She quivered as he trailed his hands over the curves of her breasts, his fingers brushing tantalizingly over her hardening nipples, then heading on down over her hips before sliding inside the slit in her dress. The skin at the top of her thigh felt like satin, smooth and warm, so he let his hand rest there a moment, stroking her with his thumb.
Her breathing was getting faster, he could hear it even under the beat of the music outside the office, and she trembled a little as he slid his fingers farther, pushing gently between her thighs, urging her to widen her stance.
She shifted, moving her own hands to the buttons of his shirt, pulling them open with trembling fingers. Then she was tugging the tail of his shirt out of his pants, opening it right up, her hands on his chest, touching him, stroking him. And for a moment he couldn’t think, couldn’t seem to form any coherent thoughts whatsoever.
It shocked him how badly he wanted her touch, how badly he needed it. And just how fucking good it felt to have her fingers sliding over his bare skin, to have her mouth burn in the hollow of his throat as she got rid of his shirt entirely.
He shouldn’t let himself have this, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to stop her. So he closed his eyes for a moment as her fingers roamed over his chest and shoulders, sliding down his back as she kissed his throat, her lips like sunlight moving over him.
“Turn around,” she whispered as her fingers stroked the curve of his spine. “I want to see something.”
He knew what she wanted to look at. The tiger. His own little bit of hubris. And part of him didn’t really want to explain it, wanted to keep his hand right where it was in the soft heat between her thighs. But for some reason, he couldn’t seem to deny her, so he did as she asked, easing himself back from her and turning around.
Her fingers on him, so light. Gentle. Tracing the lines of the tattoo as if it was a precious work of art. As if he was.
Something tight inside him clenched even tighter.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “Does it mean anything?”
Pain. That’s what it meant. The kind of pain that reminded him he was alive because sometimes he forgot how that felt. But of course, that wasn’t all it meant. “The tiger represents strength and wealth and power.” He paused then added, “It is also the protector of the dead.”
Her fingers stopped a moment and he thought she might say something. But she didn’t, and he was glad. He didn’t want to talk about the tiger on his back or what it meant. It was too complicated, and there were too many meanings, meanings that had changed over the years.
And maybe she sensed it, because her hands slid to his hips, urging him back around again. She didn’t look up at him, her fingers moving to his belt and unbuckling it. But he put his hands over hers, holding them still. “No.”
Then she did look up, tipping her head back and meeting his gaze. He recognized that look in her eyes. They glowed bright gold with stubborn determination. “Yes,” she said and she knocked his hands away, undoing his belt, flicking open the button on his fly. Taking hold of the tab of the zipper and tugging it down.
He was hard, and he ached so badly. And he knew what she wanted to do. But it didn’t feel right. He didn’t want her on her knees in front him, sucking him off in this place. In this office where there had been many women who’d done the same thing. Not to him, but to others, the men he’d formed alliances with. Men who didn’t care that the women were bruised, that there were tears in their eyes and needle tracks on their arms. Women who’d been broken so many times they didn’t even protest.
Women nobody saw because they’d ceased to exist as anything but property, part of the furniture.
But he saw them. He’d made himself see them. At least he thought he had …
They’re not details, Jericho. They’re women.
Oh fuck. He’d forgotten hadn’t he? He’d forgotten what he was supposed to never forget.
“Temple,” he said hoarsely, reaching for her again. “Not here. Please, not here.”
But her hands were already sliding into his boxers, her cool fingers wrapping around his aching cock. And she was slipping down to kneel gracefully in front of him, avoiding his hands. “Yes, here.” Her voice was so certain, so sure. “Look at me, Theo.”
He didn’t want to, but he made himself look down.
She was on her knees in front of him, her golden eyes bright despite the darkness of the office itself, full of golden flames. Full of that wild heat and energy he’d seen in her that first night as she’d danced for him in the VIP room. And just like the first night, he couldn’t drag his gaze away from hers.
“You’re allowed this,” she said. “You’re allowed to have this.”
No, it wasn’t about that. Was it? “Too many women have been on their knees in front of me,” he said hoarsely. “Too many women who didn’t want to be there.”
“Did you make them then?” Holding his gaze, she circled his cock with her fingers and drew him out of his boxers. Then she held him in her fist, running her free hand up the back of his leg, her fingers spreading out on the back of his thigh, holding on tight. “Did you make them do this to you?”
“No. Not to me. But to others … They didn’t have a choice.”
“Well. I do.”
“Kitten—”
“I want to do this, Theo. I want to give you something.”
Like you deserve anything.
“I … can’t. You can’t.”
“I don’t care whether you can’t. This is my choice. Are you really going to deny me a choice?”
Christ, the beautiful little bitch. How could he protest that?
He stared down into her golden eyes, hard and wanting her, but she only stared back, daring and full of challenge as always.
She wasn’t one of those women. She hadn’t been broken by her background in the way some of them had been. She had survived. And more than survived, she’d come back from it fighting. There was so much strength in her and yet at the same time so much fragility. The combination was so intoxicating, mesmerizing.
