"Gus? Are you all right?"
"Don't be tragic," she implored, refusing to look at him. "I can't deal with it. "
"Okay..." He sounded thoughtful. "Can I be cold? It's freezing in here. "
Smartass, she thought. Damn smartass cowboy. There were tears in her eyes when she looked up at him and another defeated groan on her lips. Before she could wipe the dampness away, he was there, crouching next to her, scrutinizing her with great concern, his hands poised as if to take her in his arms.
"I was only kidding," he said, searching her despairing contours. "Gus, baby, what's wrong—"
"Nothing."
"Hey... don't do this to me. What is it?"
"I'm not doing anything to you." She tried to push him away. "You're doing it to me!"
"What? What am I doing?"
"I don't know, I don't know." She sighed. "But just don't touch me, okay? If you touch me, I'll—"
He rested his arms on his knees. "You'll what?" His smile was slow in coming and faintly ironic. "Make another attempt on my life? Maybe this time you could try something quicker and cleaner than snakepits or runaway horses?"
"Electrocution?" she muttered, shaking her head. "Death by cattle prod?" He didn't understand. Killing him would be easy. What she would have to do if he touched her was so much worse than that. "I'll want you, " she said in a tiny little voice.
A beat or two went by as he chewed on that one. "Let me see if I understand this, " he said. "All I have to do is touch you, and you'll want me?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Can we establish for the record that you're talking about my body and not my mind?" Her sigh was deep and resigned. "So this is the S word... sex?"
She nodded and tucked herself back into the warmth of her legs, a beached vessel, waiting for the tide to take her. Her fate was no longer in her hands. She had no idea why she was feeling this way except that she was a hopeless sucker for sensitive, wounded brutes, and despite everything else that he was—killer, kidnapper, blackmailer—he was also that. Sensitive. The image that crept into her thoughts as she hugged herself was of a heart roughly carved into a tree, a heart with her name in it. That was when things had changed, she realized, that was when she'd become vulnerable.
In the space of silence that followed, she was increasingly aware of her immediate environment, of the floor's stinging hardness against her bottom, of the cold draft that blew across the back of her neck, and the gamey smell of the heavy blanket that was tucked around her. Primitive and earthy signals abounded. The pungence of horse droppings wafted from the stable next door as the animals snorted and moved restlessly in their stalls. Odd that both times she'd been on the brink of sex with him, she'd been trapped in an alien environment. If a stable was less hostile than the desert, it was no less connected to the primal cycles of life.
She shifted her weight, wanting to squirm. "You're not going to do it?" she asked, looking up at him. "You're not going to touch me?"
He gazed down at her, his facial muscles beautifully taut. He didn't answer her immediately, but the answer was there, smoldering in his features. It prowled through his eyes. It lurked in the hard, sensual lines of his mouth. He was already touching her, everywhere. The fact that his hands hadn't made contact meant nothing.
She closed her eyes, shaking inside. The sound of her own breathing was like the soft roar of a conch shell.
"Oh, yes," he said. "I'm going to do it. "
She couldn't help herself. She swayed toward his voice. Its harshness was thrilling. She felt as if the most tender, sensitive parts of her were reaching out to him, unable to wait. She almost wished she were naked, so that when he touched her he could do it in more intimate, forbidden ways.
Heat burned her cheek. His fingertips? They seared her lips next as he brushed fire over that sensitive surface. Her mouth fell open, hot with yearning.
The floor groaned softly as he bent to kiss her, and the sound was reminiscent of emotions Gus couldn't put into words. It made her think of life's sweetest sorrows and its wildest joys—the searching cry of human loneliness, the sweet shock of physical contact after being alone all your life. It was the echo of inexpressible needs.
God, what that groan didn't mean.
She shuddered as his lips touched hers. The shock of it was so unexpected it made her jaw sting and her throat thicken with longing. She wanted more instantly. More than a kiss. Instantly. Not that his mouth wasn't lovely. It was. Not that she wouldn't have wanted him to go right on kissing her indefinitely. She would have. The raging softness of him was so startling that she almost forgot how hard the floor was.
But more... she ached for it. More.
His mouth brushed over hers like a star shower, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. It was a glancing kiss, but the mere touch of his lips had set her mind ablaze with expectation. She needed to be touched and fondled passionately. She needed to be quenched like a deep thirst.
His hand shook as it closed over her shoulder, and the power in his grip made her remember the hunger she'd seen. There'd been pain in his eyes, such amazing, naked, lustful pain it had made her hurt, too. Unbearably. She arched up to him now, raking her nails down his face, a movement fraught with wildness and so much crazy yearning that he captured her arms and lifted her to her knees and then right up off the floor.
"Don't make me lose it, Gus, " he breathed against her mouth. "I could hurt you, and I don't want to. "
The blanket fell away from her shoulders and so did whatever concerns Gus might have had about consummating their union. She had no idea what legal complications making love with him would pose, how binding it might be. She didn't care. She only cared that he didn't want to do anything to hurt her. And she wanted him to do everything, even that, in the way that only he could. She craved the mastery of his hands and the tender crush of his mouth, the sting of his teeth against her flesh. She craved the sweet clash of sex with this man who'd kidnapped her and forced his way into her life.
