GhostWalkers 4 - Conspiracy Game

by Christine Feehan

  “Jack,” she said softly. “You always come to bed with too many clothes on. Do you think you could do something about that for me?”

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt, but he had put on the soft flannel drawstring pants in concession to her modesty. His breath hitched and his body stilled, gray eyes moving over her face with something close to hope, something close to despair, and such a dark intensity of raw desire it robbed her of breath.

  “You have to be sure this is what you want, baby,” he said, even as he pushed the offending material from his body. He wasn’t strong enough to keep her safe. He wanted her so bad he could feel her in his bones, right through his skin. He’d wanted her since the moment he’d seen her again, and the longer they were together, the more he knew she was right for him.

  Part of him, the sane part, nearly pushed her away, knowing the outcome, but self-preservation kicked in, and he lay back, letting her hands caress his body, with soft, sweeping strokes that sent shudders of pleasure down his spine. Save me, then, Briony, but God help you, I hope you know what you’re doing.

  Her breath slid over him, teased his senses, heightened his sexual needs. She kissed his chin, nibbled for a moment, and then trailed kisses down his chest, over his scars, down his belly, until he couldn’t find a way to breathe adequately. Her tongue darted out, moistening her lips to a silken slide. He couldn’t think clearly anymore, could only gasp when her tongue curled around the thick length of his erection and began long, slow licks, as if she were savoring an ice cream. I’ve never really done this, so if I do it wrong, tell me.

  There is no doing it wrong. If you don’t enjoy it… She was killing him with that hot, wet mouth now, so tight, tongue moving and flicking with tiny teasing strokes that nearly took the top of his head off. She kissed her way down his shaft and across his tight balls, tongue going on a little foray that had his teeth coming together and a moan escaping. For someone who doesn’t know what she’s doing, you’re doing a damn good job of it.

  I’m just following the little fantasy in your head.

  Hell. He didn’t know he could fantasize that well. His imagination could never have taken him over the way her mouth was doing. She did little figure eights back up his rigid shaft and suddenly engulfed him, suckling, drawing the ragged breath from his body. Her mouth tightened again, sucked and tormented, this time sliding slowly down him almost to her throat. Electricity sizzled along his thickening cock. He was so hard he thought he might explode, but he didn’t—couldn’t—stop her.

  It was more than the sensations her mouth created, it was her enjoyment, the obvious pleasure she took in loving him. He felt it in her—there was no faking it, and Briony was definitely enjoying herself. More than enjoying herself, she was getting hot and wet, her hips moving in an automatic rhythm to the glide of her mouth.

  Her tongue lashed him with heat, circled, and probed, and then she was suckling again, and he couldn’t stop the streaks of lightning racing through his body, or the need to take control. His hands fisted in her hair, pulling her head back to just the perfect angle so he could watch as he thrust deeper into her mouth, so he could take over the direction and pace.

  She hesitated, and he tasted the fear in her mind at the loss of control over the situation. That’s so good, baby, so good. Relax for me, you can do this. He pulled back, groaning as the erotic sensations rocketed through his body. He thrust deeper, holding her in place, the sight of his cock disappearing into the velvet heat of her mouth nearly driving him over the edge. Harder. That’s it, baby. Harder. She was killing him and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t be gentle with her with his balls tightening and thunder roaring in his ears. He was going to explode down her throat.

  He wanted to savor this moment, keep it in his memory for all time, but it was far too late, she was stroking his sac, gripping the base of his shaft as he thrust deep, and he felt the fire race up his spine and spread, spread hot and searing through him, until he was exploding, yelling hoarsely, as his shaft erupted in hot, spurting jets. Even then he couldn’t let her go, holding her to him, so that he honestly didn’t know if she was suckling him dry or he was forcing her to accept him.

  Briony choked and then swallowed, her gaze holding nothing but longing, shy sensuality, a lingering doubt that she hadn’t pleased him. Acceptance of who he was. His peculiar need to dominate and control every situation. There was no distaste, or repugnance, not even a shadow lurking in her mind—only her wanting to give him pleasure.

