Avery released him and pointed a thumb at the front door.
EJ shuffled off. “She’s funny. And no slouch. She was ready to gut me. I like her.” He said the last three words with more conviction than Avery had heard from his little brother in a while.
Any moment, he expected his bedroom door to open and Emeline to storm out demanding to go home. They weren’t going back there, at least not tonight. He stretched his aching body and activated the keypad. The last thing he needed was to find her gone after his shower in the second bathroom in the bedroom that EJ occasionally used.
He entered the bedroom and caught a whiff of her lingering scent. He wasn’t surprised. Locked up and left alone, anyone would investigate their prison.
I wouldn’t have locked her up if she hadn’t run off.
She hadn’t really explained why she went to find Lincoln and the omission of her friend’s condition. Avery went through everything in his mind again, trying to untangle the mystery surrounding her, only to smash into roadblocks at every turn. She was in trouble. More than just an irate boyfriend that didn’t understand ‘no.’
She didn’t trust him. Couldn’t blame her.
Funny how that’s what he wanted more than he wanted her body, wanted to be the first and last person she turned to. His brain screeched to a halt.
“Yeah. Then what? Get married, buy a house, have 2.4 kids and 1.2 pets?” he muttered. Not happening. He scrubbed a tired hand over the stubble on his head.
He swore and shucked everything off before stepped underneath the pulsating water. He dropped his chin and let it pound on his bald head, until he turned and the water hit his scarred shoulder and upper back. For so long, the puckered skin felt nothing, even when the Ink spread. The area was a dead zone since the fire, surgeries, and the separation from EJ when they were placed in different foster homes. He owed Roman, more than he could ever repay, much more than just loyalty. Then why the fury whenever Roman was near?
The rabid anger had always been there. Only after years of training and focus had he been able to master the rage in his heart. He controlled it, not the other way around. Until the brawl at the RedZone. It was as if something had taken a wrecking ball to his mental barrier. The shockwave brought him to his knees. He hadn’t been the same since.
The same thing had happened at the lake the night Ember went missing. Then Khuket appeared. The two incidents could be linked. Whatever she wanted, she wouldn’t have it.
Ice swept through his veins at the thought of her, nullifying the effect of the steamy shower. He rotated the knob until scalding water beat his skin. Still didn’t divert the train of his thoughts or the arctic sensation creeping under his flesh. Fury seized his muscles, rising in a slow wave through his body, seeking an outlet. He needed solitude to meditate. Steam billowed and shrouded everything except the lethal direction of his emotions. It was the only way to stop the slide into hell.
Solitude…and Emeline, the two words didn’t mix. She set everything inside him on edge. Left all of him raw, throbbing.
Avery wrapped a towel around his waist and plopped himself down on the carpet near the king-size bed. He folded his legs beneath him and placed most of his weight on his knees. The pressure helped him focus on what was at stake. Slowly, his conscious unraveled as he submerged within himself, separating the physical from the mental. Deep breaths reduced his respirations and heart rate. Avery traveled within, through muscle, sinew and bone, and the gates to his soul. He journeyed to the heart of the darkness dwelling inside of him, to the personal cage he built to shield the world from his demons.
Used to seeing a uniform mass tightly woven together, the frayed weaves shielding the core of smoldering anger, hate, misery, guilt, and vengeance—all of his personal demons— shocked him. No wonder his control was slipping.
A shift in the air alerted him that he was no longer alone. The hesitant whisper of feet gliding across the carpet revealed his intruder. And her scent. She smelled of him—of sandalwood and the night—mixed with her womanly aura that spiked his blood. A growl rumbled in his throat. Could he not have a moment alone? Maybe if he didn’t move she’d go away and leave him to finish meditating.
Silence stretched painfully until curiosity made him open one eye. She sat in front of him, so close he could count the treasure of gold flecks sparkling in her hazel eyes. Her gaze skimmed his face, leaving a trail of hunger he no longer wanted to deny. Her eyes widened when they dropped to his scars. Pity welled.
