Angling her shoulders, Hope raised her hands, threatening him with her boxing prowess. “I mean it, Forge.”
“I believed you, luv.” His lips curved.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not, but . . .” He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.
Silence built like a wall, expanded out and up, touching the high ceiling, dripping down the concrete walls, making her itch with curiosity. No doubt his plan—the sneaky Scot. Which meant she shouldn’t ask. She really shouldn’t. Hope knew it, told her mouth not to open even as she heard herself say, “But what?”
“You willnae do much damage with those on.” He flicked his fingers toward the gloves encasing her hands. “Bare knuckles are always best, lass.”
“Like I said—jerk.”
He growled, the sound soft yet ominous, the amusement in his eyes gone. Fine hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. “I warned you, jalâyla. Now you pay the price for insulting me.”
The threat echoed inside her head.
Anticipation shivered through her.
Wrong reaction.
Job one! Job one! her mind screamed. What in God’s name happened to job one?
Excellent question.
Particularly since her inner alley cat appeared to be alive, well, and in heat.
Hope tried to scold it. Sleeping with Forge was a bad idea. She needed to remain impartial, ethical, and in control of her responsibilities. Terrific argument. Nothing wrong with her grasp on reality. Too bad her alley cat didn’t care about consequences. The beast wanted what it wanted—now—allowing desire to override the system.
Her mind said one thing—move, shift, say something to stop him. Her body refused to comply, leaving her standing in the open, feet rooted to the floor, as Forge stalked across the gym. He strode past a freestanding weight rack. Her mouth went dry. He sidestepped a mangled workout bench. Air caught in the back of her throat. He skirted a pile of exercise mats. Her skin tingled, anticipating his touch.
Pay the price. Pay the price.
What the hell did that mean? A few feet away now, he growled her name, and Hope knew she was about to find out.
Closing the distance took a handful of seconds. Between one stride and the next, Forge reached her. A quick tug pulled Hope into his arms. His senses contracted. His magic flared, speeding through his veins as it wrapped him in pleasure. Hmm, lovely. Exactly where he wanted her—curvy body flush against his, gorgeous green eyes wide with shock, thick ponytail coiled around his fist—and . . . all right. It hadn’t taken a few seconds. It had taken less than three—one, two, and . . . bam. Easy as pie. More satisfying than any dessert he’d ever eaten. A helluva lot tastier too.
And he’d barely touched her yet.
Her gasp puffed against the underside of his chin. She brought her hands up. Red boxing gloves bumped against his shoulders. Eyes locked with hers, he waited, giving her a choice, letting her decide, but . . . surprise, surprise. For all her bravado, Hope didn’t try to hit him. She softened instead, conveying her need, broadcasting her level of want, asking without words to be taken. Beautiful female. Gorgeous beyond measure. A precious gift he didn’t deserve, but wanted anyway.
Tightening his grip, he wound her hair around his hand, inhaling the delicious, dewy scent of her. Slick with sweat from her workout, she smelled amazing, like spicy cinnamon sticks and sunrise, the fragrance more addictive than the finest aphrodisiac. He growled in welcome, the beast in him scenting its mate as Hope tipped her chin up, parting her lips, unconsciously begging for his kiss.
He wanted to give it to her. Hand her everything. Every last microspeck of his focus. But not yet. A smart male started as he meant to go on, and Forge wasn’t stupid. Ground rules needed to be set. A strong female, Hope would fight his tether, assert her will, and try to dictate the play.
Not going to happen.
A dominant male, he required a certain amount of control in the bedroom. Outside it, her opinion carried as much weight as his; everything was up for discussion. Inside it, however, she would give him what he needed—total submission in the sexual arena.