  Anger at himself, despair, shot through him. I’m such a fucking bastard. You’re an innocent, and you hand me something incredible and special, and I take it instead of allowing you to give it. Even now, he was holding fistfuls of hair in his hands as the streaks of lightning raced through his body with her hot moist mouth surrounding him. He let go of her, fingers sliding with reluctance from her hair. Jack threw one arm over his eyes, ashamed of his nature and his own lack of the ability to control it. He had too many demons forever haunting him, and he couldn’t let go like that, couldn’t give in to his baser nature. She didn’t deserve that.

  Briony moved, sliding out of the bed, away from him. He heard her in the bathroom, the running water, the pad of her bare feet as she returned and stood by the window, drinking slowly. “You’re so silly, Jack. You’re not supposed to have control when you have sex; isn’t that the point? I wanted to drive you wild, feel you crazy for me, for the sensations I can bring you. That was the idea. I’m not fragile. I have the same tremendous drive that you do, the same pheromones, the same terrible hunger for you. For me, it was wonderful and exciting and very, very sexy. The feel of your hands on me, holding me to you, knowing I’d taken you over the edge, it was perfect.”

  His arm dropped down and he looked at her, eyes glittering silver in the moonlight. “Do you have any idea the things I want to do to you?” His voice was rough, already thickening with lust. “Whitney’s potent brew, my feelings for you, and my need for constant control are a bad combination.”

  “Maybe they’re a great combination—did you ever think of that?” She sat on the window ledge and sipped at the glass of water. “Maybe you’re just afraid because the pull is so powerful. Maybe you need to control everyone and everything in your environment because you’re afraid to lose them, afraid of being hurt. Guess what, tough guy, everyone loses people, everyone gets hurt—its part of life.”

  “Afraid?” He sat up, eyes narrowed and dangerous. His erection was back, and it was as heavy and as painful as before—as if the combined scent of them was a drug that filled him with a raw, aching hunger that couldn’t be assuaged. “Look at me. Do you think this is normal for me? I’m shaking I want you so damned much.”

  “And that’s a bad thing? Jack.” Her voice caressed him, whispered over his skin until he swore he felt her mouth on him again, her breath. “You think I’m not feeling the same way? Empty and unfulfilled? So wet I can feel cream dripping along my thigh.”

  Jack raked both hands through his hair, a groan escaping at her words. “Damn it, don’t say things like that. I want to be buried balls deep in you, and if you tempt me… ”

  “Am I supposed to never have anything or anyone for myself because of a little fear? I’ve lived with fear my entire life. You just deal with it, Jack, you don’t let it conquer you.”

  “I’m protecting you.”

  “The way you do Ken? Has it ever occurred to you that you don’t want someone to love you because then you’d have to accept a little protection back? Ken would die for you—nearly did die for you—and that’s not acceptable, is it? Only you want that choice, but life—and relationships—don’t work that way. Ken is part of who you are, but even then, you don’t like to relinquish control to him, do you?”

  “You’re going to get yourself in trouble, Briony.”

  “Why? Because you can’t take the truth? You want me on your terms. You want me to stay and accept you as you are, but you’ll be damned if you’ll accept me for who I am. I’m a woma
n with my own needs. I’m not going to let a little fear stand in my way—especially if the experience is pleasurable.”

  “You have no idea what my needs are, Briony, what you’re asking for.”

  “I’m asking you to love me, Jack. If you can love me and accept me for myself, I can do the same for you. I can give you anything you need. I don’t want to be here, forcing you to give up your life for me because we happen to have made a baby together. And I’m no martyr to give up my life for you with nothing in return but protection.”

  Jack spread out his hands, palms up. “This is it, Briony. This is me loving you. I’ve never felt for anyone else—or wanted anyone else—in my life the way I do you. I don’t know how to romance a woman, or how to be gentle or tender… ”

  She shook her head. “You’re so sad, Jack. You’re very romantic and gentle and tender. You don’t see yourself at all.”