“Leave. Now.”
Her gaze shot to his. Questions danced in her eyes. Questions he refused to answer. It would serve no purpose to spill his guts to a woman who considered him damaged, less than any other man. Her hand stretched forward. Avery almost leaned into the touch, he craved her that much. But not while pity surfed in her hazel eyes. He’d have none of it.
“Don’t,” he snarled and grabbed her hand.
“It’s…” Her voice wavered.
He held his breath, waiting for her to finish her sentence with any of the words on his personal list: ugly, grotesque, monstrous.
“Beautiful.”
Huh? He hadn’t heard right. Didn’t she see the scars, ravaged skin, and muscles beneath the ink?
“It’s changed. It didn’t look like this before.”
Shit! Sometimes his Ink did change from one indiscriminate mass to a slightly different indiscriminate mass.
“Now it’s intricate with swoops and swirls. Curlicues.”
Curlicues? Not possible. Her hand kept coming. He’d never let anyone touch it, not even during sex. Yet…he wanted her to touch him—all of him—but that was not going to happen. “I did it to hide the scars. Make it pretty. Didn’t work.” He lied.
Again, her hazel eyes filled with skepticism and her hand kept coming, as if he hadn’t ordered her not to. He was about to push her away when her fingers veered to his face. His breath caught, stilled by the possibilities of the moment.
She traced his face with soothing, lazy fingers. Her eyes, fringed with long, sooty lashes, were focused, intent on the torture she inflicted on his flesh. A gleam of interest sparked in their depths and a sultry smile tugged at the corners of her full lips. He’d dreamed this fantasy, never expected it come true. It was wrong to want more, yet her gaze caressed his skin.
Her hand dropped and she swept her thumb over the slight scar on his forearm, a reminder from the fight with her intruders. A jolt raced through him and he sucked in a startled breath.
She studied the slight demarcation. “Your wound? It’s gone. Want to explain?”
Kiss her, part her soft pouty lips and taste her. He shrugged. “Genetic anomaly. I heal fast.” He waited for more questions, but she surprised him when she cupped his face, and rubbed her palm over his day-old stubble. Desire flooded his system, turning the darkness within him into a sea of need.
Take her. Take what you want. Spread her. Fuck her. Take. Take. Whispered, taunted, and finally screamed. Avery balled his hands and kept them at his sides, anything to keep from humiliating himself. If only he could lock away his unending need, treat her as a client and not the only woman who’d ever made his blood simmer.
If he could do that, then he could walk away, but a little bit of Emeline wouldn’t be enough. And if he couldn’t have all of her, he’d rather have none.
He had to leave.
Her hands slid down his neck to his shoulder, and brushed his burn. Avery jerked away. The skin sizzled, as if freshly torched, but it wasn’t pain searing his body.
“W-what? What did I do?” Her lovely eyes filled with concern.
Her stuttering mimicked his fluttering heart. When she touched his scar, all his nerve endings were zapped. He felt her soft hand stroking him when his damaged skin hadn’t sensed anything in more than two decades.
“How did this happen?”
Though he never wanted her begging for anything, ever, Avery shook his head. Those dark memories didn’t belong here, tainting this moment. He t
ook her hand, caressed the smooth back, and brushed her knuckles.
“Tell me,” she whispered and squeezed his fingers.
He brought her fingers to his tortured skin. “Touch me again.” The unspoken ‘please’ hung in the air between them.
Emeline hesitated, and for long seconds he suffered in anticipation. Then she slid her hand from his elbow to his shoulder over the burned skin. Bliss roared through him, leaving his restraints in tatters.
His head dropped back. Lust, potent and violent, clawed through him as never before. Did he moan or did she? The blood storming through his body and pounding in his ears muffled everything except her hand on his flesh. No one had ever come close to making him feel this way. No one, but Emeline with her luscious lips and arresting eyes. With her coy scent and fat curls bouncing on her shoulders, making her eyes do a peek-a-boo dance. Beneath the towel, his cock turned to stone.