How could he deny her anything?
He didn’t say a word, and after a moment, watching him, she tightened her hand on his dick, put out her little pink tongue and licked him.
The feel of her tongue went through him like pain. The very best kind, woven through with raw pleasure and wet heat. His breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. So she licked him again, then swirled that tongue of hers around the head of his cock, and he had to put his hands on the glass wall in front of him to steady himself.
Jesus Christ. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had given him a blow job. Couldn’t even remember the last time he’d wanted one. He’d lost his taste for them a long time ago, just like he’d lost his taste for sex.
Because you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve anything that gave you pleasure.
And as far as he was concerned, he still didn’t. Yet somehow he was letting her do this to him, making him feel so good, so fucking good. And he didn’t have the strength to tell her to stop.
Those women. You should never forget …
But Temple was opening her mouth and swallowing him, and sensation shot like lightning down his spine, shattering both the thought and the memories into tiny, little pieces.
And there was only this moment and her mouth around him, the heat and the pressure. The pull as she sucked and the constriction of her fist around him. Only the pleasure that tore a groan from his throat, making him reach out with one hand to her hair, twisting those red curls through his fingers and holding on tight. Wanting to take control and yet at the same time wanting to let her take it, because she was fire and he wanted to burn.
One last time.
So he kept his gaze on hers, watching her suck him, harder, faster. Holding tight to her hair, urging her on. Accepting everything she wanted to give him, because this was her choice. Panting as the pleasure curled through every nerve ending, electrifying him. Sco
rching his blood, his bones. Scorching his soul.
“Temple,” he whispered raggedly as he felt himself begin to come apart. “Oh, kitten…”
But then even her name was ripped away as the orgasm exploded through him, smashing through every barrier he had, taking his consciousness and shattering that too.
Leaving him with only one thing left to hold onto.
Her.
* * *
Temple rested her forehead against the hard plane of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense and shift in time with his ragged breathing. She was panting, his cry of release echoing around the small space of the office. His fingers were still in her hair, holding on tight as if he never wanted to let her go.
She didn’t want him to either. She wanted to stay like this, with the taste of him in her mouth, the scent of him all around her. The feel of his hand holding her, all hard, possessive and strong. Yet somehow needy as well.
But this wasn’t going to last, and she knew it.
All she’d wanted to do was show him that it didn’t matter to her what he’d done. And it didn’t matter whether he thought he deserved it or not. What mattered was that there were still pieces of him that hadn’t been broken by the evil he’d been brought up in. Little pieces of Theo still alive in Jericho. And the fact that those pieces were even there was a miracle in itself. Only a man with a very strong will could have kept those alive. Only a man who was good at his core would have even wanted to.
It was clear he didn’t believe in those pieces.
But she did.
Why? Why is that so important to you?
She didn’t want to think about that question or the answer. Didn’t want to think about anything at all. So when his fingers tugged, pulling her up on her feet again, she went with it. And when he pushed her against the glass once more, she let him.
Light flashed across his face, lighting up the brilliance of his eyes, the gold flecks in them a match for her own.
Well, they’d always been similar in so many ways.
“You bitch,” he said softly, stepping right up to her, pinning her to the glass with his body. “You goddamn beautiful bitch.”
The look in those brilliant green-gold eyes of his was complicated. Anger and desire and wonder all mixed together, burning so intensely she couldn’t look away.
“What am I going to do with you?” His voice held that rough velvet quality that she loved, the one she felt on her skin like a touch, the vibration of it deep in her chest, in her sex. “Tell me. What the fuck am I going to do?”
“I think you already know the answer to that.” She was breathless now and aching, the salty taste of him making her almost light-headed with want. “Do I really need to spell it out?”
But his hands were already moving to the hem of her dress, sliding it up over her hips, his fingers trailing over her bare skin and leaving shivers in their wake.
He smiled, that feral, hungry smile as he shifted his hips. She could feel him hardening against her, his cock pressing against the damp heat between her thighs. “No,” he murmured. “But you might need to give me a minute. I’m not quite as young as you are.”
Temple tilted her hips, trying to find the right angle, suddenly desperate for more friction. “I don’t think you need a minute,” she whispered hoarsely and then gasped as he shifted with her, his cock rubbing against her clit, sending a bolt of white-hot pleasure through her. “God … you’re already there.”
Light flashed, pulsing in time with the music, outlining every perfect line of his face. His smile had vanished, leaving behind it so much hunger and raw need it made her breath catch.
“Arms up,” he ordered.
And she obeyed, saying nothing as he peeled her dress up and off her. She hadn’t worn a bra underneath it since the back wouldn’t allow it, so now she was virtually naked but for the thong she wore and the stiletto Mary Janes that were part of the outfit.
The glass at her back felt cold against her heated skin, the contrast delicious. She shivered as Theo bent his head, as his mouth seared her throat, his hand cupping one breast as he kissed down over the other. Then she gasped aloud as he took her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard then biting her, sending curls of pleasure/pain through her.
