Hard Night

by Jackie Ashenden

  Fucking excellent.

  “I don’t want you.” Her denial was hoarse. “I don’t.”

  “If you don’t like people lying to you then maybe you should stop lying to yourself.” He nuzzled against her neck, touching his tongue to her damp skin, tasting salt. “You want me, sweet girl. Doesn’t matter who you think you are, Faith or Joanna, you want me.”

  “No. I—”

  He bit her again, running his free hand down her side, then over the curve of her ass, squeezing her. “Stop denying it. You know I don’t believe you.” He let his hand move farther down, adjusting his stance so he could push his fingers between her thighs, trailing them along the seam of her pants, applying pressure, feeling heat and damp fabric.

  Her hips jerked and she gasped, trying to pull away, but he kept his hand right where it was, pressing a little harder.

  “You see?” He began to trace the soft folds of her pussy through the material. “This excites you the same way it excites me. And now you’re so fucking wet for me it’s soaking right through the fabric.”

  She made another attempt at a struggle, but he pinned her harder with his body, sliding his fingers farther between her thighs so he could get at her clit, circling and stroking.

  A low moan escaped her, her hips lifting against his hand.

  Yes, Christ, she wanted this. And he was going to have that admission from her one way or another. He wanted her to tell him, out loud.

  He wanted her to beg.

  He wanted her surrender.

  He’d gotten both from Faith. Now he’d get them from Joanna.

  He tightened his hold on her nape as he kissed the side of her neck, nuzzling and biting at the same time as he increased the pressure of his strokes between her thighs. “Do you want me to force you, Joanna?” he murmured against her skin. “Do you want me to take the decision away from you? Because if you do, you’re shit out of luck.” He took his hand from between her thighs, then pushed it down under the waistband of her pants and her panties, sliding his palm over the smooth skin of her ass, cupping her. “I want the words, sweet girl. Or you don’t get me.”

  She was still a moment. Then she reached around and grabbed his wrist, jerking his hand from her pants before twisting around to face him.

  He didn’t fight her this time, curious to see what she’d do.

  The look in her eyes was burning as she shoved hard against his chest, making him take a few steps back. She didn’t look behind her at the door that was now unguarded or the guns sitting discarded on the coffee table. She looked only at him, stepping up close and shoving him back a few steps once more, until he felt the bed bump up against the back of his knees.

  There was fury in her gaze and heat, and when she shoved him a third time, he gripped onto her hips and pulled her down with him as he fell onto his back on the mattress.

  She didn’t make any move to get away this time. Instead she grabbed his hands and put them down on the mattress on either side of his head, straddling him the way he’d straddled her.

  Then she bent and kissed him again, hungry and hot, feverish and desperate.

  Jesus, she was fighting dirty.

  He wanted those fucking words and if she thought she could get away with not saying them, she could think again.

  Time to stop holding back.

  Time to take what was his once and for fucking all.

  * * *

  Finally she had him beneath her, his powerful body coiled and tight, like a big cat about to pounce.

  Adrenaline and hunger pulsed like a giant heartbeat inside her as she lifted her mouth from his, looking down at him. Wanting to see his face. Wanting to see if he felt this too.

  But she needn’t have worried. The same hunger was blazing in his eyes and in his strong, compelling face.

  There was a moment of absolute stillness as they stared at each other, disturbed only by the sounds of their breathing, loud and fast.

  And she experienced a second of pure wonder that he was still here. That he was still looking at her the way he was, as if he wanted to eat her alive, even after what she’d told him about his brother.

  Even after she’d punched and kicked and fought.

  What could she do to get rid of him? What would it take?

  But then there was no more thinking, because he moved without warning, his big hands coming up to rip the rest of the T-shirt from her, then rolling, taking her down onto the mattress beneath him.

  She wanted to continue fighting, to not give in, because she didn’t want to give in. She didn’t want to give him the admission he demanded.

  But what’s the point continuing to fight it? He knows anyway and so do you.

  That was the problem. Her head might not want to give up, but her body did. It was tired of fighting. It was tired of being denied.

  She ached. She burned. And when his hot, muscular body pinned her down, the weight of him a delicious pressure, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to keep holding out.

  She lifted her hands, wanting to grab him, and tried to spread her legs so she could wrap them around his waist, but it soon became clear that she wasn’t the only one who’d had enough.

  He flipped her over onto her front with an easy strength that told her just how much he’d been holding back earlier, and held her down with one hand on the back of her neck, while with the other he jerked her pants down her legs and her panties along with them.

  Her fingers dug into the mattress, everything in her gathering into a tight, hard knot.

  “Lie still,” he ordered roughly. “If you keep fighting me, if you even fucking move, I’ll spank you like the bad girl you are.”

  A shock pulsed through her, a kind of raw electricity.

  God, was he serious?

  You want him to be.

  She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Try it and I’ll fucking kill you.”

  He only laughed. “No, you wouldn’t. In fact, I think you’d like a spanking. Should appeal to the masochist in you.”

  “I’m not a—”

  Without warning his palm cracked across her ass and she went rigid with shock. Not at the pain—that was minimal—but at the pleasure that came along with it, unexpected and primal, that left her panting, aching, her fingers gripping onto the mattress for dear life.

