Lethal Nights (Brute Force)

by Lora Leigh

  His Emma Jane wanted, she ached and needed, and she was so very frightened of all those pleasures.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She was breathless, flushed, her body so very needy.

  Beneath her sleep shirt, her nipples were hard, tight. And he bet her clit was throbbing.

  “Doesn’t matter, love?” he crooned. “It matters very much to me.” And he wanted to show her why it would matter to her.

  She had no idea how to decipher what her sexy body was dying for. She had found the acts in the pages of books and reading them had ignited a hunger deep inside her imagination. She wanted his teeth on her nipples, wanted his lips sucking at her neck, leaving his mark on that slender column. She wanted to be spanked. She wanted his hard dick stretching her, showing her the pleasure and the pain. And he would stretch her. She was tiny, delicate, and he was large, and so much stronger.

  His dick was iron hard, his need to touch her clawing at his guts, and she looked as unconcerned as the most perfect ice princess.

  The thing about ice princesses though, they had such a heart of fire that once revealed melted all hints of icy cold. He’d never had the pleasure of melting one though, until now. Until his fiery, so uncertain, Emma Jane.

  “What you think does matter, Emma Jane,” he assured her. “It will always matter to a man who truly wants to be a lover, and not just an empty fuck. And I am your lover, baby. We’re just going to make it official tonight.”

  She couldn’t speak.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  He lifted his hands to the buttons of his shirt and began releasing them. Emma Jane watched wide-eyed as Ilya freed each button of that damned shirt, taking a step toward her as they released.

  “Ilya, this might not be wise…” Yet she was breathless, excitement riding her hard and filling her.

  “It’s very wise, honey,” he assured her. “And it will be oh-so-good.”

  A woman could never hope to control a man like Ilya, let alone tame him. Once he took her, nothing in her life would be the same. She wouldn’t be the same.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow and easy,” he murmured, a dragon’s voice, mesmerizing and seductive.

  Slow and easy?

  She shook her head, barely aware she was doing it.

  “Yes, love, slow and easy the first time,” he crooned, the shirt sliding from hard, muscled shoulders to reveal an upper body that was all corded strength. “A chance to feel each other, to know the limits your body has.”

  Tight, tanned flesh rippling over muscle that came naturally and not from a gym. A light mat of black hair over his chest that arrowed down beneath jeans. There was a tattoo she made a mental note to check later, right in the center of his chest.

  Later …

  He released the black belt he wore, paused, and toed the short, scarred boots from his feet.

  “I want your mouth, Emma Jane,” said the dragon’s voice. She shuddered at the sound of it. “I want you on your knees, my dick parting those beautiful lips as you learn the flesh that will bring you such pleasure.”

  The belt hung free, and a moment later denim was pushed down hard thighs and kicked free, revealing the dark length of his cock. Thick, pulsing with heavy veins, the engorged crest damp.

  “Come, love.” He stepped in front of her, his fingers gripping the hem of her sleep shirt. “Let me see the beauty I’ve dreamed of for a year now. Let me show you, Emma Jane, what you hunger for.”

  Emma Jane felt entranced. Power shimmered on bronze flesh, gleamed in his pale green eyes. It wrapped around her, pulled at her, until she knew that resisting him was impossible. She didn’t want to resist. Not this.

  Her arms lifted and she allowed him to toss away the sleeveless sleep shirt she wore. A second later, the pajama bottoms and her panties slid down her legs. And all she could do was stare into the heavy-lidded, lust-laden gaze holding hers.

  “There we are,” he murmured, pleasure filling his voice, his expression, as his palm flattened on her stomach.

  He stroked up to her breast, cupped one swollen curve, his thumb flicking over her nipple before moving to her shoulder, to her neck, where he curved his fingers against it.

  “I’m not an easy lover, Emma Jane.” If that was a warning, then she took very little notice of it. “When we’re finished, you’ll carry my marks.”

  Okay, fine. He needed to get on with it though. Now, while she was immersed in the spell he was weaving around her.

