Wildstar

by Nicole Jordan

  "Confound it, Jess." Devlin grabbed her hand and held it tight as he raised himself up on one elbow. "You're de­termined to go through with this, aren't you?"

  "Yes."

  The word was soft, husky, unshakable.

  Remembering how impossible it was to withstand Jess's determination when she'd made up her mind, Devlin clenched his jaw. He shouldn't listen to her. He had to be wise for the both of them.

  And yet the thought of making her sexually respon-sive, of awakening all the exquisite, undiscovered passion in that lovely body was a hungry ache inside him, sharp and cutting.

  His willpower fading, he let her draw his head down again, let her brush her pleading lips against his, let her beg him.

  "I'm scared, Devlin," she whispered. "If we're going to die, I don't want to think about it. Help me forget. . . ."

  All his fierce resolve melted. All his good intentions fled. This might be their last night on earth. He couldn't pass up not knowing what it was like to make love to this woman. He might be damned, but he couldn't do it.

  His shaking fingers reached for her hairpins. He was a man who liked his woman's hair down, falling loose and free, and Jess's hair was magnificent. He didn't need the light to picture the glorious tawny mass. His fingers tan­gled in the silken tresses, a sensual experience that filled him with delight.

  Then he reached for the buttons that ran down the front of her bodice. When she would have helped him, he bent to taste her lips briefly. "No, sweet. . . this is my pleasure. Just lie still and let me enjoy it. I intend to take my time."

  Jess obeyed, trying to relax. Slowly, expertly, he began to remove the many layers of clothing that covered her lush body . . . the jacket-bodice of her gown . . . the over-skirt, gathered and looped up at the rear . . . the muslin waist . . . the underskirt . . . the wire-and-horsehair bustle that tied at her waist with tapes . . . the two petticoats . . . the camisole . . . the corset.

  By the time he loosened the laces of her corset, Jess was stirring restlessly. "Devlin, do you have to go so slow?"

  "Absolutely. It's called anticipation, Jess. It's half the pleasure."

  "I want the other half."

  Devlin gave a husky chuckle as he released her breasts from their tight confinement. "Don't be so impatient."

  How could she not be impatient when he was driving her mad? She wanted him to hurry . . . she wanted him.

  But she couldn't have him, not yet. He was determined to draw this out, to build the tension inside her to a fever pitch. She had asked him to make her forget her fear, and he meant to grant her wish. If this was their last night on earth, it would be beautiful. . . .

  Disposing of the corset, he drew her chemise over her head. Jess gave a breathless murmur. The cool air felt in­credibly arousing to her bare breasts. Then Devlin bent la­zily to touch his lips to a throbbing nipple and Jess gasped.

  "Luscious," he murmured with satisfaction. Deliber­ately, he licked a lean forefinger and languidly drew a wet teasing circle around each tight crest. Jess couldn't stifle a keening whimper.

  She thought he would at least linger over her breasts, but his hands moved down to her legs, laboring over the myriad buttons on her high-topped shoes, drawing off her garters, and peeling down her stockings. Finally all that was left was her drawers.

  He untied the drawstring slowly, provocatively. Jess held her breath. She didn't dare release it as he tugged the garment slowly over her hips and down her legs. She lay there tautly, naked in the darkness, her heart pounding. It was so decadent, so wanton, lying there with no clothes on when he was fully dressed.

  Then he touched her, his hand moving in a lazy caress down her body.

  "I've dreamed of this," Devlin said reverently, and Jess believed him. She had dreamed of this, too. She was still dreaming. She reached for him—

  "No, lie still," he ordered. "I haven't even started."

  In frustration, Jess dropped her arms. At a loss as to where her hands should go, she clenched them at her sides while he had his way. He took his time, his hands slowly, languorously learning her body . . . the lush breasts, the slender waist, the curvaceous hips, the long legs . . . the delicious stretches of silken skin in between.

  "Devlin . . . you're tormenting me."

  "That's the whole idea."

  "I want to do it to you, too."

  "Be my guest."

  She hesitated, not knowing how to begin. "You have all your clothes on," she said finally.

  "So what are you going to do about it?"

  Her body throbbing, she sat up slowly. "I guess take them off?"