Then he pinched her other nipple at the same time and she let her head fall back against the glass wall, a groan escaping her. She could feel the beat of the music outside, the only thing preventing them from being seen by the whole club the mirrored surface that reflected the dancers back at them. Protecting her. Protecting Theo.
Because it wasn’t Jericho here with her, not now.
She lifted a hand and pushed it into the deep gold and bright gilt of his hair, all warm and silky against her palm. Her chest ached, tight with a big, heavy emotion she didn’t want to name.
He lifted his head, his green-gold eyes meeting hers. Tiger’s eyes. Protector of the dead.
Protector of the living too.
His hand slid down between them, over the front of her lace thong, his middle finger pressing insistently against her clit, making her shake. “Theo…” she said raggedly, not quite sure what she was going to say only that she couldn’t keep it inside her. “I don’t know … I don’t know what this is.”
His finger moved, circling around her clit, over and over, the pleasure crackling and burning like sparks falling over her skin. “You don’t know what what is?”
“This…” Her breath hitched and she trembled, the movement of his finger making everything so much more intense, so much more everything. “I can’t … I don’t know … Oh Theo…” Her voice broke, though why she didn’t understand. “I’m scared.”
Something changed his face, and his other hand rose, sliding behind her to cup the back of her head. He smiled and this time his smile was warm, understanding. The sun rising on a long, dark night. It made the frightening feeling inside her worse and yet, weirdly, at the same time it made it better, though she had no idea how that worked.
“Didn’t I tell you it was okay?” he murmured. “It will be. It will be.”
Then he kissed her, exploring her mouth with such delicacy as he kept stroking her, kept winding the pleasure tighter and tighter, kept her trembling on the brink of a chasm so deep and wide she knew that if she fell, she’d never stop falling.
Yet she didn’t want him to stop. Perhaps falling was what she’d been made for.
And then before she was ready he lifted his mouth, stopped the movement of his finger, ignoring her breathless protests. Reaching behind him to grab his wallet and extract a condom. He threw the wallet carelessly onto the ground, ripped open the packet, and protected himself.
Then he slid one hand beneath her thigh and pulled her leg up and around his waist.
Her mouth was dry, her throat tight. She couldn’t seem to breathe. She felt desperate and needy and terrified of the feeling that sat in her chest like a heavy stone, a weight that pressed her down, held her pinned to the ground, helpless.
“Theo.” God, her voice sounded so cracked and shaky, not like hers at all. “Help me.”
His eyes were brilliant, like coins, and he didn’t look away as he eased aside the lace of her thong. As he positioned himself. As he pushed inside her, so slow, so goddamn slow she nearly screamed.
Pleasure began to unwrap itself like a spring uncoiling, an inexorable tide of it, swamping her. She could feel herself coming to pieces, and there was nothing she could do to stop it, the heavy, scary sensation expanding, crushing her.
She did scream then, but he was kissing her, taking the sound of it into his mouth as he thrust deep inside her. And as he moved, pulling back and thrusting in, a slow rhythm like the pull of the moon on the tides, inescapable, inexorable, she understood that she wasn’t in pieces. That she wasn’t being crushed.
She was being put back together. She was being remade. Reborn.
Her arms came around him, holding him as he moved inside her, and she arched her hips, moving with him. Ma
tching her rhythm to his.
And she stopped fighting it. Stopped being scared.
She opened her mouth beneath his and let the feeling in her heart bleed into her kiss, giving it to him, letting him taste it. Letting him know that even if he had no one else, he had her, and that he was right. It was okay. Everything would be okay.
Then the pleasure became even stronger, undeniable, and she didn’t scream this time, she cried. She sobbed like she hadn’t since she was a small child.
But he held her, gripped her tight in his arms, kissing her tears away.
So that when the edge of the chasm approached, she didn’t flinch from it. Instead she hurled herself off the side of it.
And held onto him as she fell.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As Violet approached the door of the private meeting room at Alex St, James’s club, the Second Circle, fear squeezed hard in her chest, and she had to stop and take a breath.
“Princess?” Elijah’s deep voice came from beside her.
“They’re going to kill him, aren’t they?” She didn’t look at Elijah, staring hard at the ornate wooden door in front of them.
They were here to meet with Zac Rutherford and the rest of the Nine Circles club, mainly to see what Eva had managed to get from Fitzgerald’s computer and whether or not it could be useful to send to Theo.
Elijah had put together a few things already, some video evidence, as well as a couple of incriminating emails and texts. But it wasn’t enough. Theo needed information on the entirety of the whole network and to do that, they needed any files Fitzgerald may have had on his computer.
Unless of course, they didn’t want to help Theo at all, and quite frankly, she wouldn’t put it past them. Unfortunately, she could also see why they might not want to help, which didn’t make her feel any better.
“You don’t know that,” Elijah said. “They want those networks down too.”
“Yeah, but they don’t trust him.”
“Of course they don’t trust him. If he wasn’t your brother, would you?”
The fear twisted, because she knew the answer to that.
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