His arms had begun to tremble, and she thought it was from fatigue, that holding her had become difficult. But his hands were iron cuffs, which told her the perturbations were coming from somewhere inside him. It was something else making him shake, a passion so strong even he couldn't contain it. This was the physical need she'd seen in him, this was the soul hunger.
She wanted to touch the distended cords of his neck and smooth the knots from his jaw muscle. Her fingers curled with the urge. "Is this painful for you?" she asked, feeling foolish at the question. At least she hadn't stammered.
"Everything about you is painful for me... just looking at you. I can't even do that without aching. "
Gus wasn't cold anymore. She couldn't feel the draft. All of her energy was consumed with the idea of making love with a man who was this beautifully, painfully savage. How would it feel to be the recipient of all that tormented power?
She could barely breathe at the desire that rose up inside her as he backed her to the wall. Her stockings snagged on the rough wooden floor. The sheer silk caught and ripped, but she was barely aware of it. He was powerful in the way he took control, and it frightened her. She had never had anyone respond to her this way, never in her life. There'd been plenty of admiration and envy, lots of men who'd made passes, but no one had ever wanted her the way he did. Even as a child she hadn't felt wanted. The people who should have loved and cherished her had been far more interested in finding ways to be rid of her.
"I love it that you're in pain, " she said impulsively, her voice grainy and breathless. "In pain over me. "
She jerked her arms free of his hold and tried to touch him. She didn't know quite what she intended to do, but it didn't matter anyway. He wouldn't let her. He captured her arms and spread them like wings, pinning her wrists to the wall on either side of her head and holding her there, spread-eagle and breathless, very much at his mercy. A shudder took her, and she began to tremble, shocked by what he'd done.
The pain, the hunger, all
of it flared through him as he searched her startled face. His breath was shaking, but he seemed determined to master the emotions, to prove that he didn't need anything, not sex, not love, not even her. His powerful thighs pressed her to the wall, forcing her to feel every quivering inch of the hunger that lived between his legs. He was already hard, already burgeoning, as he moved against her, grinding his hips into hers. His sex burned her soft flesh. It pressed hard against her pubic bone, searching, seeking deeper access. His eyes probed, cutting like diamonds, holding her in thrall.
There was a part of Gus that burned to resist him. Fighting back was as natural to her as breathing, but this time she couldn't summon the strength. She was too weak. This was too wonderful. Though she couldn't have thought through the reasoning or explained why if someone had asked her, she had already decided to be this man's sacrifice. It was pure impulse driving her, not reason, but the idea had taken her imagination captive. He'd kidnapped her, forced her into marriage, and now he would claim the spoils of war like a scene out of an epic medieval novel. Gus had done many things in life, but she'd never done this, never willingly surrendered herself to the enemy, even in fantasy.
He must have sensed her acquiescence. His warrior's mind must have read the signals, because he was suddenly powerful, a man who knew victory was imminent. The enemy was on her knees, but total capitulation was necessary before his triumph was complete. It was a ritual that went back to the primordial fights for territory and sex, triggered by the most basic of urges, the mating instinct.
"Be my wife," he said, his voice harsh, his breath soft.
He was nuzzling her neck, his teeth hot against her flesh, and there was a roughness about it that thrilled her. He was claiming her, physical sex the only thing on his mind now. Coupling was the ultimate destiny. And the thought of it left her breathless as his lips descended on hers. The fierce sweetness of his mouth, the sharp ache rising inside her made her want to cry out.
She broke away, needing to tell him what she'd experienced. "I feel the pain, " she whispered, her voice thick with it. "My God, it's terrible. It's awful!" Her laughter was hoarse and startled. "It must be the same pain you described. It's never happened with anyone else. "
His eyes were suddenly piercing as he searched her face. Even in the darkness, their blue-black radiance was unmistakable.
"This mouth of yours..." He caught the fullness of her lower lip between his fingers and gently pulled. "These lips that don't always get words out right... they're eloquent when you're kissing me. I just want you to know that. You speak perfectly. "
Her throat tightened uncontrollably and tears stung at her eyes. He had touched into the part of her past she'd shown to no one, the pain she'd been guarding and hoarding for a lifetime. The speech impediment had always felt as if it were her personal stigmata, a punishment for being unwanted and the emblem of her unworthiness. Now he was telling her it was beautiful? When he cupped her breast, she felt passion so intense it was no longer pleasure, it was anguish.
If she thought she'd felt the pain before...
He had released her hands, but she couldn't touch him now. She couldn't do anything but sink to the floor.
He picked up the blanket and spread it out across the wooden planks for them, and then he pulled her with him onto it. There wasn't time to undress leisurely or remove their clothing, only the urgent rush to create a primal, life-sustaining bond. The hot fusion of bodies and souls. Her soul touching his. Soon all the pain would be gone and there would only be ecstasy.
He rose over her, bringing her skirt up with him and then stripping her nylons from her body with such urgent grace it felt as if he'd done it all in one unbroken wave. The stockings ended up in a heap across the room. It was ironic that she'd been worried about ruining them. They must be torn to shreds by now.