  Rising to her knees, she leaned over him and tugged at his garments, undressing him by feel, first his vest, then his shirt. She paused when it came to his trousers, though. "Want me to do the rest?"

  Her cheeks flushed. It was absurd to suddenly feel so shy, but she was. She was grateful that Devlin seemed to sense her uncertainty. "Yes, please."

  She heard him move then. Heard his boots drop to the rock floor one by one. The soft rustle of socks and trousers and long Johns as they left his body. Another rustle as he stretched out again on the makeshift bed. She knew he was waiting.

  "Jess, you don't have to do this," he said tenderly. "But I want to."

  She reached out blindly, finding his shoulder with her trembling hand. His skin was warm, almost hot to the touch. Tentatively, she explored its smooth satiny texture, feeling the curve of bone and sinewy muscle beneath. Gathering courage, she moved slowly on to the bramble of dark hair on his chest. His masculine body was so differ­ent from hers, harder, rougher . . . fascinating.

  "I wish I could see you," she said in frustration.

  "See me with your hands."

  Emboldened, Jess moved her hands lower, to the hard, flat planes of his abdomen. He tightened; she could feel the muscles of his stomach bunching beneath her palm. His reaction gave her a totally unexpected taste of femi­nine power. It was a heady feeling to know she could af­fect him with a mere touch.

  She skipped a certain part of him and advanced to his legs next. His powerful horseman's thighs were corded with well-honed muscle and dusted with hair. She stopped there, not having the nerve to go on.

  She was almost grateful for the hand that reached out to capture hers and gently guide her to the hard, pulsing length of him. Shock and excitement flooded her at the forbidden contact. His masculinity was thick and heavy with arousal. She trembled at the enormous size of him.

  Then she felt him shudder against her.

  "Did I hurt you?" Jess asked, her voice soft with alarm. She tried to pull away, but Devlin held her palm pressed against him.

  "You didn't hurt me in the least, love. It feels exquis­ite."

  Jess frowned doubtfully. "You're so large."

  Devlin caught his breath on a gasp of laughter. "Some women would say that's good." "

  Why?"

  "Because I can fill you better when I'm inside you."

  Inside her? Just the thought of having that swollen rigid length inside her body set an ache throbbing in the femi­nine recess between her thighs. "I don't see how you can fit."

  Again the choked laughter. "I will."

  Timorously she traced the unfamiliar length, touching him, discovering him—the hard shaft that felt like hot satin over steel, the swollen sacs that fit in her hand like warm plums. With growing confidence, she learned the shape and texture and contours of his powerful, sleek body, while he encouraged her exploration in a rough-velvet voice that could woo a woman's heart from her breast.

  Finally she drew her hand back and gave a short, em­barrassed laugh. "I'm not very good at this."

  "That's debatable," Devlin said in a raw voice. "But I'm glad you don't have much experience."

  "I don't have any experience. Have you known a lot of women?"

  "None like you." . It was a smooth, polished reply that really was no an­swer. Jess was certain he'd been with countless other women, but just now it didn't seem to matter
. Not when Devlin was pulling her down to lie beside him. Not when the sensation of having his body, strong and muscled and unclothed, against hers was driving every conscious thought from her head.

  The hot flesh of his broad chest pressing against her sensitive nipples, the probing heat of his maleness against her stomach, thrilled and aroused her. And his lips. . . . He kissed her throat, her collarbone, the rising swell of her breasts, his whiskered jaw warm and abrasive, making her skin prickle and tingle as he trailed a fiery path downward.

  His hands came up to caress her naked back as his feathery kisses descended. She could feel his breath, hot and heavy on her breasts, on her nipples, now tight and hurting. Then his mouth closed over a taut bud. Desire pierced her, its depth and intensity shocking her. Heat cen­tered itself, throbbing and moist, between her thighs, mak­ing her whimper with need.

  Devlin heard the soft moaning sound with satisfaction and another feeling akin to relief. He had pleasured a lot of women in his life, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted a woman like this, couldn't remember that he ever had. Just now he felt like a boy experiencing his first time—nervous, excited, incredibly aroused, afraid of doing the wrong thing. None of the women in his past had required such care. He wanted it to be good for Jessica. He wanted it to be much more than good.