  “You don’t see me. You’ve built me up in your mind because I shield you from pain.” He couldn’t pull his gaze from hers, no matter how much he told himself to walk away, walk into the night. The demons raged tonight, demanding things better left alone, yet she stood there, with her soft skin and beautiful face and her too innocent eyes asking him to love her.

  How the hell did he know what love was? Obsession—yes. Domination—yes. But love? Looking at her hurt. Did that count? Wanting to keep her safe—watch her smile, watch her eyes light up when she saw him. What the hell was love?

  “I scared you when I took control. You couldn’t stop me and you knew it. I saw the fear in your eyes, felt it move in my mind and I couldn’t stop, couldn’t let go and give you control back.”

  “Of course there was fear. I was doing something I’d never done before, but it was part of the excitement. I trust you, Jack, more than you trust yourself. You were in my mind, I felt you there, guiding my actions, and you knew I was loving every single minute of what I was doing. The fear doesn’t matter—it never has. When you took control, I felt more powerful than I’ve ever felt in my life. More beautiful and sexy and hot. I wanted you so much and I wanted to make you feel exactly the way you were feeling.”

  He watched her throat work, watched her swallow. Even that small ordinary action was sexy to him. His skin was too tight for his body and his blood pounded in his groin. Hell yes, he was afraid. If he let her all the way in, and somehow, someway, the ugly shadow of the man who sired him—who hid deep inside where he never wanted to look—was let out, he would destroy the one woman who mattered to him. He was too weak to drive her away. He’d had her now, and the thought of endless days and nights without her was too much to bear.

  “Take off your top, Briony.” His voice had gone husky, but carried the ever-present command in it. He couldn’t change that even if he wanted to.

  “My top?” She set the glass on the window ledge and grasped the hem of her shirt, arms crossed, pulling up in nearly slow motion so that inch by inch the smooth expanse of her peaches-and-cream skin was revealed. Her ribs, the underside of her breasts, the firm, rounded globes and darker pink nipples. Briony drew the shirt over her head, trying not to moan as the material brushed over her sensitive nipples. She tossed the shirt aside to stand facing him, moonlight spilling over her, casting a silver aura around her.

  The shadows caressed her body lovingly. Each breath she drew in lifted her breasts, so that her nipples moved from dark shadow to silver light. If it were possible, his body hardened and thickened more. He didn’t deserve her, but he was going to take her—and keep her. Maybe it wasn’t everyone’s brand of loving, but he’d give her everything he had—everything he was.

  Jack moistened his lips and waited until he could breathe. His cock was as hard as a rock, springing out from his body greedily, and his hand circled it, stroked, with the same casual way he wore his nakedness. “Get rid of the pants, baby, we don’t need them tonight—or any other night.”

  For one moment, Briony hesitated, reluctance crossing her face. “I haven’t gained a lot of weight, but my stomach is quite a bit bigger.”

  Impatience hardened his features. “I know exactly what you look like, Briony, and you’re so damn beautiful to me and so is your belly. Just get rid of them.”

  His voice scraped like sandpaper, raw and urgent, eyes darkening with heat. Briony hooked her fingers into the soft pants and shed them, sliding them over her rounded hips and down her legs, where they pooled around her bare feet. She stepped out of them and stood bare—vulnerable—in the soft light of the moon. She couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the way his hand slowly stroked his shaft.

  “Look how beautiful you are with my children growing inside of you.” His voice deepened, became nearly a growl. “Come here.” He indicated a spot in front of him. All he wanted to do at that moment was love her—his way—pour everything he was or ever would be into her.

  Briony crossed the room, her breasts swaying with every step, her heart quickening and the hot cream thickening in anticipation as her womb spasmed. Her mouth went dry just seeing the dark intensity in his gaze as it moved so possessively over her. He might be afraid of that trait in himself, but she reveled in it.

  Yes, of course she felt fear of the unknown—he was far more experienced sexually than she was—but she was willing to go where he led, wanting the hot passion flaring between them. It spread through her belly and up her spine, little flicks of electricity sparking through her nerve endings.