  Still holding her neck in his grip, she watched, transfixed, as his head lowered.

  She expected the coming kiss to be gentle. Slow and easy, he’d said.

  The hold on her neck was firm, his fingers curling against it, gripping her in place without her feeling threatened. She understood why a second later. His lips didn’t settle on hers, they didn’t seduce or cajole—they possessed her.

  His tongue pushed past as his lips slanted over hers. His free hand tangled in her hair, the friction of his grip sending tiny flares of sensation racing over her scalp like the scratch of tiny claws.

  Emma Jane clutched at his shoulders, feeling the muscles shifting beneath her hands as he edged her toward the bed, tiny step by tiny step, his lips and tongue stealing her senses as he did so.

  A second later, a nip to her lips, just sharp enough to drag a mewl of shock from her, and he was consuming her kiss again. Over and over, lips, tongue, his teeth raking against the kiss-swollen curves until her senses were so immersed in that kiss when his lips moved she would have followed. The hand holding her hair tightened, the one at her neck held firm before sliding away and trailing to her breasts.

  Emma Jane whimpered at the sensation, poised on an edge that made little sense, with no idea which direction she should go.

  “That’s it, balaur pereche.” He whispered the unfamiliar words against her neck, the accent thick, heavy. So heavy she wasn’t even certain if the words she heard were correct.

  And a second later, she didn’t care.

  His lips, teeth, and tongue found an area on her neck so sensitive, so laden with overexcited nerve endings, that she came to her toes, shuddering at the roughened caresses. Sharp kisses, heated, a tasting of her flesh as he murmured in another language, words that stroked her senses even if she couldn’t understand them.

  Her head fell back into the grip he had on her hair, tilted, her fingers tightening on his shoulders as her knees weakened. The sharp little bites, heated tastes, and strokes of his tongue were so good. Too good. Her entire body was too hot, too sensitive. She ached as she never had, needed something just out of reach. She was so focused on it, so desperate, that she wasn’t aware the bed was at the back of her legs until she toppled onto it with a gasp.

  “Fuck me, you’re a beauty.” The accent was thicker, his expression harsh, the dragon flexing at the side of his face as he stared down at her.

  He leaned forward, one hand bracing on the bed at her shoulder as his gaze trained on her breasts. Emma Jane swore her nipples hardened further, the sensual heat exquisite. Her fingers bunched in the blankets beneath her.

  She fought just to breathe as his head lowered, lips parting a second before they touched her flesh.

  Emma Jane’s back bowed. The instant, suckling heat of his mouth surrounding her nipple shocked her, seared her. A bolt of sensation raced from her nipple to her clit, threatening to push her past the edge she was teetering on as her clit pulsed in nearing ecstasy.

  Sexual need burned through her bloodstream, sensitized her flesh to a level she’d never known, and had her crying out, pleading for things she had no idea how to put into words.

  He didn’t seem to need the words though.

  He took her nipples, one at a time, just as he’d taken her lips, as he’d marked her neck. Nipping, sucking firmly as his hands caressed and stroked until Emma Jane knew the whimpering cries she heard were her own but could do nothing to stop them.

  She was burning alive in sensation. The little sparks of heat from his
teeth, a soothing lick of his tongue, a muttered groan, foreign words whispered against her flesh.

  His tongue lashed at her sensitive nipples, his teeth raked over them, and his mouth sucked at them firmly. He wasn’t afraid she’d feel the drawing motions of his mouth. To the contrary, he was going to make certain she felt it all the way to her womb.

  His caresses moved from her breasts, lower, stroking over her stomach as he pushed her legs apart and knelt between them.

  And he destroyed her mind.

  He had no mercy on her as his tongue parted the slick folds, licked, thrust inside her. Heated kisses, firm licks. Each stroke, each caress, pushed her higher, yet never allowed her to find that edge she was so desperate for. He sucked her clit firmly, but it was never enough, never lasted long enough for her to slip over that edge.

  “You taste like sunshine.” The words were muttered a second before strong, white teeth gripped her thigh and a finger pressed inside her.

