Nauti and Wild

by Lora Leigh

  “I can feel you looking at me. I’ve always been able to feel you looking at me.” By the sound of his voice, it wasn’t an admission he particularly liked.

  “It’s called killing looks,” she informed him as she moved to the bar to watch him more closely. “Most of the time I slap you upside the head with something.”

  He flashed her a grin. A charming, rakish grin that had the butterflies in her stomach doing cartwheels in arousal.

  “That doesn’t explain why it’s always felt like a very intimate stroke, now does it, darlin’? Personally, I think you’ve wanted to be in my bed for years.”

  He knew she had.

  John turned back to the stove for the simple reason that if he kept looking at her, breakfast would burn and his dick would likely rip right through his jeans.

  He should have realized years ago what was going on with her, but he hadn’t. Just as he should have realized what was going on with him.

  Half the time he’d either been angry with her, or perplexed by the fact that she affected him. He’d done everything to excuse his arousal around her, from the very convincing lie that she was simply a pretty woman and he was too damned sexual, as most of his lovers accused him of being.

  The fact of the matter was, he’d wanted her. She’d been a part of his life since she was little, so admitting it hadn’t been easy. Until the night his pretty little Sierra had rescued him from a life in a frozen marriage with Marlena, he hadn’t wanted to face exactly what she had been doing to him since she hit the tender age of eighteen.

  “Personally, I think bumming around in the mountains has rotted what little brains you had left in your head,” she snapped back.

  He didn’t have to look at her to realize her gray eyes were lit with equal parts anger and arousal. Hell, he could hear it in her voice, he could feel it flaming in the air around them.

  He glanced back at her anyway, and hell, he should have kept his eyes on the food. His gaze was drawn instantly to the small imprint of her nipples beneath her blouse.

  She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  He’d realized that earlier, and it made sense that she wasn’t. If the bruises were as bad as he’d learned, and he had no doubt they were, then a bra would have been extremely painful.

  Without a bra, he could see his effect on her, though, and the thought of getting her nipples in his mouth again had his cock throbbing in response.

  He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he jerked his gaze back to the bacon frying and almost cursed before flipping it quickly.

  Yep, she was going to make him burn her breakfast, and he didn’t want to do that. She needed a good meal and plenty of sleep.

  “Don’t you have drugs to take before you eat?” he asked, changing the subject quickly.

  “I don’t like taking them.” There was a mutinous tone to her voice. “They make me dopey.”

  “They make you heal, now take them.” He wasn’t arguing with her where her health was concerned. “Dad has a doctor lined up for you, he’s a good man. He’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. You can discuss the prescription with him. Until then, take the medicine.”

  He laid the bacon out on a plate, slid the skillet back, and turned to look at her.

  Her arms were crossed over her breasts, her eyes narrowed.

  “You can’t make me,” she informed him, her chin tilted stubbornly.

  John sighed at that. “Do you really want this fight, Sierra? Over something as important as your health? Take the pills, or I won’t let up. I’ll harass. I’ll bitch. I’ll call Rowdy, and his dad and stepmother will come to the boat, and trust me, Ray can be a bigger mother hen than Dad is. If that doesn’t work, then I’ll call Rowdy’s cousins and wives in. They’ll bring the babies, and won’t let you hold them. They’ll frown, they’ll advise …”

  “Stop already!” Her hands went in the air as she turned, stalked to her purse, and pulled out the bottle as he grabbed water from the fridge and set it on the bar for her after opening it.

  She was too sore to stomp back, but she tried. She did take her medication, though, glaring at him every second. He could see so much in her expressive face, emotions and needs that infuriated and drew him. Infuriated him because he should have seen them all along.

  “I’ll make you pay for this,” she warned him furiously. “See if I don’t.”

  “As long as you’re healthy enough to attempt it.” He shrugged with a grin. “Then you have my permission to try.”

  “Try to knock some sense in your head,” she muttered as she sat down gingerly on one of the bar stools. “You’re a pain in the ass, John.”

