by Tawny Taylor
“I’m happy to see someone making use of the library.” His baritone voice vibrated through the stark silence, making her heart lurch for a fraction of a second. “I went as far as putting in the bar, thinking it would draw my brothers in here. It worked. Though the books still sit, collecting dust.”
Clutching the hardback to her chest, Rin turned to face her husband. He was standing at the door, his button-down shirt unfastened, revealing a glorious stripe of suntanned and chiseled torso. One arm was bent, supporting his weight as he leaned casually against the door frame. His other hand was balled into a fist and resting on his hip. The overall picture he painted was of a man who was relaxed. Comfortable in his skin, and in his surroundings. A tiny glint sparkled in his eye. Ah, was the predator from the bar coming out to play?
She ran her fingertips across the spines of the books sitting on the closest shelf. “I’m a chronic insomniac. This library is going to be my salvation.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear that.” He reached forward, fingers hooking beneath the back cover of the book that was still pressed against her breastbone. He gently pulled until she released her hold on the volume. “What do you have here?”
“Emma. Jane Austen.”
“Excellent book.” He opened the cover, the spine cracking from disuse and age. The air filled once again with the scent of dust and old paper. The corners of his mouth lifted into the hint of a smile as he read the first page.
“You’ve read it?” she asked.
“I’ve read every book in this room.” He closed the novel but didn’t hand it back to her. Instead, he swung his arm behind his back, hiding it from her. His gaze focused on her face, and something a little bit wicked and a tiny bit evil played over his features.
Her face instantly flamed, and she was grateful she was standing with her back to the light now, knowing the shadows would probably hide the deep red staining her cheeks. “Really? Every single one?”
“I have no reason to lie to you.”
“Of course you don’t.”
A silent moment passed between them. Their gazes locked. Rin’s heart rate doubled, or maybe tripled.
“I can be honest with you about everything.” He took a step closer, and she could feel the heat emanating from his body.
“Yes, everything,” she said, her voice taking on a breathy, raspy quality. With him so near, she had to tip her head back to look into those dark, shadowed eyes of his. She felt small and vulnerable like this, but it wasn’t wholly a bad thing. No, quite the opposite, it was a very good thing.
Although she knew so little about the man standing before her—the man calling her his wife, the man looking down at her with a hungry, feral expression—she still trusted he wouldn’t hurt her.
She watched his gaze flick down to her mouth and then jump back to her eyes, and out of reflex, she moistened her lips with her tongue.
Would he kiss her again like he had in the courtroom? Would he make her forget for one magical moment that this whole thing had been a business deal and spark an even greater hope that there might, someday, be more between them?
“My book?” she asked between shallow inhalations that weren’t delivering nearly enough oxygen to her brain.
“I’ll give it to you, once I have what I want.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“We can start with a kiss.”
“Start?”
His expression darkened, making him look even more like the predator she’d met a few nights ago at the bar. This Drako, big and dangerous and sexy, made her blood pump hot and fast through her veins.
And his kiss . . .
Just like the one in the courtroom, this kiss started out soft, fleeting, teasing, but it quickly grew more demanding. Welcomed with a parting of her lips, his tongue slipped inside her mouth. He tasted rich and sweet, like expensive brandy and chocolate and man. It was an intoxicating combination, making her head spin so fast, she had no choice but to throw her arms around his neck and cling to him.
She returned every stab and stroke of his tongue with one of hers. Hungry for more, for something deeper, a touch, a caress, a possession, she pressed her body to his. His heat seeped through the thin cotton of her T-shirt within seconds, the warmth making her blood burn hotter, pump faster.
Between her legs, a deep throbbing need had been set off, and with every excruciating second he kissed her, that wanting doubled. She told him how much she ached for him the only way she could. Fingers curling into his hair at the nape. Tugging desperately. Soft sighs filling their joined mouths. Tongue dancing with his.
She heard a soft thump a split second before he hauled her into his arms. The book. Dropped on the floor.
The kiss had ended, but something much better was about to begin. She shuddered with expectation as he carried her up the stairs.
8
He barely set her on her feet before he gave her a hungry look and dragged her against him for another kiss. It wasn’t a tender meetingh of mouths or gentle exchange of breath, but a hard possession, full of raw emotion. Her head spun. Her heart lurched in her chest, then settled into a widly racing pace that made her breathles. She curled her fingers around starched cotton and held on, as he unleashed his fury on her mouth.
If she’d hoped for a slow seduction, she knew she wouldn’t receive it. Instead, it seemed she would be getting something much more primal. He kissed her like a man should. He touched her like a man should.
She found herself being half carried, half dragged across her bedroom, only to be pinned against the wall. He held her there, motionless, as he ripped her shirt off. Her bra was next, torn off her body and tossed away, and she was bare and vulnerable and trembling all over.
This wasn’t like anything she’d ever experienced, and it certainly wasn’t what she’d expected, but she wasn’t afraid or shocked. Quite the opposite. She liked the way he was taking command of her body while acting like he was just a little out of control.