  Calling on every lover's skill he possessed, he suckled her nipples until Jess was arching her back wildly. And still he didn't stop. He caressed her breasts until they were tender and swollen and tingling from his kisses, taking in­tense pleasure from the pleasure he was giving her. Re­turning to her mouth then, he kissed her with more urgency this time, his tongue entering her warm depths with the same thrust he longed to use elsewhere.

  The velvet rapier of his tongue met and tangled with hers as his arousing hand moved down to her stomach. The lean fingers spread there and stroked her taut flat belly, brushed downward along the smooth skin of her thighs, glided slowly upward again through the downy curls at the portal of her womanhood.

  Jess caught her breath, expecting the same incredible ministrations that he'd performed earlier. But this time was totally different. Instead, he slid a finger inside her, deep inside her. Her breath spiraled away from her, out of pace with her body.

  His fingers were dark magic.

  "Dev-linnnnn. . . ." The word was a keening gasp.

  "Hush, darlin'," he murmured seductively, caressingly. He nuzzled her neck, all the while continuing the slow deft movements of his fingers deep inside her, readying her for his invasion.

  She bucked and writhed.

  "Easy, baby."

  His hand withdrew, to her immense dismay. But before she could protest, he fitted his knee between her legs, pressing against her fiercely aching feminine flesh.

  His lips were velvety and hot as he lightly kissed her face, delicately feathering his lips across her chin, her flushed cheeks, her fevered brow. His erotic tenderness drove her wild.

  "Devlin . . . I can't bear it."

  "Yes, you can, love."

  No, she couldn't. She felt as if she were suffocating with longing. She wanted him to ease the tight ache inside her, wanted things from him she couldn't even begin to imag­ine.

  And he only seemed bent on making her longing worse. Purposefully, he worked his lips, his tongue, in a sensual accompaniment to the slow, rhythmic motion his hips ini­tiated. The hot, hard knot of desire inside her tightened with each tantalizing, tormenting movement of his body.

  Finally, when she thought she would go mad with the craving need, he shifted his weight, pulling away briefly.

  "Devlin?" she said shakily.

  "Don't you think it's about time you started calling me Garrett? I'd say we're a bit beyond the formality of last names."

  "Garrett . . . I'll kill you if you stop now."

  A melting tenderness infused his laughter. "I'm not about to stop." Bracing himself on his forearms, he cov­ered her, spreading her thighs wide.

  Jess ceased breathing.

  He entered her with exquisite slowness, parting the fiery, aching folds between her legs. She felt her flesh stretching, then a brief moment of pain as the feminine barrier split.

  She stiffened . . . but then Devlin was kissing her deeply, taking away the pain, taking away even her breath, making it a part of his own. Otherwise, he was completely still, holding himself inside her, content to wait until she grew accustomed to his spearing invasion.

  "You okay, angel?" he whispered finally against her lips.

  Jess exhaled in a soft, contented sigh. "Yes." It was so natural to be with him like this, to have him fill her. Yet it wasn't enough. The burning need had returned with dev­astating force. "Please, Devlin . . ." she murmured, not even knowing what she was pleading for.

  "Garrett."

  "Garrett, please . . ."

  His hips began to move then, with restrained passion and devastating tenderness. Slowly, slowly thrusting . . . slowly, slowly withdrawing. Again . . . again . . . until Jess instinctively caught his sure rhythm. Until the shy undula­tions of her body became a bolder demand for fulfillment. Until the pleasure became so exquisite it was a pain of its own.

  Jess clung to him, her nails digging half-moons into his bare, sweat-dewed back, as a hot, bright feeling burgeoned inside her, heating every nerve, every pore, every sensate inch of her body. She couldn't bear it. This pleasure was too keen, too fierce to be borne.

  "Noooo . . ." she whimpered in protest.

  "Yes," Devlin demanded, "yes, love." He felt the trem­ors begin inside her, felt her shake with raw passion, and helplessly the spasms became his own. His body con­vulsed, a vast and wild sweetness exploding through him like fire. Shuddering, he poured himself into her, losing himself, his harsh, guttural moan mingling with her stran­gled cry, shattering the silence.

