“Yes, you do. Use that ass to make me burn. Tempt me, Jenna.”
She managed a few tentative wiggles. He rested his cock high in her crack, letting the vibrations drag his come past his control, bathing her in his enthusiasm. He couldn’t help the groan that dragged from his throat as she clenched her cheeks, catching his cock in an intimate kiss.
“Do that again, baby. Kiss my cock with your ass again.”
She did. He thrust against her, his cock sliding up between her buttocks, skating just above the pink little rosette. He tossed the lid to the jar on the bed and coated his fingers.
“Hold still now, Jenna. Just for a little bit, and then I’ll pleasure you like you asked for as long as you want. As hard as you want.”
She held still, compliant, but a little tense under his hand. He could understand that. When a woman gave herself to a man this way, she put a lot on the line. He rubbed the base of her spine soothingly with his free hand. He started at the top of her crease, just the lightest of touches. More a grazing than a stroke. He hadn’t gone more than an inch toward his destination when goose bumps sprang up. His cock throbbed against his thigh. Ah, they were going to have so much fun.
“Here it comes, baby. Just hold still. All you have to do is hold still while I work this cream nice and deep. We’ll get you all ready, then we’ll play, and then I’ll make you mine.”
He reached her anus. She shuddered from the inside out. Damn, she was sensitive. She froze, except for her ass, which clenched in an intimate little kiss against his fingertips. He kissed it back, pressing his finger in. Her muscles tightened, resisted.
“Relax, Jenna. Just relax and push back for me, baby.” She wiggled beneath his hands. He pressed harder. He gained the barest of entrance. Her shriek nearly took out his eardrums.
“What are you doing?”
Chapter Eight
He let her pull away. His finger left its incredible haven with a mournful pop. He caught her before she could leave the bed, dragging himself up beside her. Flopping onto his back, he tugged her against him, curving his arm so that she tumbled onto his chest, her cheek naturally falling into the curve of his shoulder. He locked her there with his arm around her waist.
Against his ribs, he could feel her heart thumping. Its heavy beat echoed his own, but he was beginning to understand, not for the same reason. He slipped his hand between her thighs, through the springy curls, then up between her legs. She quivered but didn’t resist. As he suspected, she was dry, her soft folds tucked tightly against her body. He doubted she’d been aroused at any time that evening, which brought up some pretty serious questions.
He sucked in a steadying breath, ordered his cock down, and said in as normal a tone as he could, “Sunshine, we need to talk.”
She pulled tighter into him, her knee digging into his thigh. “I won’t do that. I won’t!”
The words hissed against his shoulder. He propped himself up on his forearm to better see her face. She threw her arm up, obviously expecting to be hit. A cold, sick feeling settled in his stomach. Hell, if he took a notion to pound on her, there wouldn’t even be a grease spot left. He pulled her arm down. She glared at him, her expression tight with fear and defiance, every muscle braced.
“Ah damn, Jenna. What in hell did they do to you?”
Panic flared in her eyes. “Nothing. Nobody’s done anything.”
He severely doubted that, but he wasn’t going to spend his wedding night arguing the point. “What do you use the cream for, Jenna?”
Her gaze skirted his. “Not for that!”
“So I gathered. So what do you use it for?”
There was a long pause, and then she said in a very shaky whisper, “So it won’t hurt so much.”
“You think I’d force myself on you?”
“You can’t force me.”
He looked at the size of his arm as it stretched across her torso. He could make her do any goddamn thing he wanted and not even work up a sweat. “Why?”
“I’m your wife. It’s my duty to satisfy your needs.”
“Ah.”
“Except that. I’m not doing that.”
“So you said.”
“I mean it.”
“I know you do, but that still doesn’t explain why you think I’d hurt you.”
Some of the tension left her body as she frowned at him. “It always hurts.”
He touched the crease between her brows. “Did it hurt in the barn?”
She nodded, studying his expression intently, no doubt waiting for the moment when he lost patience and turned on her.
“Then why’d you do it?”
“You were in need, and so nice to the kittens, and I thought it might make you happy.”
“But it hurt you.”
“You liked it!” Resentment began to replace her wariness.
There was a challenge in the statement. As if she expected him to deny it. He ran his finger down the short bridge of her nose, and then slid it off the side so he could touch her cheek.
“Yes, I did.” He tipped her chin up and waited until she met his gaze. “It’s not supposed to hurt, Sunshine.”
She didn’t answer, just stared to the left of his ear and ignored him. There was a stubborn set to her jaw that communicated more clearly than words that she knew what she knew and wasn’t falling for any of his statements to the contrary.
He let her certainty sink through his pride, let it dip and weave through his confidence until the unpleasant truth was reached. Whatever her motivations in the barn to do what she’d done, they weren’t born of desire. Son of a bitch! He’d been so certain he could manage Jenna that he hadn’t managed a thing. He’d mistaken complacency for eagerness and desperation for pleasure.
He had a lot to make up for.