She moved away and he nearly screamed at the loss. He grabbed her, couldn’t stop himself from hooking her around the waist and sliding her body under his.
Her hand braced against his chest. “I-I’m not having s-s-sex with you.”
Sex? Is that all she thought this was? He wished the feelings she evoked in him were so simple. Sex he could get anywhere, with anyone. With Emeline, he wanted all that she would give…and more. More he could never have.
She’d said no, though her half-mast eyes were dreamy, waiting for his next move while her tongue flicked out and stroked her bottom lip. Damn, burying himself inside her and never coming out sounded like an epic plan, but her breathy words shackled him.
“Just touch me,” he said. He was ready to demand that she place her hands on his skin.
Her bottom lip trembled and a sliver of fear entered her gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she rasped.
Her words already had. They doused his desire and delivered an unwanted dose of reality. This was wrong on every level and at least one of them had the balls to admit it.
“Same here.” He didn’t want to hurt her either, and that’s exactly where this would lead. Nothing about him had changed. He was still a mercenary, dealt in death. Family obligations came before all of his longings and always would. Let her go, whispered through him.
I will…in a minute.
Slowly, her hands went from fists, ready to push him away, to warm palms and splayed fingers on his pecs. “Why did you agree to be my bodyguard? The truth.”
Heat traveled from her to him, straight to his cock. He leaned into the touch, seeking more. “Because I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Still can’t.” The fevered edge to his voice startled him.
Her mouth dropped open with a silent ‘Oh.’
She had to know what she did to him. And even though it was a mistake, and went against reality, Avery shifted and let her feel the proof of his desire. She blew out a sharp breath. Her eyes fluttered closed on a groan, and her pelvis arched. The towel blocked her heat from reaching him, but not his imagination. In his fevered mind, her slick flesh surrounded him as he glided inside her core. Her palms brushed his nipples and stroked the pebbled points.
He fisted his hands in her shirt; his shirt—desperate to view the hidden treasure—he dropped his head into the crux of her neck to keep from taking what he’d wanted from the first moment he stumbled upon her in the park. Plush lips caressed his temple. Her breath fanned his ear and arms circled his neck. His resolve shattered.
Their lips met in a duel of lips, tongue, and teeth. Butterscotch, that’s how she tasted. Butterscotch laced with liquor. Exotic and sinful as hell, so intoxicating he would soon be drunk. He licked and sucked and drank and gave up a bit of his soul.
Her breath swept through him like lightning striking the ground. It filled his lungs and spread to every inch of him, destroyed any resistance. He belonged to Emeline as if she’d owned him before, lost him, and had just found him again. Desire and desperation crashed through him in a blistering, undeniable wave.
His hand slid along her thigh, aimed at palming her tight rear. Her head dropped back on a long gasp and she rubbed herself against him. He licked his way down the column of her neck—savoring her skin, the silk under his tongue—to her cleavage and the curve of her breast. His hand glided up to her ass. No panties. Jesus!
He throbbed.
The towel loosened.
She said no sex. No. Sex. While the darkness inside of him chanted Take! Take! Take! He groaned in sweet anguish, couldn’t stop the sound. Her leg hooked his hip, brushed his waist. Her damp core kissed his lower abdomen and he tilted her hips to rub her wetness into his skin. It took everything he had not to yank the towel off and bury himself inside her.
Avery returned to her mouth, possessed her as he would her body with sweeping thrusts of his tongue. Emeline shuddered; she writhed in his arms. Both of her legs locked around his hips and her chest heaved, stabbing him with her nipples, while her gaze, those hazel eyes, never left his face.
“Let me see you.” He begged, not caring how hungry he sounded.
Her lips parted and she bit the corner. He was certain no would be her reply, but then—one button opened, then two, her fingers took their damn time. She didn’t part the two halves, but dropped her hands and waited with an expectant stare.
Avery gripped the edge of the shirt, a lifeline to his desires or an anchor to drown him. Either way, he would have this moment.