Twisting his hand, he pulled her head back a touch farther. Not enough to hurt, but enough to put her on her tiptoes. Body taut, dragon half barely contained, he shifted against her. Her back arched. The press of her breasts against his chest shook his control. He bared his teeth and bore down, asserting his will, unwilling to let his dragon half lead. Disaster lay in that direction. Denied earlier in the day, he’d get rough. Might end up hurting her. Something Forge refused to do and—
Hope quivered in his arms. She whispered his name, the uncertainty in her scent palpable as she reacted to his tension and . . . bloody hell. Not good. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten her. Once today was quite enough. But with his dragon half knocking against the cage door, begging to be set free, he struggled to hold himself in check. Unprecedented for him. He never lost control with a female. Hope, though, was different. His need for her crossed boundaries, into primitive and primal. A dangerous place to land, considering the territorial beast inside him demanded he take what it needed—Hope, in whatever position put him inside her the fastest.
Bearing down, Forge fought the urge.
“Hey.” Bumping his shoulders, Hope refocused his attention. His gaze returned to her. Forest-green eyes full of concern, she patted him with her boxing gloves. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I want you too much. You threaten my control,” he said, being honest, hoping it reassured her.
She blinked, surprise in her eyes. “Oh. Well . . .”
Her words dried up.
Worry churned inside his chest. Shite. A quiet Hope wasn’t a good thing. He needed her talking, voicing her concerns, tackling her uncertainty head-on, not avoiding it. Otherwise, he’d never get what he wanted—her back in his bed. “Made you speechless, have I?”
“No. I mean, not really.” Rubbing her lips together, she tilted her head. The move so adorable lust almost overwhelmed him. Again. Like always whenever she drew near. His dragon half didn’t help. The impatient bastard kept pressing his agenda. One that insisted he take Hope now. Turning inward, he snarled at his beast. Hope blew out a long breath. “It’s just . . . I’m trying to decide how I feel about your—”
“Need for you?”
“Jeez.” She huffed, but Forge could tell she wasn’t upset. The gleam in her eyes directed him, telling what he needed to know. The more honest he became, the more favorably she responded. “You don’t pull any punches, do you? Do you even know what tact is?”
“’Tis naught but a waste of time. Blunt is better.”
She rolled her eyes.
Unable to help himself, Forge slid his hand down her back. Spreading his fingers, he touched as much of her as he could and dipped his head. Hope met him halfway, parting her lips, humming in welcome, setting his body on fire. A shudder racked him. He stroked deeper, needing her taste in his mouth. She mewed, the sound so sexy he kissed her again before pulling away. “Hope?”
“Yes,” she whispered, panting now, so breathless he hardly heard her.
“Do you want me?”
Her brow puckered. The movement wasn’t much. Barely anything at all, but Forge understood the message. He read her like an open book, one full of tips to understanding body language. The slight frown, the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the fact she looked away—all of it told a story. Hope didn’t want to answer. She was afraid to face the question, and what her response would reveal. So she shied instead, searching for a way to deny him.
Forge refused to let her. He knew the answer before asking. Was attuned to her hunger, and the stark quality of her need. “Be honest with yourself, Hope. Tell me true.”
She swallowed. The graceful column of her throat bobbed. “I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t. Being with you . . . like this . . . is against everyth
ing I believe, but . . .”
As she trailed off, Hope closed her eyes, shutting him out, fighting herself, before opening them again. Conflict showed in her expression, and Forge understood. Acknowledging her desire for him was one thing, admitting it out loud was quite another. So he waited—silent, patient, worried as hell—for her to work it out, hoping she gave him the answer he craved.
“You’ve been honest with me, so it’s only fair I be honest with you.” Straightening her shoulders, Hope nodded. “I want you, Forge. I do. So much it hurts and . . . God. What does that make me?”
“Normal. It makes you normal, luv.” Gentling his grip, Forge tucked her against his chest. He hugged her close, enjoying the way she snuggled against him, seeking comfort in his embrace. “No shame in admitting it. Guilt will never be a part of this.”
“This?” Braving his gaze, she lifted her cheek from his chest. Her eyes glinted green through her lashes. “What is this exactly, Forge? I’ve lost my bearings here. I don’t know what the heck I’m doing anymore. I came to Black Diamond with a clear mission—to help you regain your memory. So far, all I’ve managed to do is almost sleep with you.”
“I like what you’ve accomplished, except for the almost part.”
She snorted. “Do you have an off switch?”