  Her hips jerked at the hard intrusion of his finger. The muscles of her vagina clamped around it, rippling desperately as pleasure tore through her in a heated rush.

  Sensation tightened and roiled inside her, clenching her muscles, her vagina. She was so close …

  “Ah, not yet, my Emma Jane.” The rasp of his dark voice stroked over her as his teeth released her thigh and his fingers eased back.

  Ilya straightened, gripping her hands as he did so, he pulled her up until she was sitting in front of him. “Take me now. Give to me…”

  Her lips parted as she stared up at him. Along the perspiration gleaming on his abs, what looked to be a dragon’s claws closed over an emerald in the center of his chest, to the pale, pale green of his eyes as the broad crest of his cock touched her lips.

  Ilya had known the year before what this woman was to him. She was his. His woman. As he stared into the dark gray of her eyes and watched her lips cover the crest of his cock, he knew not just his heart was hers, his soul was hers.

  Pleasure tore through him as her mouth touched him, then became hungry, taking him, sucking him, as her tongue so shyly caressed him. With silken fingers she explored his erection, the taut sac of his testicles, stroking as she sucked him, tongued him, made him crazy with pleasure.

  It was exquisite. Her mouth was shy but hungry, taking him by small degrees and loving each inch she filled her mouth with. It was like seeing a part of her sexuality be born, as he watched her face. It wasn’t lust that filled her expression, but hunger, overwhelming need. It was the look of a woman learning her freedom and reveling in it.

  There was nothing practiced or experienced in how she took him, but it was all the more destructive for the fact that her sexuality was still her own. It wasn’t marked by what others had taught her or forced upon her. Her sensuality was coming into its own at this moment, and the knowledge that he was the man to share it was a pleasure all its own.

  He didn’t tell her what to do, didn’t guide her. He gave her the same as she gave him, allowed her to see, to feel, his pleasure. With guttural moans he let her know when it was so damned good it was all he could do to hold on. His fingers clenched in her hair, loosened, and tightened, keeping the heated sensation she needed spiking her senses.

  And he knew what she was doing. Everything she may have read, every word that had aroused her in whatever book she read …

  “Ah fuck!” The roughened sound of his voice shocked him as she took him deeper, stroking the shaft with one hand as she loved every inch she tasted of him, all the way to the back of her heated little mouth. Then she moaned, her gray eyes dazed, and she swallowed against the bulging head of his cock. “Ah yes, baby, show me all those books taught you.”

  He stared down at her, demanding, jaw clenching on a shattered groan as her tongue worked the sensitive flesh beneath the head of his cock. Damn her, he was going to blow if she kept this up.

  He wasn’t going to last long, not like this. The feel of her mouth working over his cockhead, her tongue lashing beneath it, rolling against it, licking him like a fucking dream.

  “Emma Jane, sweet…” His hands tightened in his hair, pulling her back as his balls tightened and he nearly came in her mouth.

  “Dragon…” she whispered, her gaze still locked with his and drugged with pleasure.

  Control was a thing of the past. It was lost, torn from him at the dazed, sensual sound of her voice.

  Emma Jane gasped in surprise as Ilya lifted her farther up the mattress, coming over her, his knees spreading her thighs apart as he covered her.

  The heat of his cock pressed between her thighs, the width beginning to stretch her, to part her entrance with a blaze of sensation before he stilled.

  The engorged crest was lodged inside her, making her crazy, the stretch, the throb, of his cock pushing her higher, giving her a glimpse of what was to come.

  “Look at me.” One hand tightened in her hair, pulling her head back. “Open your eyes, Emma Jane. Look at me.”

  She forced her eyes open, staring up at him in dazed pleasure.

  “Slow and easy?” He all but snarled the words. “Tell me. Slow and easy?”

  No.

  No. He’d brought her this far, he couldn’t stop now.

  She was shaking her head as he asked the second time.