  The echoes of their passion faded slowly, leaving behind only the erratic, rasping sounds of gasped breaths. Slowly in the darkness sanity returned and Devlin managed to shift his weight so that he was no longer crushing her. But that was all he was capable of doing.

  Long moments later, he stirred again, lowering his lips to her swollen mouth, tasting it gently. "Are you all right?"

  Not answering, Jess lay beneath him, numb, limp, and more complete than she'd ever been in her life. She'd never felt so right. Devlin had made her feel like a woman . . . desirable, passionate, enticing. She'd never felt so de­liriously feminine, so wanted. . . .

  "Jessica?" His lips moved lightly over her flushed face, over her throat where the pulse still hammered wildly. "Jess, are you awake?"

  "No . . . I'm not even alive."

  His hoarse chuckle reverberated softly in the darkness. When he rolled onto his side and gathered her in his arms, Jess went willingly, her face buried in the smooth, sweaty silk of his bare shoulder, her legs threaded with the long, corded length of his.

  She had never known such passion existed. She'd never even imagined the possibility. She sighed with exhausted pleasure. She was safe in the arms of this potent, beautiful man. Safe and cherished.

  It had been worth it, throwing away her innocence. If she died tomorrow, she would go content.

  Chapter 11

  She didn't die, but neither did her contentment last. At the first sounds of rescue, the pleasant dreams Jess had been having dissolved, and she came awake with a start. In the pitch-blackness she could hear the faint but unmistakable clink of metal on rock. Men digging. Jessica stiffened.

  "Ah, help is at hand," Devlin murmured in her ear with a sleepy yawn. "What did I tell you?"

  Jess stirred uneasily. She'd slept for a time in Devlin's arms, her body pulled tightly against his, warm under the layers of petticoats and skirts. But their nakedness now seemed scandalous, wanton. The danger wasn't entirely over, but it was likely that they would live to see another sunrise. And she would have to face Devlin.

  The realization of what she'd done, what they'd done together in the darkness, swept through her with humiliat­
ing force. Dear Lord, had she really thrown herself at him and begged him to make love to her?

  Abruptly, Jess untangled herself from Devlin and sat up, clutching a petticoat to her bare breasts. The unfamiliar tenderness of her nipples made her wince. She shut her eyes. It had really happened. Last night she had lost her innocence. Devlin had awakened her body to passion, had made her fully a woman. The twinging ache between her thighs attested to that undeniable fact, while her mouth was swollen from his caresses.

  "We have to get dressed," she blurted out, her voice un­naturally high and edged with panic.

  "There's no hurry . . . it's still the middle of the night. And clearing away the rubble will likely take hours."

  His hand reached out to stroke her naked back in reas­surance, but Jess pulled away, her face flaming in embar­rassment. She had been so bold, so brazen last night. Devlin must think her incredibly cheap, no better than the worst sort of saloon girl. She wanted to sink through the rock floor.

  She heard Devlin stretch lazily, and glanced involuntar­ily over her shoulder just as he struck a match. The tunnel was flooded with flickering golden light. In alarm Jess averted her gaze, though not before she glimpsed a power­ful male chest and shoulders rippling with lean muscle. Below the waist he was buried in petticoats—thank God— but that didn't detract one bit from his stunning mascu­linity.

  He lit a candle, and then there was silence.

  "Jess. . . ." His tone was soft, hesitant, regretful.

  She didn't want to hear what he was going to say. She didn't want him telling her that what they'd done was wrong. She didn't want him to make light of it, either, or brush off with a laugh what had been the most incredible experience of her life. She didn't want him to say anything at all.

  "I hope they get us out in time for breakfast," Jess forced herself to exclaim cheerfully. "I'm starving to death."

  She felt Devlin's intent gaze burning into her back, but she couldn't look at him. Instead, she fumbled for her che­mise.

  He gave a soft sigh. Without speaking again, he rose and pulled on his trousers and left her alone, allowing her privacy to wash. When he returned, he helped her dress, making a game of finding their numerous articles of cloth­ing that he'd strewn around the floor when he'd made love to her.