He parted the shirt and drank in the sight of her chocolate-kissed nipples, balanced on top of her pillowed breast. Her flat abdomen stretched like a caramel lake waiting for his tongue to sample. The curves of her hips begged for a man’s hand to stroke and hold on. Close-cropped, curls covered the vee at the juncture of her thighs. He skimmed his hand down the center of her body, fanned his fingers over her ribs. Quivers rippled her abdomen as he brushed the back of his hand over her warm skin on his way to the soft curls at her core.
No. Sex.
She didn’t tell him no taste. Avery drew one nipple into his mouth and rolled the other between his thumb and forefinger. Emeline arched, giving her full breasts over to his care. After he’d laved each nipple, he eased his tongue down the center of her exquisite body and swore butterscotch coated her skin.
A pale birthmark graced on her right hip. He tongued the mark. Emeline jerked, a ragged breath escaped, and her legs parted, giving him a glimpse of moisture glistened on her hairs. He glanced up and captured her heated gaze as his tongue separated her folds.
Dear God. Avery lost himself in her lusciousness. He buried his face in her bounty and loved her the way he’d fantasized. Emeline grabbed his head and rocked against his hungry mouth. She grunted, “Yes.”
He lapped her clitoris, twirled the tip of his tongue around the sensitive nub, and sucked. Hard. Her legs clamped around his head and her hips rose off the floor. He thrust into her, stroking her sweet folds until she shouted his name, and came as he continued his assault on her tender flesh. He didn’t stop until she collapsed, her legs falling limp.
Avery lay his head on her inner thigh and watched the quivering of her core subside. His dick throbbed, jealous of where his tongue had been. So close. But her words—No Sex—shut down that possibility. If this was the only moment that they would ever have, he would be grateful. Tonight was more than he’d ever hoped for.
He left the place he wanted to be, secured the towel around his hips, and stretched over her body. Her breaths were shallow, eyes a bit glassy, but then she blinked and focused on his face. So serious, he wanted to see ecstasy on her features, not the picture of doom that greeted him. Already he could see regret forming on her tightening features.
Avery pulled away. The fantasy was over. Emeline threw herself into his arms. Sobs wracked her frame and crushed the delusion he’d nurtured. He closed his eyes—blocking her beauty and the pain. Slow and steady breaths calmed his racing heart, and even though the room closed in on him, he held her close.
She whispered, “I’m afraid. I hate being afraid. I don’t
know what this is between us. And-and we’ve met less than a day ago.”
But my heart knows you.
Emeline visibly shook in his arms—and inadvertently rubbed her body all over him, nipples scored his chest, her knees rubbed the inside of his thighs. Somehow, he quelled the raging need and simply held her.
“I’m sorry. This is all so much.” Her breath fanned his skin.
This was too much, too soon. She wasn’t ready and he’d just ruined any chance he may have had. “Never apologize for what happens between us or how you feel.”
Her brow quirked and rose with surprise. “Us? Is there an us?”
No. There isn’t. Push her away, his conscience ordered. Avery dropped his hands. He let her go. Tomorrow he would call McIntosh again and hand over her care. But for too many minutes, neither of them moved.
She squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”
And there was a lot he already did. Her secrets couldn’t be worse than his. “Then tell me.”
She pushed her hair out of her face and looked away “…You may not like it,” Emeline murmured.
He smoothed his thumb over her cheek, trailed it to her jaw and down her neck to the vein pulsing wildly. “…Are you a mass murderer?” A sigh stroked his skin, kept his blood humming.
“No. Not lately.”
“I know you don’t abuse the elderly. Don’t know about children, though.” He got her to smile. A warm grin that caused her cheeks to slightly dimple and quelled the churning sea in his soul. He would have another. “Are you a thief?”
“Nope.” She laughed and lay her head on his chest. “I never expected you to have a sense of humor.”
He rubbed her back, touching the shirt instead of her delicious skin. “And I never expected you.”
Evermore (Descendants of Ra: Book 3) Page 15