“Nay. Not when it comes tae you,” he said. “We’re in the same place, Hope—wanting without getting. That’s not going tae change unless we do something about it, so . . . time tae decide. What’s it tae be, lass—me or weeks of sexual frustration?”
“Nice,” she said, dry tone full of sarcasm. “Nothing like slanting it your way.”
One hand flat against her back, he cupped her nape with the other. Holding her still, he lowered his head. Hope sucked in a quick breath, and he invaded her mouth. He didn’t give her time to retreat. He conquered instead, taking possession, tangling their tongues, forcing a moan from her throat. Such a sweet sound. He wanted more of those, all of her sexy mews. Preferably while buried deep inside her.
Retreating a little, he gentled the kiss. She protested, trying to grip him with her boxing gloves. Half-drunk on her taste, he took her under again, fanning her need, feeding his own, nibbling on her bottom lip before releasing her mouth. Lips a hair’s breadth from hers, he pressed his erection against the curve of her belly. Her breath hitched. He rocked into her, providing a preview of all he wanted to give her.
“How’s that for incentive?”
“Stunningly good.” A flush spread over her cheeks.
Her eyelashes rose, and Forge tensed as Hope met his gaze. She stared at him unblinking, examining him as though she’d never seen him before. He gazed back, refusing to break eye contact. His dragon half stirred again. A connection bloomed, calling forth his magic, sending delight zipping through his veins. Multiple streams of consciousness snaked into his mind. Like a braided river, the magical rills diverged, taking separate paths only to merge once more, connecting him to Hope, allowing him to read her intentions. Forge felt her mind spark. Wheels turned behind her eyes and . . . clever, clever female. Even overcome by desire, she assessed first and acted second. A fine attribute, one he couldn’t help but admire.
“Forge—”
“Please, jalâyla. Let me love you.” Tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, he cupped her cheek. So soft. So smooth. So pretty with the blush of arousal pinking her skin. Caressing her, he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. The tip of her tongue peeked out, licking over his skin, and . . . please God. Let her agree. He wanted her acceptance more than he needed his next breath. “No guilt. All pleasure.”
“I could use that combination right now,” she said, the yearning in her tone so thick his heart jolted.
“Is that an aye?”
“Yes—it is.”
“Yes. Bloody hell, I love that word.”
She smiled. “Especially coming from me?”
Forge growled. “Especially then.”
Good Christ, she was beautiful. A veritable goddess with her strawberry blond hair a mess and green eyes full of mischief. He liked that best of all. Her trust humbled him. Her fortitude amazed him. And her need? Hmm, aye. Hope’s hunger matched his own. She was a perfect fit—the right female . . . finally—and as he stripped the elastic from her hair and kissed her deep, Forge let go, unleashing a side of himself no woman ever saw.
Dangerous, mayhap.
Foolish, perhaps, to give so much of himself.
A warrior never exposed his flank, and emotional entanglement was never a good idea. But as he walked her backward across the gym, looking for a place to lay her down, Forge didn’t care. Fuck convention. The threat of vulnerability too. Hope deserved the best of him, and he planned to give it to her—one mind-blowing orgasm at a time.
Chapter Nineteen
He tasted like fine whiskey and hot sex. A combination she loved. Nothing wrong with a single malt after work. Probably something wrong with having hot sex with Forge. But with his mouth on hers as he backed her across the gym, Hope couldn’t bring herself to care. She didn’t try to look behind her. She didn’t ask where he was taking her. Or what he intended. None of it mattered. The moment he kissed her, the outside world fell away. All that remained was him—the wild taste of him, the heady feel of him, the delight as he dragged her so far under she couldn’t catch her breath.
The idea of rethinking her decision disappeared.
It was done.
Over.
A lost cause. Ethics thrown under the bus along with her ability to say no.
She’d gone and done it. No second-guessing necessary. Hope didn’t want to change her mind. She’d already tossed caution to the wind and said yes. Might as well commit. Might as well go with the flow. Might as well enjoy the ride and reap the reward.