  “Not yet,” he promised, and the thought of that sweet ass nearly took his breath. “But I will be. I promise, lollipop. I will be.”

  FOUR

  Breakfast was eaten in a strained silence. Sierra could almost feel the clock ticking, the knowledge that once the meal was finished, she wouldn’t be able to fight his insistence that she go to bed.

  She was so tired, and the medication only made the weariness sink deeper inside her.

  The doctor had warned her that she needed to sleep as often as possible, to rest and recuperate. Whoever had attacked her, for whatever reason, had been strong. Strong enough that the blows to her thighs as she fought him had gone incredibly deep, not to mention the hold that had left the prints of his fingers in her flesh.

  Her breasts were still so tender she couldn’t bear a bra, and her ribs ached. She hadn’t simply been groped roughly, she’d been struck, gloved fists striking her body as she fought and screamed.

  Forcing the memory back wasn’t easy. The pain medication made it harder to do. It was one of the reasons she hated taking it.

  “Come on, you’re falling asleep where you’re sitting,” John announced as he rose from his chair and collected her dishes. “You need to rest.”

  It was the middle of the morning and she would probably end up sleeping the day away. She hated doing that. The sun was bright, it was warm and clear, and the breeze off the water was invigorating. She would have loved to be able to lie out on the upper deck and soak up the healing rays of the sun.

  “Come on, darlin’.” Sierra’s chest clenched at the gentle sound of his voice as he moved to her chair as though he were going to carry her again.

  “I wish everyone would just stop trying to tote me around like a damned newborn.” Rising from the chair gingerly, she took a deep breath and would have glared at him if her eyes didn’t feel so heavy. “I’m sore, not broken.”

  She hated feeling helpless, and she couldn’t afford to be in his arms again. Being in his arms meant feeling the strength of them, the warmth of them, and remembering too clearly what she had almost had.

  “You worry me with your stubbornness, Sierra,” he growled, but he didn’t try to pick her up. Instead he stayed close until she moved for the couch. “Try to lie down on that couch, and I’m going to carry you straight up those stairs anyway. I told you. You’re sleeping with me.”

  He hadn’t had a nickel’s worth of sleep since his father had called the day before. He’d lain awake most of the night imagining the horror she must have felt the night she was attacked. It had kept him from sleeping, kept him from enjoying the peace of the summer night.

  He wanted her in his arms. Hell, he’d nearly driven to Boston and simply picked her up rather than waiting for his sister to deliver her.

  “I’m calling your father,” she muttered, but she turned and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to tell him you’ve turned into a bully.”

  “He’ll understand completely,” he assured her, his lips almost twitching at the little feminine snort of displeasure that she gave him.

  She made it up the stairs, but by time she walked into the luxurious bedroom, it was obvious she was more exhausted than before.

  “Strip.” He could see her intent to lie down in that bed fully clothed.

  Moving to the larger-than-king-sized bed, he pulled back the
comforter and sheets then turned and looked at her once again.

  She was staring at him with wounded gray eyes.

  “Why, John?” she sighed. “What does it matter?”

  “Because some bastard dared to abuse what I consider mine,” he snarled, surprising himself with the vehemence in his tone. “I want to see what he did, Sierra. I want to know so that when I get my hands on him, I’ll know exactly what I owe him.”

  Sierra stared back at him, some hidden, previously unknown part of her soul beginning to relax. She had known John would never hurt her. He would never let anyone else hurt her, but now it seemed something deeper inside her recognized that as well.

  Licking her lips, she gripped the hem of her T-shirt and tried not to wince as she drew it over her head. She wore no bra, nothing to hide the bruises that still marked her flesh.

  Her flesh marked easily; it always had. And bruises remained for what seemed like forever on her skin. Two weeks, and the black and blue marks still looked almost fresh.

  She ignored John, refusing to look into his face as she toed her sneakers from her feet and then slid her jeans from her hips and down her legs.