  His hand glided over her breast, the lightest of touches, but she was ultrasensitive and shivered beneath the pads of his fingers. He bent his head to kiss her, thinking to be ruthless, to show her what he was like, but his mouth gentled the moment he felt the curve of her silken lips. His tongue ran along the seam, savoring her softness, teeth tugging on her full bottom lip, a demand that she open for him.

  He sank into the inviting heat of her mouth as he ran his hands over her body. Up her back, down her spine, massaging her rounded bottom—until the sensations of her mouth and her silky skin sent thunder crashing in his mind. Her arms crept up around his neck as she leaned her body into his, hard nipples pressing tightly into his chest as his touch and kiss aroused her more. He took his time exploring her body, letting her explore his. Her touch, light and hesitant, but eager, nearly drove him out of his mind.

  “I didn’t get to touch you,” she confided. “You were so wounded, cuts everywhere. I still don’t know how you were able to have sex. I watched your eyes and the pain was there, but not in your mind.”

  There was an ache in her voice that struck him at the very core of his being. He knew he was a hard man, but she got to him, and he didn’t know if it was Whitney’s pheromones, her courage, or just the fact that her need of him was as great as his own for her. “I wanted you to touch me. I spent more nights than I can count imagining your hands on my body.”

  Teeth nipped along her neck and shoulders, small pinpoints of pain, followed by the tender ministrations of his lips. His tongue tasted her skin, swirled like velvet over the tiny bites, sending whips of pleasure bursting through her.

  Her hands traced each slice of the knife, injuries she’d attended to—wounds she’d stitched. They were everywhere, all over his body, front and back, small cuts and hideous burns. On his chest, she could make out the letters with her fingertips, the name of the man who had done such a thing, forever carved across Jack’s chest.

  He flicked her nipple with his tongue and she shivered with pleasure. Her back arched when his mouth covered her breast, hot and tight, tongue stroking and teasing, sending licks of excitement through her body. He lifted his head to kiss her again, and it was addicting, the hard press of his mouth, the dark arousal washing through her body in waves. He pressed his thigh up into the damp vee between her legs, sending a shaft of lightning whipping through her.

  Briony cried out, her head falling back as she pushed against him, riding his thigh, so that the flashes of heat flamed through her. She stroked his neck, down his chest, and leaned forward again to fl
ick her tongue over the deepest of the scars, as if she could heal it with her moist caress.

  His touch became more demanding, losing the gentle glide as he explored her body. His hunger was so sharp, so terrible, his need of her so great he felt like an animal, a predator, dark and dangerous in a feeding frenzy. He dropped to his knees, his hands dragging her thighs apart.

  Briony gasped as his finger pushed deep into her heat. Her muscles clamped hard, raging for release as another gush of fluids betrayed her own need.

  He swore harshly, hands biting into her hips, dragging her forward as he replaced his finger with his mouth.

  Briony nearly fell, her legs turning to jelly, shudders wracking her body as she flung her arms out to try to anchor herself. “Jack.” His name came out a sob, but he showed no mercy, his tongue sweeping through her slick folds, stabbing hard, so that she bit off a scream of ecstasy. He growled again, the vibration sending a spasm through her womb and a firestorm of flames through her blood.

  “I can’t stand it,” she moaned. “It’s too much.”

  He licked her hungrily, desperate for the taste of her, desperate to bind her to him in the one way he could be sure of.

  Briony caught his hair in her fist, tried to yank him back as her legs went to rubber and the pleasure burst through her, her muscle spasms painful as his teeth and tongue fed at her silken channel. He added his fingers and she did scream, her mind fragmenting as he pushed her higher and higher. She couldn’t control herself anymore, a mindless body thrusting against his mouth, riding his fingers as her body wound tighter and tighter, dragging her into a whirlpool of such pleasure she simply exploded, bursting into fragments, muscles contracting violently, heat searing her body and spreading through her—spreading more need, more hunger, until there was only Jack. Until she was more his than her own. She heard her own cry of release, the wailing sound shocking as she thrust helplessly against him.