Tangling her tongue with his, she pressed her breasts to his chest. The shift and rub drove her higher. She opened her mouth wider, took him deep, her skin so sensitive she tried to get closer. His big hands roamed the length of her back, fingers seeking the skin left exposed by her tank top. The fabric shifted. Damp cotton stuck to her skin. Hope frowned. Crap. Her workout. She was a mess, the opposite of sexy, a total—
Her shoulder blades bumped against the cinder-block wall.
She turned her head and broke the kiss. “Wait.”
With a growl, his mouth jumped her throat. Day-old whiskers brushed over her collarbone.
“Forge, wait.” Struggling to catch her breath, Hope gripped his biceps with her boxing gloves. “I’m all sweaty. I need a shower before—”
“Nay, I love you this way—hot, wet, and sticky.”
Caging her with his body, he licked the side of her throat. Delight chased chills across her skin. She shivered as he did it again, humming his enjoyment, making her tip her head back to give him more access. Teeth pressed to her jugular, he suckled her pulse point. His tongue stroked her again before he settled in and drew on her skin. The slight pinch made her jump. He sucked harder, long enough to leave a mark.
Pinned in place, she gasped, uncertain whether to be delighted or outraged.
He tongued the underside of her chin. “You taste fantastic. Fucking gorgeous. I cannae wait tae spread your legs and lick you.”
Forget outrage. Delight won out. “Forge, now. I need it now.”
“Such impatience.”
“It’s been so long,” she whispered without the least bit of shame. He needed to know she wasn’t sexually active. Hadn’t been for a very long time. Unwise, maybe, to give him that kind of ammunition. He could, after all, use it to tease her beyond what she could endure. Somehow, though, she didn’t think so. Forge wanted to please her. She could see it in his eyes, felt it in the way he touched her, in the depth of his caring. Breathing hard, she undulated against him. “I’m on edge. I can’t wait.”
He raised his head to look at her. “I’ll not rush my first time with you.”
Panic nipped at her. She pushed against his chest with her boxing gloves. �
�I can’t wait. I know it’s stupid, but I can’t.”
“Easy.” Reacting to her urgency, Forge gripped her hips and ran his gaze over her face. She squirmed, the pulse of desire so strong she couldn’t stay still. “Does it hurt, Hope?”
“Yes,” she said, her bottom lip trembling. She needed him, skin on skin, right now. Waiting would kill her. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve never . . . I’m not usually this—”
“Needy?”
Her cheeks heated. Needy was a good word for it. The maximum kind of horny—extrasensitive—might be better ways of describing it. She’d never experienced anything so ragged. Her body throbbed. Her mind blurred, the burn jolting through her as though she’d been plugged into an electrical socket. Amped up. Voltage at dangerous levels. Supercharged and now ready to explode. No matter how hard she fought, Hope couldn’t control her reaction. Heat buffeted her, rolling like whitecaps, frothing up desire, pulling her under until she was drowning in it.
He murmured her name.
She whispered, “Please,” the plea in her voice bordering on pathetic.
With a quiet curse, he laid his palm to her breastbone, flattening her against the wall. Calloused fingers cupping her jaw, Forge tipped her chip up. Her gaze met his. His eyes started to shimmer. Muted at first, the glow intensified, the violet hue so mesmerizing time fell away, leaving her floating inside her own head. Hope blinked, a slow up and down. Her heart rate slowed. Her body calmed, powering down, moving her away from panic. Arousal banked but still burning. Muscles relaxed but still ready. The hum in her veins—the hot, hard edge of need—more manageable.
“There we go. Better. Breathe for me, Hope.” The rise and fall of his voice washed over her.
Her chest expanded. “There’s something wrong with your eyes.”
“Is there?” He raised a brow. “Look again.”
She did and . . . blinked. Weird. Whatever she’d seen was gone. What had done that to his irises—a trick of the light, long-denied pheromones, her somewhat scrambled brain cells? Had she imagined it? Her brow furrowed. She must have. No one’s eyes glowed that way. Well, perhaps in the movies, but that was all computer generated, so—
Fury of Surrender (Dragonfury Series Book 6) Page 24