  She wore panties, but the soft, pale cream silk was little protection.

  “Someone’s going to die.”

  The sound of his voice had her gaze jerking to his face. Violet-blue eyes were raging with fury, his expression dark, forbidding, as Sierra felt tears come to her eyes.

  “I fought,” she whispered, suddenly shaking, her voice trembling. “You always told me to fight, John. I fought …” She’d fought as hard as she could. She’d screamed, she’d ignored the pain. All she could think was that a stranger was trying to steal from her one of the most vital choices she could make.

  “My God! Baby.” A few steps and he was in front of her, lifting her into his arms despite the fact that she had asked him not to carry her.

  He had lifted her, only to lay her carefully on the bed before sitting beside her, his hands gently lifting her arms until they were stretched above her head.

  John could feel a burning agony tearing through him. He should have never left Boston. Not so soon. He should have forced her to see him, found a way past her stubbornness. He should have been there to protect her.

  With the backs of his fingers, he stroked down the underside of her arms and the purple marks that led to her full, hard-tipped breasts. Harsh finger marks marred her flesh, but her nipples, so sweet and tight and hard, were the same tender pink, unbruised and tempting as hell.

  Below her breasts were fainter bruises, where she’d been struck, though the blows hadn’t connected as hard as he knew they were meant to. He could tell by the placement that the son of a bitch had been trying to damage her ribs.

  Lower, along her rounded thighs, was heavier bruising. Finger marks, thumb imprints.

  He parted her thighs gently, trying to ignore the dampness he could see against the silk of her panties. Trying real fucking hard to ignore the fact that there were no curls beneath the silk.

  He hadn’t remembered that for some reason. He’d had his mouth on her pussy, licking it like a starving man devouring a treat, but he hadn’t remembered that there had been no curls there.

  Drawing in a hard, deep breath, he slid his fingers beneath the band of her panties before he lifted his eyes to hers. “Let me take them off, Sierra.”

  Her hips rose. Hazy sensuality filled her gaze now, flushed her face. Pert lips parted, a lazy pink tongue licked over them with a slow, damp stroke as he drew the silk from her body.

  “God, I’ve dreamed about this for a fucking year,” he whispered.

  For far longer than a year. He’d dreamed before and refused to allow himself to acknowledge those dreams.

  “John, touch me.” The plea went straight to his cock.

  Why the hell did he keep hearing innocence in her voice, seeing it in her eyes? When he stared into the slate gray depths, he saw a woman who had no idea the pleasure her body could experience, the heights arousal could take her.

  His gaze went down her body once again, a groan tearing from his throat at the sight of the honeyed glaze glistening on the folds of her pussy. Her clit, a sweet pink little pearl, peeked from between those folds, tempting his lips, his tongue.

  “You don’t know what you do to a man,” he growled as he moved closer, leaning over her until his lips could brush against hers. “You make me hungry, lollipop.”

  A slow smile curled the lips beneath his. “Your lollipop?”

  Hell! He wasn’t going to survive this. The low, sleepy sensuality in her face and voice was more than he could bear.

  “My lollipop.” And he’d be damned if he let another man have a taste of it now.

  His lips lowered against hers more firmly, his tongue licking at the seam of her lips until they parted for him, until her tongue came out to meet his and a low, feminine groan met his kiss.

  God, he remembered her kiss. Of all the things he remembered from that alcohol-hazed memory of nearly having it, it was the taste of her kiss. Like the sweetest innocence.

  How the hell did she manage it? She’d dated more men than he could name over the years. There was no way that innocence was as pure as it seemed.

  He’d be damned if he cared, though. Hell, he wasn’t exactly a virgin himself and he didn’t expect to ever encounter one. He didn’t give a damn. From here on out, she would belong solely to him, though; he’d ensure it.

