by Lora Leigh
At the last second his lips pressed to the corner of hers rather than covering them. Breathing harshly, his heart beat heavy against her palms as they pressed against his chest. He stood stiff against her, obviously fighting for control.
She was having to fight for her own, and she was failing miserably.
Her hands moved from his chest to his shoulders. As he stood there with her in his grip, she let her hands slide into his hair, let them grip the thick, heavy strands and relish the feel of it. Finally.
How often had she dreamed of simply touching him? Just feeling him against her?
“I don’t want to take from you,” he growled as he turned his head, his cheek pressing against hers. “I don’t want to force this, Jess.”
“Then don’t,” she whispered.
There was no force needed. She let her fingers clench in his hair, rubbing it against her fingertips as she felt the heavy proof of his erection against her lower stomach.
She wanted. Oh, Lord, she wanted him. She shouldn’t. He had left her alone for over a year. He had turned his back on her. But he’s here now, another voice protested. The voice of hunger, of a need, that had whipped through her the first day she met him.
She’d scoffed at the idea of love at first sight until she met Hawke.
“Jess.” His voice was rough, rich with wanting. It was primal and brooding and sent a shiver down her back as it caressed her senses. The moment she set eyes on him she had known she would never want another man as she wanted him.
“Touch me, Hawke.”
Oh God, who had dared to voice that plea? Surely not her. Didn’t she know better? Hadn’t she promised herself that she would never make that request awake as she asked for it in her sleep?
She stared up at him as his head moved back. Fierce golden eyes narrowed on her as she fought to breathe.
“You don’t have to kiss me,” she whispered. “Just touch me.”
Let her touch him. There were surely ways to do this without starting something that they couldn’t turn the tide back on. It wasn’t as though a simple touch was going to turn into a full-fledged wildfire, was it?
“You’ll kill me,” he growled, but his hand moved from her hair, his fingertips touching her cheek as she pulled hers from his hair and slid them down his chest.
She could touch as well, couldn’t she?
“Jess?” He groaned her name as she pulled the hem of his denim shirt from his jeans.
“Maybe we won’t even like each other’s touch,” she suggested, feeling almost playful in his arms now. “We could be totally disgusted by each other. I think we should be sure before you kiss me.”
And maybe it would give her time, just a little time, to figure out what she wanted, or how she was going to handle this big, hardened male.
“Jess, I kind of doubt that your touch is going to disgust me.” He groaned, but she sensed an edge of lightness in him as well now. Almost playfulness.
Did he even know how to play? she wondered. Or was his playfulness as cautious as his half smiles used to be?
“You never know,” she whispered.
Pushing her hands beneath his shirt, she was rewarded by his sharply drawn breath. A second later he found retaliation by edging the hem of her shirt higher, his fingertips, just his fingertips, touching her sensitive stomach.
“And I can touch you,” she whispered. “I’ve so wanted to touch you, Hawke.”
She could feel her juices flooding her pussy now. She was wet and heated, her clit throbbing erratically as she tried to find her breath.
She had waited so long for his touch. Maybe she had waited too long, she thought hazily. Too much anticipation. It was making her dizzy.
“We should be lying down for this,” he suggested as he drew back, caught her hand and stared down at her. “We could touch where we wanted to then, Jess. I’d be right there, laid out for you.”
“To do with as I wish?” Her heart skipped a beat at the thought.
“Whatever you wish,” he promised, his voice low and rough as he drew her from the kitchen toward the bedroom. “However you wish.”
However she wished? She had a lot of wishes where touching him was concerned. She could do a lot of things and never kiss him. Things that could burn through her soul and tie her tighter to him, she thought hazily. Then she disregarded the idea.
Could she really be tied tighter to him? she wondered. She didn’t think it was possible. She had thought of no other man, dreamed of no other man, wanted no other man but this one since the day she had seen him.
And she could have him, she assured herself. However she wanted him.
She let him lead her to the bedroom, staring back at him as he guided her easily through the living room and past the opened bedroom door.
As she stopped at the side of the bed she stood, uncertain, watching as he drew his boots off, then slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Long, graceful male fingers released the buttons with confidence as he watched her. He drew the shirt from his body, and she was rewarded with the sight of broad, heavily tanned shoulders. Muscle shifted and rippled beneath the tight, firm flesh. The strong breadth of his chest was bare of hair, but there was nothing immature about it.
Her gaze was drawn to flat, hard male nipples before being dragged lower to tight, rippling abs. His belted jeans hung low on his hips, the heavy wedge of his cock pressing tight against the zipper.
She felt weak, light-headed, as he let the shirt fall to the floor before moving to the bed and dropping on it, lying on his back, his arms splayed at his sides.
His grin was wicked. A true, playful grin despite the hunger that filled his gaze.
“Here I am,” he invited her. “Take me as you will, Jess.”
Take him as she willed? Sweet Lord have mercy on her, she might not survive this one.
She kicked off the sneakers she wore, and watched as his eyes widened when she gripped the hem of her sweater. She tossed back a grin before pulling it up her body and over her head to reveal the light undershirt she wore beneath it.
