sound said he’d found peace.
She slept heavily, aware of Hogan’s solid warmth along her back, spooning her body. He delved gently into her warmth, moistening her, the soft words against her cheek. He shifted her hips gently, positioning her, the gentle prod between her thighs, her body opening for him now, his hand caressing her breast.
Dozing, Jemma moved back against him, still hungry, needing the gentle pleasure that came more quickly and eased her back into sleep.
She awoke later to dawn, and Hogan beginning to enter her, his large hands on her hips lifting her, his mouth hungry, devastating hers.
That storm quickly passed, her body quaking too soon and too high as he filled her and again. She dug her fingers into his arms, pushing back at him, bringing him closer, deeper until— Just there, she hovered between fierce pleasure and the longing to keep him near, her body clenching his rhythmically, pulling at his.
His hand reached low between them, touched her perfectly, and she shot off into heat, crying out again, biting his shoulder. Finished, her body quaking, she pushed him back to find him smiling tenderly down at her, his fingertip strolling over her nose.
“Good morning, Jemma. Sleep well?” he asked in a sexy rumble that would have started her needing again, if she hadn’t been so drained.
She managed to wake sometime in midmorning, aware that Hogan was already fishing. She stretched her body, noted the new ease and unfamiliar aches within it, every muscle perfectly relaxed.
Tuned to his surroundings, Hogan turned to her immediately. His smile wiped away her thoughts of how to greet him on the morning after his lovemaking. She simply smiled back and enjoyed the tug of her heart, just looking at him in the morning sun, dressed only in his jeans.
“Hungry?” he asked in a tone that sent her senses quivering and heating.
“Starved.” She struggled to tug on his shirt before rising from the bedroll and tried to look casual as she made her way to the campfire and coffee. Hogan continued to fish, and she hurried to make a curtain with his blanket, draping it across two limbs. She was just finishing, cleansing her breasts, and noting the heaviness, the small red marks when Hogan looked over the blanket, studying her body closely.
“You’re blushing. It suits you.” He lifted her wrist, took it to his lips, his eyes solemn over their hands. “I hurt you. I’m sorry.”
Unnerved with the intimacy and his tenderness, Jemma grabbed the blanket, wrapping it around herself. “Look. Everything is just fine. I’m fine, really.”
He scanned her face, found her shy desire and ran his thumb lightly across her bottom lip. “You look beautiful this morning, sweetheart…. All rosy and wild and soft. Like a wild rose in full bloom.”
The way Hogan whispered “sweetheart” caused her knees to weaken, her heart to race. The word wasn’t smooth, but untested, as if he’d saved it for her.
When he began to kiss her in that slow, soft sweet way, she found her arms locked around h
is shoulders as he carried her back to the bedroll.
Hours later, Jemma awoke, flinging out her hand to find him gone and the early-afternoon sun burning her face. She struggled to sit up, brushing her hair from her face and found Hogan calmly fishing again, the line a graceful arc in the sun.
Groaning as she stood slowly, Jemma ate the lunch he had prepared, then sat, placing her feet in the cold water. She cleansed herself again, using soap while Hogan continued fishing.
“So much for romance,” she muttered, just as he turned.
Hogan walked swiftly toward her, his black eyes burning upon her face and down her body— He was already aroused, his desire thrusting at his jeans, which he quickly stripped away. “Hogan?”
He terrified her like this— that raw need pouring out of him, curling around her, setting her body to trembling and heating.
Jemma sucked excitement into her, quivered with it, eager for the next time his body became hers—
One swift movement of his hand tore away the shirt and then he lifted her, his hands beneath her hips, entering her quickly, just as she wanted, the knife edge of desire burning her—
His desire for her stunned and shocked and pleasured as she wrapped her arms around him. Her fingers locked in Hogan’s hair to hold his mouth against hers, demanding, taking, filling her—
The rocketing pleasure took her higher, caught her there, unprepared and shook her.
Hogan, his expression harsh and forbidding, his great body quaking in her arms, shook his head. “I shouldn’t have done that—”
“Don’t say that. It was right.” She’d have died if he hadn’t taken her with that riveting, burning passion, making her feel powerful and all woman. “I wanted you— I just didn’t know we could actually do it—”
She glanced down at his body— “Hogan? Do you ever get tired?”
He laughed again, a carefree happy sound that curled around her heart. This time he lifted her high to kiss her breasts, to nuzzle them gently. There was a tenderness about him, a reverence for her that surprised and warmed her and she smoothed his hair, enjoying this new Hogan— her Hogan.