  She panted, half of her ready to go on the attack while the other half trembled, waiting for more. Wanting it. All her muscles coiled tight, but before she could make a decision either way, his palm descended again in another sharp strike. She gasped, her hips lifting helplessly.

  It stung yet felt so insanely good and she couldn’t work out why.

  Surely, she shouldn’t like this. Not lying naked while he spanked her. That was . . . wrong, wasn’t it? A warrior like her should be fighting or at least defending herself, right?

  But she didn’t move and Jacob gave another of those soft, deep, rumbling laughs as his palm cracked across her butt once more, and this time staying there, cupping her stinging ass cheek and massaging the pain away.

  “There, I knew it.” He sounded so satisfied, she wanted to hit him. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

  She didn’t hit him. Instead she turned her face into the cool sheets beneath her, ashamed of how much she’d liked the weird combination of pain and pleasure, and embarrassed that she’d lain there and taken it. Shocked at herself that she hadn’t gotten up and broken his goddamn arm.

  “Fuck you, asshole,” she whispered against the sheets, trembling as his massaging fingers curved down and slid between her thighs, cupping her throbbing pussy and pressing gently against it.

  “All in good time, sweet girl. First of all, you have to give me the words I want to hear.”

  “No.” She groaned as his fingers slipped through the folds of her sex, stroking, teasing, finding her clit and circling lightly. Her hips shuddered, the need to lift them to encourage him to touch her with more pressure becoming nearly overwhelming.

  But then his hands left
her body and the mattress dipped. She heard the rustle of fabric, the thump of something heavy hitting the floor, the crinkle of foil, and she turned her head, trying to see what was happening.

  But his palm struck her ass again and she jerked, the delicious pleasure/pain sending fire through every single nerve ending she had.

  “You moved,” he growled. “I told you not to move.”

  “But I—”

  He spanked her once more and she couldn’t hold back her moan of pleasure or stop herself from spreading her knees wide and lifting her hips, presenting herself to him, wanting his touch.

  She forgot to be ashamed of herself. She forgot to be embarrassed. She forgot about everything except that she needed more.

  The mattress shifted beneath her and she felt him move, searing heat suddenly against her back and her ass as he forced her down onto the bed, covering her with his body, the hard length of his cock sliding between her thighs.

  A familiar feeling crept through her, one she’d had before, in the bunker. When she’d been beneath him and she’d felt so safe, his powerful body between her and the world, protecting her from harm.

  She didn’t want to feel that again, not now that she’d remembered who she was and that she was strong enough to protect herself. Yet for some reason, the feeling of him against her, broad and hot and strong, pressing her down, made her want to relax. Let him do whatever he wanted to her, anything at all. But most especially, let him give her the pleasure she so desperately wanted.

  Pleasure you don’t deserve.

  Joanna shut her eyes, trying to shut out the voice in her head and him, too, but it was impossible to shut out Jacob. He was everywhere. The smoky, bonfire scent of him and the heat he put out. The rock-hard chest that pressed against her back and the powerful arm that slid around her waist, catching her beneath her hips and lifting her slightly.

  His mouth brushed over the back of her neck, giving her one of those gentle kisses that contrasted so painfully and beautifully with the raw strength of him.

  “The words,” he whispered in her ear. “Give me the words, sweet girl. Say them and I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

  “Liar.” Her voice was hoarse and thick. “You won’t.”

  “I’ve never lied to you and you know it.” His hips shifted, the head of his cock sliding through the folds of her pussy, the hardness and scorching heat making her jerk. “Tell me, Faith.”

  She shuddered at the name, so familiar and yet so wrong. She didn’t know why she was still holding out either. All she had to do was tell him she wanted him. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?

  It’s difficult because it’s the truth. And you don’t want it to be.

  She didn’t. But there was no point in hiding it now, no point in fighting. And sometimes in order to win the war, you had to lose the battle. No shame in that, was there?

  “I want you.” Her voice was croaky and ragged, but the words were surprisingly easy to say. “I want you, Jacob.”

  “Yes, sweet girl,” he murmured. “I know.”

  Then he pushed into her deep and slow, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, her mouth opening as the pleasure began to expand inside her, impossibly bright, impossibly sharp.

  Even then there was a small part of her that wanted to keep fighting, but that was soon lost, crushed beneath the feeling of Jacob Night inside her.

  He was big and hot, and she felt stretched wide, her cheek pressed to the pillow. And she didn’t think he could get any deeper, but then the arm around her tightened and he slid in even farther, making her cry out.

  He felt so good, so perfect. Right.

  The connection was already intense, but she wanted more, so she lifted one hand and reached back, gripping on to one of his powerful thighs. Feeling the muscle flex as he drew his hips back, his cock sliding out, then pushing in again.

  The burn of her stretched flesh was exquisite and she broke out into a sweat, gasping, her free hand fisting in the sheets beneath her.

  He began to move, hard and deep, his rhythm almost brutal. The sound of his flesh hitting hers was loud in the room, the bed knocking against the wall with each powerful thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her.