She didn’t wear a bra. She hated them. The sleeveless undershirt was stretchy and snug and clearly revealed the hardened state of her nipples as she crawled up on the mattress beside him.
Damn, he was like this vision of male perfection. Whichever scientists had decided his genetics had known exactly what they were doing, Jessica thought in satisfaction as she sat on her knees and just stared at him.
She looked her fill, because looking at him could be as erotic as touching him. She could watch his muscles flex as though she were actually touching him. His face creased with a grimace, his jaw was clenched. He was so aroused. Ready for her.
It was a turn-on, she realized. Every move this man made, every word that passed his lips, was a definite turn-on.
“Are you going to stare all day?” he snapped. Not angrily. There was an edge of anticipation and impatience in his tone rather than anger.
“Maybe,” she drawled, though her hand lifted, almost of its own accord, her fingers trailing down the center of his chest to his hard stomach.
If she went much further, she’d be in his pants. It wouldn’t take more than a breath to touch the hard crest of his cock. She could undo his jeans . . .
Jessica shook the thought off. That would be cruel. She didn’t want to be cruel.
“Lie down beside me, baby.” He turned, moving to his side as he drew her to the bed. “Let me touch you as well.”
Without kisses.
She would die for that kiss, she thought a second later as he rubbed his hard, bearded jaw against skin and moved over her as she lay back.
Her hands had a will of their own, touching his back, his shoulders, sliding over the tough, hard flesh and relishing the feel of strength beneath it.
She ached for the kiss she was denying herself, almost as though the mating heat had begun without it.
But that wasn’t possible.
Her eyes closed as he dragged the rough rasp of his
beard over her neck, his heated breath a caress against her bare skin as she arched beneath him, her body demanding more.
This might not have been such a good idea, she thought. Maybe she should have given it more consideration. She was becoming lost in touching him, her hands moving down his back to the edge of his jeans, the temptation to delve beneath the snug band almost more than she could handle.
“I can’t kiss you. I can’t lick you,” he whispered against her shoulder, his lips barely feathering the sensitive skin there. “If I touch you with my tongue, the hormone will touch your skin. I could suck your nipples, and the need for more would burn inside you. I could lick down your soft belly, and your flesh would grow hot, your arousal would build.”
The whispered enticement as he brushed his beard against the exposed flesh above her breasts was almost more than she could bear.
“Can I kiss you?” Her nails scraped over his belt before she gripped his hip with one hand, forcing herself not to go lower.
Hawke paused. The thought of her lips against his flesh was both Heaven and Hell. The thought of her caressing him, licking him, had his dick throbbing like an open wound.
Sweet merciful Heaven, give him strength, he thought.
“Yes.” He almost hissed the word, because her lips were already at his shoulder, her teeth scraping over the flesh as he bit back a groan. Maybe it was a mistake to give her leave to caress him with her lips, because the pleasure was tearing through him, ripping through his senses and leaving him weak.
She bit him. The rounded curve of his shoulder throbbed as she nipped at it. Then she licked it. His hips jerked, grinding his cock against her thigh as he fought just to breathe.
How insane had he been to agree to this?
She panted against his shoulder. “It takes the hormone to start the heat, right?”
“Yes.” His damned tongue was filled with it, the glands so swollen they were painful, filling his own mouth with the erotic heat, making him crazy with the hunger that flooded his system for her.
“The hormone is in your kiss and your semen.” Her nails were raking his back.
Hawke stretched into the burning caress. God, he didn’t know how much more he could bear.
“I can kiss you.” She kissed his shoulder before her lips moved lower.
“God, yes.” He cupped the back of her head, holding her closer as her lips moved down his chest, her hot little tongue raking over a distended nipple as he felt his senses catch fire.
“We could play around for a while.” Her voice sounded desperate, almost as desperate as he himself was. “Help me, Hawke,” she panted. “Please.”
She arched to him, her thighs gripping one of his as she rubbed herself against him. The heat of her pussy through her jeans was destructive. He could sense the warmth, the slick dampness. She was so damned ready for him that the scent of her filled the air and left him feeling drunk on it.
“You’ll kill me like this,” he groaned, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Easing the undershirt up over her breasts, he revealed the delicate curves and the candy pink, spike-hard tips of her nipples. He wanted to lick them, suck them. He wanted to draw them into his mouth and fill his senses with the taste of her.
He used his fingers instead. Gripping the hardened little points between his index fingers and thumbs, he rolled them, stroked them, plumped them.
He watched, amazed, as she flushed from her breasts to her forehead. Red-gold hair spilled around her delicate features as her lashes closed over her eyes and her lips parted to draw in more air.
She was lost in the pleasure he was giving her. This was exactly where he wanted her, how he wanted her. He wanted her senses consumed by him, filled with his touch.
And Hawke realized he loved watching her reaction to him. If he had given in to the mating heat and taken her kiss, then he would have been denied the sight of her relishing his touch.
The mating hormone was pumping into his system, spilling from beneath his tongue as he fought to hold back his own lust for her. She wanted to touch. She wanted to love, he thought. But Jessica didn’t just want to be touched. She wanted to feel him, sense him. She wanted an assurance that what she would have with him would be enough to sustain a future together.