With the tips of two fingers, he turned her face to his. “Look at me, Jenna.”
She did, the mutiny erased from her face. In its place, blank expectancy. As if she only waited on his bidding, as if her happiness was wrapped up in pleasing him. It was one hell of a survival technique. One he wouldn’t be falling for again, either.
“If anything I do to you ever hurts, you need to stop me immediately. No lying, no enduring. You stop me.”
The flicker in her gaze was disbelief, but she nodded.
“I’m serious, Jenna.”
“How?”
“How will you stop me?”
“Yes.”
“All you have to do is tell me, Sunshine. Just let me know, and I’ll stop.” That she didn’t believe a word he said was clear in the subtle tensing of her expression. However, her agreement was immediate.
“Fine.”
“That’s an order, Jenna.” He had a long way to go with her.
“I know.” She didn’t bat an eyelash as she agreed in that husky, quiet voice.
“Good.”
He spread his hand across her throat, marveling that she’d taken him there, wondering what that miserable bastard she’d been married to had done to her to make her so good at faking it. The silence stretched.
“Are we going to sleep now?” she asked, breaking it. There was nothing in her tone to indicate a preference.
“Are you tired?”
“Are you?”
Hell no, it was his wedding night and he was as randy as a billy goat. “A little.”
“I’ll stoke the fire.”
The room was chilling fast. She’d freeze in that scrap of nothing she was wearing. He caught her before her bare feet touched the floor. “I’ll get the fire.”
He slid out of bed, and shoved his still hard cock back into his pants, watching as she perched nervously on the edge. When he came back from stoking the small stove, she was still perched on the edge, her lower lip between her teeth.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
The sigh escaped before he could suppress it. “Jenna…”
She immediately started chewing on her lip. “I’m a restless sl
eeper.”
“I’ll get used to it,” he shrugged.
“Apparently I can be very loud…” Her hands twisted in her lap. The glance she flashed him was too quick for him to decipher.
“Are you trying to tell me you have nightmares?”
“I don’t know. I never remember, but Jack preferred I sleep elsewhere.” Just the sound of the man’s name put him in a murderous rage.
“I prefer you sleep next to me.”
“I won’t go far. I know a wife should be available for her husband’s convenience.” Well, that certainly cleared up how she saw her place.
“Glad to hear it.”
“I could make up a bed on the floor.”
He kicked off his boots. His toes were already curling away from the cold floor and she wanted to sleep on it? “Not necessary.”
“I can be pretty bad.”
“We’ll work it out.” He shucked his pants and dropped his shirt on the chair by the bed. Her eyes rounded as she took in his naked body.
“You’ll be tired.”
Ah, now they were at the crux of the matter. No doubt she saw a tired, cranky man as something to be avoided at all costs. He took the covers out of her hands, slid into bed beside her and nudged her over with his hip. As soon as he had enough room, he lay down. The mattress sagged, and she rolled against him. She shivered at the bite of the cold sheets. He pulled her into his arms, dragging her on top of him despite her resistance.
“Looks like it’ll be a cold winter.”
Her “Yes” was a squeak of agreement. He tucked her head under his chin as he said, “Tonight and every night from here on out, Jenna, you’ll sleep in my arms.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
“My dreams…”
“Will be my problem.” The softness of her stomach cradled his cock, caressing it with every breath. From the way she held herself unnaturally still he knew she debated what to do about it. “Jenna?”
“What?”
Her hair slid over his ribs in a silken brush. He sucked in a steadying breath.
“Go to sleep.”
* * * * *
The scream in his ear jolted him awake. He was reaching for his gun before he realized there wasn’t a threat. Beside him Jenna screamed again, bolted up straight, and flailed at invisible demons. Before he could do anything more than push up onto his elbows, she was swinging at him, the bed, the wall, all the while begging—begging—for someone to help her to get them off of her.
He sat up and grabbed her hands. She threw herself backwards.
“Jenna!”
“Oh God, help me!”
“Jenna. Wake up, baby.”
She twisted in his grip. “Get them off me!” The last syllable broke on a scream.
He caught her head just before it slammed into the wall as she threw herself away from whatever haunted her dreams. He yanked her against his chest, anchoring her legs with his thigh, holding her arms at her side with one of his.
“I’ll do whatever you want, I promise,” she moaned.
He snagged her chin in his hand. “Jenna?”
Her head fell back, her throat arched and she screamed a horrible, grating sound that had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Her body jerked against his. Her knee knifed up into his stomach.
“Nononoooooo…”
“Jesus Christ!” She hadn’t been kidding about the dreams. He shook her, trying to wake her up. She fought harder.
The screaming stopped as suddenly as it began. She went limp in his arms. Her eyes flew open and locked unseeingly on the ceiling. In a despairing little whisper that tore at his heart with its total lack of hope, she begged, “Please, someone help me.”
He pushed her hair off her face. She flinched and stiffened. “It’s me, Sunshine.”
“Clint?”
“Right here.”