  She couldn’t stay still anymore, bucking her hips, shoving herself back on him, arching for more sensation, wanting it, desperate for it.

  “You like that, don’t you?” His voice had a savage edge that rasped deliciously over her skin. “You like me fucking you with my hand on the back of your neck and that pretty ass pink.” He thrust harder, deeper. “You like me fighting you. You like me winning, too.”

  She panted, digging her nails into the hard muscle of his thigh, even now fighting him. “It was the only way I could get you to shut the fuck up.”

  His laugh was darkness itself. “Bullshit. You wanted a fight because you wanted to make me work for it, to see how badly I wanted you. But that’s okay. I don’t mind that.” His breath whispered over the top of her spine, his mouth brushing her shoulder. “Not when you surrender so sweetly to me.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did.” He bit down at the same time as he slammed into her, making him grunt and her gasp aloud. “You’re mine, sweet girl. You’re mine and you know it.”

  Yes. Yes. That’s exactly what you are.

  The whisper was all Faith’s, which immediately made it suspect. But now she was lying beneath him, feeling him deep inside her, all around her, and . . . she didn’t want to deny it.

  She wasn’t allowed nice things, that’s what her mother had always said, but surely, she could have this moment?

  Surely, she could have Jacob, just this once?

  But then he began to up his pace and her brain simply refused to work any longer.

  She began to crack slowly, coming to pieces as he moved faster, deeper, harder. Slamming her into the mattress, the pressure of his body against her spine and his hand on the back of her neck making everything sharper, more intense, and somehow even more perfect than it already was.

  And at the same time, safer.

  No one could hurt her here, no one could betray her.

  If she was his, she was protected, which was a strange thing to think when she could and had killed men before.

  Perhaps it was a mistake to let go, but she did anyway, throwing herself into the maelstrom of pleasure, giving herself up to it in a way she’d never done before, not with anyone.

  It should have been frightening, but it wasn’t.

  Because when the orgasm came for her at last and she broke, screaming into the mattress as she shattered into a million pieces, Jacob was there, holding her together.

  She wasn’t conscious of much else after that, only that his thrusts got wilder, deeper, and he pounded himself into her as if he was trying to break the goddamn bed.

  Then she felt him give one last deep thrust as he roared her name and stiffened, the climax coming for him, too.

  She kept her eyes shut tight, waiting for him to pull out and leave the bed, but he didn’t. Instead he curled himself around her, surrounding her in heat and granite-hard muscle.

  The way he held her made tears prickle against her closed lids and she made a cursory attempt to get away, hating the feeling. But then his palm settled on her spine, stroking gently. “Settle,” he ordered, the word quiet.

  And she did.

  “Now.” His arms came around her. “Tell me what your mother said to you. I want to know every fucking thing.”

  It was not at all what she’d expected him to say.

  He’d been searching for his brother for years. Had kept her for six months in the hope of her memories returning so she’d be able to tell him where Josh was. Yet now all he wanted to hear about was her mother?

  “Don’t you want to know about your brother?” She had to force herself to ask the question, because talking about Josh was the last thing she wanted to do. But ignoring it wasn’t going to make the subject go away.

&n
bsp; “That’ll keep,” he said shortly. “Tell me about your mother, Ms. Lynn.”

  She didn’t want to talk about her mother, either, but the aftereffects of the orgasm had left her boneless and heavy, and she simply couldn’t be bothered fighting.

  “What’s there to say? She blamed me for Carl’s death. Told me that I’d destroyed her life and that she wasn’t going to let me forget it.” For some reason it was easier to talk about this with Jacob’s arms around her, as if he were insulating her from the sharp cuts of guilt and blame. “And she never did. I wasn’t allowed. . . things I wanted, because she told me I didn’t deserve them.”

  “What kind of things did you want?”

  “I . . .” She hesitated, not wanting to tell him. “Silly things. Girly things.”

  “Details, Ms. Lynn, please.”

  The crisp way he said it reminded her of the six months she’d spent employed by him, sitting in his limo or in the kitchen of his home, giving him the latest rundown on whatever project they were working on at the time.

  She’d liked working for him, she realized now. She’d liked it very much. He challenged her, made her think, exercised her intellect rather than her body, and she hadn’t even known that’s what she’d been missing until now.

  “I wanted a princess dress,” she said before she could think better of it. “And a crown. And pretty shoes. Jewelry. I wanted to be a princess.”

  God, if he laughed, she would kill him. She’d just fucking—

  “A princess.” He said it as if that was the most natural thing to want to be in the entire world. “Of course. You were a little girl.”

  That’s exactly what she’d been. A little girl who’d shot a man.

  “Mom said I couldn’t, that I wasn’t allowed. And that I couldn’t be a princess anyway since I’d killed the last prince.”

  “What prince?”

  She swallowed, remembering her mother’s grief-stricken voice talking at the wake after Carl’s funeral. Joanna hadn’t been allowed to go to the funeral itself and she was forbidden to show her face at the wake, too, but she’d crept out of her bedroom at the top of the stairs and listened to the people talking. To her mother crying. Knowing that all of this was her fault.