  “Don’t stop. Please…”

  The sudden thrust inside her didn’t bury him full length, but the sensual pain had her arching, screaming for him as the first orgasm tore through her senses. Oh God, that was what it had to be. She jerked, shuddered, and such incredible pleasure exploded inside her again.

  “Ilya!” She tried to scream his name, to form the words to plead for just a moment to catch her breath, staring up at him, his features savage, the gleam of such pleasure, such hunger in his eyes.

  He wasn’t going to take her easy, not for anything.

  No, not her dragon.

  On the third thrust he buried full length inside the gripping, clenching depths of her vagina.

  “Please, Ilya…” She could feel him throbbing inside her, like a heartbeat, like life. “I need you … I need…” God, she had no idea what she needed.

  She was sobbing with the intensity of needs she had no idea how to satisfy as they built inside her. Her pussy rippled around his erection, the heavy, stretching presence inside her tearing aside any shyness or embarrassment. But spearing straight into the dark, unfulfilled desires she fought. Ilya shook his head to disperse the perspiration that dripped into his eyes. With him buried inside his Emma Jane, the feel of her pussy sucking at him, tightening around him like the tightest fist as she came again, stole that last thread he had on his own hunger.

  He spilled inside her, when he’d never spilled himself inside another woman.

  She was his, he’d known that all along. Locked in his heart, his soul.

  His semen shot inside her as a growl ripped from his chest and he opened that last part of himself to her.

  She was his.

  She held all of him.

  God help them both.

  She was her dragon’s mate …

  * * *

  In her life, Emma Jane had never known the complete, boneless sleep she fell into when Ilya dragged himself beside her and pulled her into his arms.

  “Sleep, pereche.” She was certain that wasn’t exactly what he said, that last word wasn’t easy to understand. Balaur pereche. Something. She might not be able to figure out the pronunciation, but it sounded possessive.

  It sounded like it meant more than just a word. When he said it, she felt something tug at her heart, at her dreams, that made little sense.

  She’d feared just falling in love with him, but she was learning it could go far deeper than that.

  The last thing she remembered was her hand resting over the dragon’s claws on his chest, right over his heart.

  There was something about that tattoo that lingered in her mind. Other than the fact that it was unique, she knew it meant something to him, just as th
e tattoo at the side of his face did. The one she’d glimpsed on his back. The marks on the backs of his shoulders. Ink she never knew he had.

  “Dragon,” she whispered as exhaustion overtook her and she gave in to the comforting darkness overtaking her as strong arms held her, her head pillowed on her dragon’s heart.

  chapter eleven

  Emma Jane awoke to the feel of Ilya’s hand smoothing down her bare back, taking the sheet with it and baring her skin.

  “You have lovely skin,” he stated, drawing the sheet over her butt. “It would take ink like canvas does paint. The image would shimmer with a light of its own.”

  She turned her head to stare back at him curiously as he lay next to her propped on his side.

  “What sort of image?” she couldn’t help but ask, wondering at the somber look on his face.

  “It wouldn’t matter,” he said, though she knew he was lying. “Perhaps it is best left unmarred. It is always best to leave the past behind with no ink or scars to remind you of things better forgotten.”

  Was he talking about when he walked away from her? As though she believed he’d ever stay.

  She’d mark him, she decided. In a place where he wouldn’t have a choice but to see it every day of his life and he’d have to think of her. She didn’t want to forget him, and she didn’t want him to ever forget her.

  “I have a very good memory,” she assured him as his fingers caressed from her shoulder to her hip, then the rise of her rear.

  The rasp of his callused flesh had her heart racing in excitement, her body preparing for his possession again. She wanted him again, all that wild, untamed power moving inside her, taking her.

  “As do I,” he whispered. “Sometimes it’s far too good.”

  Emma Jane parted her lips to drag in more air as his head lowered. He was within a breath, just a single breath, of kissing her again when the sound of his cell phone on the bed table ringing imperatively had him pausing.

  On the second ring he grimaced, twisted around on the bed, and grabbed the device before reclining on his back and bringing the phone to his ear.