She had no idea. Mother Nature hadn’t made an imperfect mating yet. In all the years that the Breeds had been in existence, she hadn’t once created a pairing that hadn’t sustained, that hadn’t loved.
It was killing him, simply touching her like this, but he knew this was for their future. He couldn’t take from her. He couldn’t force the mating on her. Everything inside his soul rejected the thought. But he could tease her. He could entice her.
He stroked her nipples with his fingers, plumped them with his fingers. He cupped them, raked his palms over the tips, watched her face and the pleasure that suffused it.
It was almost innocent. Hell, it was innocent. She was a virgin. She came to him untouched by another man’s caresses, and he knew it. He knew her background, her history. She hadn’t played with boys. His serious, sober Jess had worked hard for a career, worked to escape the legacy her father would have drawn her into.
“So beautiful.” He sighed as his fingers trailed from her nipples to her rounded little tummy. “You make me crazy for you, Jess.”
She pressed her head deeper into the pillow as he played with the clasp of her jeans, a whimpering little moan leaving her lips.
“I can pleasure you without kissing you,” he promised her as he flicked the metal tab of her jeans open. “With just my fingers, I could make you come for me, Jess. Let me make you come.”
Hawke watched as she dragged her eyes open, her gaze going to his fingers as he pulled the zipper down.
“Let’s get these off, baby.” He lowered the material, dragging it from her hips, down her thighs.
He almost came himself when he saw the delicate violet silk of the low-rise panties she wore. They barely covered the fiery triangle of curls beneath, and did nothing to hide the fact that they were wet from her juices.
The scent of her filled his nostrils. Sweet, feminine, fresh. Like a mountain brook, he thought. That was what the scent reminded him of. Pure and clean; untouched.
“Jess.” He pulled the jeans from her legs and tossed them to the side of the bed as he fought for control.
She needed to see, needed to know. She needed this moment in time, he realized.
Moving to her side, he laid beside her, his hand covering the small mound between her thighs as he propped himself on his elbow to watch.
His fingers edged beneath her panties and her hips arched closer to him. A gasp, then a hard breath of need parted her lips as he let one finger slide into the narrow slit, feeling the slick wetness, the clench of her folds around his fingers.
His dick was in agony. His balls were drawn tight to the base of the agonized shaft as the crest throbbed in despair. A dark, spicy heat filled his mouth as the powerful hormone spilled into his system from the tight glands beneath his tongue.
Never had he imagined such agony, such need that he couldn’t relieve. Relief was the sweet, fiery heat his fingers were caressing; the delicate, plump folds; the taut, throbbing pearl of her clit.
He wanted his lips there, his tongue. He wanted to taste her as he was touching her, to spear his tongue inside her and feel her coming for him.
He had to end this soon, he realized. His control was shaky now, his hands trembling with the hunger racing through him.
Jessica was breathing hard and fast beside him, little moans breaking past her lips as he circled the entrance to her vagina, dipped his finger inside, then massaged her clit with his thumb.
Her hips arched, a cry throttled from her throat as he felt her clench around his finger.
She was close. So close.
• • •
Jessica felt as though the world were burning around her. Pleasure surrounded her, filled her. His finger caressed the opening to her s
ex, thrusting inside just enough to stroke nerve endings she hadn’t known she possessed, while his thumb raked across her clit before finding a spot that sent her flying.
He stroked it, rubbed it. His finger thrust lightly inside her, his thumb ground against her clit and she felt her mind explode. Her senses disintegrated. Her orgasm was an explosion of sensation and light that tore through her, tightened her muscles and had her arching, crying, fighting to breathe.
She was gasping for breath, short, startled cries leaving her lips as he jerked her to him, holding her close, tight, as shudders tore through her body.
This was pleasure. It was flying in another’s arms. It was racing to the sun and exploding in the center of it even as she knew it could have been better, brighter, hotter.
It could have been pure, unfettered sensation with his kiss.
A kiss she now knew she wouldn’t be able to live without.
•CHAPTER 6•
Hawke was in agony.
The next morning he slid slowly from the bed, grimacing at the violent sensitivity of his dick as he eased away from Jessica’s warm, naked body.
She was sleeping deeply, one arm thrown over her head, the silken, tangled mass of red-gold hair spilling around her face to her shoulders.
Fiery lashes feathered her cheeks. A light flush suffused her face and her soft pink lips were parted as she breathed in and out slowly.
Perfectly curved ripe breasts lifted and fell with each breath and, God knew, they tempted him almost past bearing. It would take so very little to begin the mating heat right now. He could lower his head, take one of her soft nipples into his mouth and suckle her slow and sweet, never waking her.
The mating hormone would lave the sensitive flesh, sink into it and slowly enter her system. Twelve to twenty-four hours and she would need his touch like she needed the air she was now breathing.
As much as he wanted her, as much as he needed her, he couldn’t do that to her.
Shaking his head, he turned and moved to the bathroom. A cold shower wouldn’t help his hard dick, and he knew it. The spray of the water would only torment already sensitive flesh, but he needed to get ready for the day ahead.