  Threading his fingers into the thick, blue-black curls that framed her face, John held her in place and deepened the kiss. His tongue sank into her mouth, touched hers, and felt her lips close on it with a sensual grip. She suckled at his tongue with lazy enjoyment, causing his dick to clench and tighten at the memory of her lips sucking him there as well.

  Damn, she was making him hot. He should have turned the AC up before bringing her to the bedroom.

  The sweet brush of her nipples seared through the material of his T-shirt as she arched against him. Full, swollen breasts were cushioned against his chest, and the heat of them rushed through his body like a narcotic.

  He couldn’t think of anything better than releasing his dick and sinking balls deep inside the tight, slick depths of her pussy.

  For just a second, for one flash of imagery, he could have sworn he’d done so before. Felt her, so fucking tight he thought he’d die from it. Then it was gone, remnants of dreams he’d had over the years. Fantasies he hadn’t been able to help.

  Tearing his lips from hers, John set about giving her pleasure. Simply pleasure. No pressure. This time wasn’t for him, it was for his Sierra.

  She’d been hurt, bruised, almost broken. He wanted to wipe that memory from her mind. Wipe it and replace it with sweet pleasure, with satisfaction. He wanted her to know gentleness, to know the heated arousal, the warmth of sexual fulfillment.

  She was exhausted, worn, but he knew she didn’t sleep well. That was something he intended to help her with this morning.

  Sierra barely restrained the cry that would have torn from her lips as John’s lips moved down her throat to the rise of her breasts. Her entire body was sensitized, but strangely, she couldn’t feel the pain.

  There was no pain.

  There was only John’s touch, the feel of his lips and tongue stroking their way to a nipple as it rose hard and tight for his lips.

  “Don’t tease me, John,” she moaned, arching closer to his lips, desperate to feel them enclosing her nipple.

  “You’ve teased me,” he whispered, pure sex filling his voice. “For a year, Sierra, the thought of your touch has teased me to near insanity.”

  His head lowered, the feel of his tongue licking around the sensitive, hard tip of one nipple, stole her breath. The damp warmth stroked sensations through the flesh that sent her senses spinning.

  Slow, deliberate licks, each one avoiding the nipple, stroking around it, teasing her so unbearably that her hands slid into his hair to hold him to her.

  Which wa
s more destructive? she wondered. Those lazy licks, or if he actually took her nipple into his mouth?

  She had no idea of the answer to that question, but she wanted to know it.

  Before she could voice the demand, the plea, his lips covered the tender peak, sucking inside his mouth as the nerve endings began to riot chaotically.

  Sierra could feel her nipples becoming impossibly harder. The tender tip he held between his lips throbbed and ached, ecstasy spiking through it and slicing to her womb as he sucked it harder.

  Rubbing his tongue against it a murmured growl of approval rumbled in his chest as she arched, trying to get closer, fighting to press deeper into his mouth.

  The feel of his shoulders, the muscles shifting and bunching beneath her hands, had her nails digging into the flesh as his tongue licked over nipple again.

  The suction of his mouth combined with the lash of his tongue against the nerve-ridden tip had a cry tearing from her lips. He sucked her harder now, deeper, his tongue whipping over the sensitive tip with such destructive pleasure that she felt her senses rushing out of control.

  Her hips arched, her thighs opening wider as she pressed the wet, aching heat of the enflamed folds against the hard strength of his thigh and rode it in pleasure.

  He had to know how desperate she was for his touch now. How desperate she had always been. There was no disguising it at this point. No matter how much she wished she could fight against it, it was still overwhelming.

  “John,” she panted his name as his hand slid from her waist to her bare thigh. “What are you trying to do to me?”

  She was so wet she could feel her juices collecting thick and heavy on the bare folds of her pussy as he moved back, holding her still with one hand as the other caressed and stroked. His fingers stroked along her thigh, growing closer as his lips moved to her other nipple, enclosing it in the heat of his mouth as she arched and allowed her thighs to fall wider apart. She needed his fingers closer to her aching flesh, to the pulsing heat of her clit.