He laid a hand over one of her breasts, and she dragged in a shuddering gasp and arched her back, pushing her breast into his palm. Her nipple hardened, the peak becoming supersensitive. His palm was a little rough, the skin grazing over the turgid tip, and her eyelids fluttered and fell, closing her into a world of swirling colors and building need.
She reached for him, but he knocked her hands away, bent down, and laved one nipple with his tongue while he rolled the other one between his finger and thumb. She hovered in some magical place, between heaven and hell. She didn’t want him to stop and yet she did. A warm, wet, pulsing need was throbbing between her legs, and she longed to be touched there. No, she needed more than that. She needed him to drive his cock into her and take her until she was sweaty and writhing and quaking.
“Drako,” she whispered. “Oh, God.”
He lurched back so fast, he stumbled. “I’m sorry.” His face was tinted a deep scarlet and his eyes were wild.
“No. Don’t apologize.”
“I should be gentle. You deserve better than this.” He looked down at the torn remains of her shirt, scooped them up, and balled them into his fist. “I’ll replace your clothes.”
“It’s okay.” She reached for him again, but once more, he flinched, jerking just out of her reach. Why wouldn’t he let her touch him? What was the problem?
He set her shirt on the dresser and turned to face her, his gaze fixed on some point beyond her.
Not knowing what to do next, she quietly stripped off the rest of her clothes and slid under the covers. “Drako.”
He gave his head a little shake, as if he was trying to wake himself up. He combed his fingers through his hair, then, expression unreadable, shrugged out of his shirt.
That was one glorious chest.
Next, he unzipped his pants and pushed them down to his ankles, kicked them off.
He wore boxer briefs. And that was one mighty promising bulge front and center.
The underwear was next. He didn’t hesitate, just push
ed them down his muscular legs and kicked them away. Of course, with a body that perfect, toned and sculpted and beautiful, he had no reason to hesitate.
She tried not to think about the other women who had seen him unclothed, or would see him in the future. For now, the next hour or so, he was hers. And she was his. And nobody else mattered.
What the hell am I doing? This isn’t one of your slaves, who expect it rough. She’s your wife, you fuckup.
Did he even know how to be with a woman without getting rough?
Drako had to admit, playing with his hot little submissive while denying his own pleasure had done the job. He was hot and tight all over. His balls felt like lead. His cock was so hard he could bust concrete with it. And his blood was searing every cell in his body. He needed release and he wanted this woman, his wife, so badly his teeth ached from his clenched jaw. Instead of having to force himself to carry out an act he was sure he would dread, he was struggling to hold it together long enough to give her a little pleasure.
Breathe, asshole. You’re going to scare her right out of that bed, out of your house. Then what?
He took a few slow, deep breaths. They didn’t help much, but the burning in his blood eased a fraction of a degree. In some respect, this was no different than a scene with a new submissive. It was his responsibility to serve her needs first. She needed patience, tenderness, gentle kisses, and no matter how fucking bad his balls hurt, he was going to give her that.
One step at a time.
He hesitated at the side of the bed for a heartbeat, or two, or three, then peeled the covers back and climbed in, throwing them over himself.
Rin tensed.
Drako was warm. And the hair on his leg tickled when his calf grazed against hers. She settled on her back as he rolled onto his side and propped his head on a fist, his bent arm displaying a flexed bicep to full advantage. “I won’t hurt you.”
“I know.”
“Are you afraid?”
“Of you? No. There’s no reason to be.”
He cupped her cheek and rolled toward her, staring into her eyes so deeply she felt a little vulnerable and uneasy. He moistened his lower lip with his tongue and kissed her again.
This time, it was like she was kissing a different man.
His mouth was soft, his touches fleeting, almost too timid. It tickled, but at the same time, those tickles made her squirm. Shivers made the skin of her arms prickle.
They kissed for a while, like two teenagers, hands shyly exploring each other’s shoulders, arms. He didn’t touch her breasts again, and that made the aching between her legs even more pronounced. He cupped her cheeks, he touched her neck, he caressed her arms. She did the same. It went on so long, she began to wonder if he intended things to go any further. She tried to relax and enjoy, appreciate the simple pleasure of their breaths blended, bodies pressed together, tongues exploring the decadent flavor of each other’s mouths. She’d forgotten how good this felt and how frustrating it could be.
When he turned her head and nipped on her earlobe, she moaned. The warmth between her legs was a pounding ache now, and she needed something there, pressing against her flesh.
“I can’t . . .” she mumbled as she arched her neck to give him access to the most tender spot, just below her ear.
He shifted off her, exactly what she didn’t want, and caught her chin in his fingers, pulling it down. When she opened her eyes, she found his gaze troubled, full of uncertainty.
“No, don’t stop.” She curled her fingers around his wrist and pulled, coaxing his hand down lower, lower still. She left it on her breast and once again, arched her spine, pressing the burning flesh into his palm.
His nostrils flared a tiny bit, enough to barely be noticed. A wash of pink tinted his cheeks. “I don’t want to rush you.”
“I don’t know what you define as ‘rushing,’ but I can tell you this—I was ready after the first kiss.” To show him exactly how hot and wet he’d made her, she took his hand and placed it between her thighs.