Her nails gouged desperate furrows into his forearms, but her gaze didn’t leave the ceiling. She was still dreaming. “Don’t let them eat me, Clint.”
“Never, baby.”
“Please?”
“I’ve got you.”
“I can’t keep them off me.” Her voice rose with every syllable.
“I’ll take care of it.” He started brushing at her body with hard short strokes, hoping he was doing it right so she’d believe he got whatever it was.
“All gone now,” he told her, putting as much authority into his voice as he could.
“They’ll come back.” She glanced past his shoulder. “They always come back.”
“I won’t let them.”
Her gaze drifted in his direction. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
“You won’t forget?”
“No.”
She held herself absolutely still, as if weighing the value of his promise, then she shuddered and collapsed against his chest. He moved her hair out of the way. Her eyes were closed. She was asleep again, clutching his arm as if afraid he would leave. He pulled the comforter up over her sweaty body, protecting her from the chill, holding her as tightly as she needed, holding her as the night stretched on, soothing her when she got restless, comforting her when she cried out, holding her while the rage that boiled inside of him coiled to a hard knot of determination. Come morning, they were going to talk.
Jenna murmured in her sleep. He kissed her gently on top of her head.
And come morning, he’d have the name of the son of a bitch he was going to kill.
* * * * *
“I told you, I don’t remember.”
“And I told you I don’t believe you.”
Jenna placed the platter of steak, eggs, and home fries in front of Clint. “There isn’t anything I can do about that.”
Clint picked up his knife and fork. The implements looked deadly in his large hands. “You can start by telling me his name.”
She stepped back from the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That was more than a nightmare last night, Jenna.”
“I don’t remember any of it.”
“You expect me to believe you don’t remember a time in your life when you were trapped somewhere with something crawling on you.”
She shuddered at the thought. “No.”
Clint took a bite of the steak, chewed, and swallowed. “It won’t do you any good to hide from me. I will find out.”
“When you do, you can tell me.”
He took another bite, staring at her over his fork. He chewed, and raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t remember anything?”
“No.”
“Of the dream? Or what causes it?”
“Neither.”
“Then it’s going to take me a little longer.”
She wiped her hands on the towel. “For what?”
“Someone hurt you, Jenna. I want to know who and why.”
“It was just a dream.”
“It’s more than that, whether you remember or not.” His fork clinked on his plate as he cut off some egg.
“Can’t you forget about it?”
His eyes narrowed and his lean jaw set as he placed his knife and fork on his plate with deliberate care. “No.”
She wrapped her hand in the faded blue towel and gathered her courage. “Maybe I don’t want to know. If it’s as bad as you say, maybe it’s better if it stays forgotten.”
Clint leaned back in his chair. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because whoever it is could still be a threat.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“Why?”
“Because.” She refused to believe that what had happened before could happen again.
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“No one wants to hurt me.” Not anymore.
“You just got through saying that you don’t remember.”
She didn’t, but when she tried to remember, her head hurt and she couldn’t breathe. And that scared her
almost as much as Clint did when he got the expression in his dark eyes that he had now. He was so cold and remote. Unreachable.
She motioned to his breakfast, hoping to change the subject. “Is everything all right with your food?”
“It’s fine.” His expression didn’t lighten. If anything, it got harder. “Where’s yours?”
“I’ll eat when you’re done.”
“Why?”
Because Jack had always insisted that she do so. But Clint had forbidden her to mention Jack to him. “I thought you’d prefer it.”
“You thought wrong.”
“Oh.”
“Jenna?”
The deep note in his voice stroked along her nerves. She liked his voice. It contained such strength, such calm. Just hearing it soothed the panic she so often felt inside. “What?”
“Sit down and eat.”
“I didn’t cook anything for myself yet.”
“Bring me a plate.”
His gaze burned into her back as she crossed to the oak hutch. She tried to minimize her limp, but she knew there was no way he wouldn’t notice. She wished, just for once, that she could be graceful. She took one of the fine china plates off the shelf. Because she was focusing so hard, she overcompensated. Her toe caught on the rug. She stumbled, caught herself on the table edge, but the plate—that beautiful blue flowered plate—went flying. For a second, she couldn’t move. She just stood there, watching the plate sail through air. With a sense of finality, she watched it hit the floor, closing her eyes as it shattered, knowing there was no excuse for its breaking. Nothing except her own clumsiness.
“Oh God!”
Clint stood and cut her a glance, his expression unreadable. She hadn’t meant to call attention to herself. The exclamation had just slipped out.
She licked her dry lips. “That was horribly expensive wasn’t it?”
“I have no idea.” He squatted and picked up the large chunks. The powerful muscles in his thighs stretched his pants. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“Of course, it matters.” The next time he got mad at her, it would matter. He looked up, as he reached for a piece under the table.
“It’s just a plate, Jenna.” He placed the pieces on the table.
“I’ll try not to be so clumsy again.”
He studied her. “You can drop as many plates as you like.”
Promises Prevail Page 12