The pressure was oh so good. She actually groaned, parted her legs a little wider, and prayed he wouldn’t make her wait another second.
The pink stain on his skin darkened a few shades.
He pulled the covers off her, the sensation of the slick cotton dragging across her burning skin only making things worse. She couldn’t remember ever wanting a man so badly. It was almost bad enough to make her weep. Or beg. Or throw him onto his back and climb on top of him.
What was he waiting for? Did he dread it so much he was trying to put it off? No hot-blooded male would do that.
When the covers had finally been removed completely, he sat up and eased her legs apart. His teeth bit into his lower lip.
She locked her jaw and stared at his face, watching, breathless, as his eyes took in the sight of her nude body. Her stomach was contracting, making her hips rock forward and back, the motion timed to the thrumming pulse beating through her body.
Seeing him look at her, at all of her, was more powerful than any touch, any stroke. But he wasn’t moving, wasn’t making good on the dark promise she saw in those eyes. This was too much. She wasn’t going to lie there and wait, beg. She wasn’t one of his playthings.
She opened her legs wide and, eyes locked on his, parted her labia and touched her clit. The first stroke produced a blade of stabbing, almost unbearable heat. It knocked the air out of her lungs and left her gasping and shaking.
The muscle in his jaw ticced. His mouth thinned. He knocked her hand away, shoved her legs even wider apart, and bent over her pussy.
She held her breath.
His tongue found her clit and she saw stars. He used just the right pressure, the right motion, and the right pace. She raced to the verge of climax and tumbled over the edge. An electric charge buzzed through every single cell in her body and then she quaked and spasmed and locked her knees against the sides of his head. When the sensation dulled, she realized she’d grabbed two fists full of silky hair. She unfurled her fingers and threw her hands up, over her head.
He stopped tormenting her hypersensitive bud, but, thank God, he didn’t leave her. She had come. Hard. But she still was missing something, and marriage of convenience or not, she’d been anticipating this for days, since the first time he’d touched her.
When he lay next to her, she thought he might be finished for the night. But as she was rolling onto her side to face him, he eased her onto the opposite side, took her hips in his hands, and entered her from behind. She arched her spine to change the angle of penetration and grabbed onto the sheet to try to hold her position.
He fucked her slowly, his thick cock sliding all the way in and then dragging almost all the way out. The friction was absolutely delicious and, coupled with her own hand on her clit, produced wave upon wave of pure ecstasy.
She’d never had sex in this position. It was relaxing, comfortable, and yet at the same time a little frustrating, much like the entire experience with her new husband was proving to be. It was unbelievably wonderful finally having a hard cock inside her, and when she clenched her inner walls around him, she quivered. But it also left her mildly frustrated that she couldn’t take him deeper and she couldn’t watch him as he drove them both stroke after stroke toward ecstasy.
He was a beautiful man; why wouldn’t she want to see him?
She lifted her outer leg up and rolled slightly back, so she could hook her bent knee over his leg. He grabbed her inner thigh and held it up, pulling it toward her shoulder. Yes, that was better. Then, releasing her leg, he wrapped a strong arm around her waist and held her still. Even better yet. Meeting the pace of his thrusts, she stroked her clit, round circles, until her muscles were all tight again and she was trembling with the need to climax.
Was he close? His thrusts were becoming jerky, his hold on her tighter, his breath sharp little puffs against her shoulder. She was so close. Hot. Tight. Shaking all over. She could feel that tingling electrical current building stro
nger, stronger.
He growled and began pounding into her pussy in a frenzy, and that was all it took. Over she tumbled, into the abyss. Caught up in a torrent of sensation, she held onto whatever she could reach and let herself go. Wave upon wave of pleasure pulsed through her, washed over her. So good. So right. She didn’t want it to end. Not ever. But the spasms slowly eased to twitches, then to tingles.
With a little grunt, he withdrew from her and flopped onto his back. Having lost the support of his body, she rolled onto her back too. Next to her husband and still flying high on endorphins, she waited for her racing heartbeat to slow and her breathing to regulate. When she opened her eyes, she realized she was smiling. Not at anyone or anything. Just because.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Sure. I’m fine. Better than fine.”
He didn’t say anything else.
It got quiet and she thought he’d fallen asleep. But a little while later, before she’d drifted off, he slid out of bed and crept out of the room.
9
“Wilkerson’s in the hospital.”
Talen’s announcement was enough to immediately yank Drako out of his thoughts. He realized, as he jerked his head up, that he’d been staring at his desk for who-knows-how-long. He’d been thinking about Rin, about last night. Again. He’d been doing that all morning.
This had to stop.
Drako waved his brother into his office. “What happened?”
Talen, followed by Malek, rushed into the room and plunked down into the closest chair after dragging it up to the desk. “We don’t know yet. He’s still in the E.R. The doctor’s running some tests. Dobbs called me to let me know. He’s with him now. Said he’d call as soon as he knew something.”
Drako’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Dobbs. He hit the speakerphone. “Dobbs?”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
Talen leaned closer to the phone. “I’m here too. And Malek. What’s up?”