An image filled her mind as he loomed above her, his hands braced on either side of her head. She could feel the beautiful, thundering power of it all through her. She could hear the explosion of horses' hooves, the startled snorts of their breathing. She could smell the steam that came off their hot, surging bodies. The very ground seemed to shake beneath her as the magnificent herd of animals stampeded her senses.
Riding wild horses... the sweet, liberating power of that dream was to be hers. He would be her wild horse. He would take her on a thundering ride into the world of her senses.
She opened herself to the man braced above her and moaned softly as he fit his hardened body to hers. Throwing her arms over her head, she was aware of the pull against her shaking flesh. Her breasts were luminous. They were quivering, wanton pools, flowing with sensation, and she was offering them to him in an act of total abandon. It was one of the most thrilling things she'd ever done. Her belly tightened sweetly, and then painfully, as she imagined his mouth, the pull of his lips against her flesh.
"Jesus, you're beautiful. " His jaw muscles bunched, and she could see that he was fighting the urge to drop and give her the thrill she'd imagined. He wanted to take her in his mouth, but another urge shook through him and he jerked reflexively. Muscles rippled wildly up and down his body as he tested the soft throb between her legs.
The first deep prick of his hardened flesh made Gus arch and gasp with surprise. "No, you're too big, " she said, knowing he couldn't be. She'd had him before. "I'm not ready! You'll never—"
"Trust me, " he grated. "You are. And I will. "
He barely had the words out before he had penetrated her so deeply she could scarcely breathe. Gus's head and shoulders came off the blanket. Her muscles curled with shock and delight. She'd expected discomfort, but there was none, there was only wild, fluttering excitement and a deep, glorious fullness. The impulse to stop him had been overwhelmed by the swiftness, the utter sureness, of his possession. He'd buried himself, sword to her sheath, and now his sex was all muscle and mastery, and hers was all quivering sensation.
He began to flex slowly and she began to die with pleasure.
It was beautiful, so beautiful she could have cried. She wanted him to go on forever. He was hard and thrillingly thick. The swollen friction of his shaft, its velvet surfaces, caressed her inner walls. But the very fact that he was delving so deeply and moving so slowly made her wonder if she could possibly endure another moment.
She had never allowed herself to be dominated by anything. The thought of it terrified her, and yet, just this once in her life, she craved the thrill of abject surrender—to his rules, his pace, his male will, whatever that might be. She wanted to stretch out languidly, hostage to whatever wanton, terrible pleasure he could bring her. She wanted to submit to him in every way, but the pressures building up inside her were too fantastic. They wouldn't let her give up control. Sparking nerves urged her to curl around him like a cat and claw him into action.
"More," she pleaded, curving into his slow thrusts. Her fingernails racked his biceps. "Do it deeper, faster!"
His eyes flared, warning her that she was close to unleashing something dangerous in him.
"If I go any deeper," he said, "I'll be in your throat."
"I want you in my throat. I want you everywhere."
A shudder caught him, and he jerked deep inside her. "Everywhere?" he said. "You want my cock in your mouth and in the other, darker parts of your body? Are you sure?"
Gus had never been penetrated in the other, darker parts of her body that he must be talking about. Still, at this moment, in the crazed heat of sexual frenzy, she would probably have said yes to anything.
"I'm sure," she whispered, wondering what he would do. If he turned her over and began to probe in taut forbidden places, what in God's name would she do? "But right now... I need you just where you are. " Deep muscles clutched involuntarily, squeezing him. "I'll die if you don't stay there. "
He let out a shaking breath and lowered himself to her mouth, nipping at her lower lip, brushing it with his heated breath. "Good, " he said, "because this is just where I want to be. Where I am right now. "
Something was building swiftly inside her, a keening cry, and she told him so. "Make me come, " she whispered. "Make me scream. "
He had stopped moving altogether, and when he started again, she did scream, a sharp little gasp of pleasure that reverberated in the small room and sent him into a fabulous frenzy of coupling. He caught hold of her wrists and pinned them to the floor, arcing into her body with the grace and force of an athlete.
Gus Featherstone had wanted to ride the wild horses. She had urgently needed that liberating rampage. She had wanted him to go faster and faster and bring her the hard, thundering satisfaction her body craved. She got all of that and more. He thrust with the power of a stallion, and as their bodies came together again and again, she alternately ripped at him with sudden, urgent need and fell back to the blanket, helpless.
The pleasure he gave her penetrated her entire being, shaking her from the inside out. It moved through her in crimson waves as she felt the climb toward ecstasy begin. Within moments the first shimmering implosion had rocked her, and she knew the riotous joys of surrender in a way she never had before and might never again. In giving up control she had freed herself. She had freed feelings that were bound up in the need to protect her wounds, and her body was simply going wild with the rampageous beauty of it all.
She was spent by the time the stampede had run its course, but the moment the horses had stopped their glorious thundering and her body had sagged to the floor in exhaustion—the moment she was complete—her thoughts were of him. Had he shared her ecstasy? Was he still in pain?
Jack had felt every second of her shaking rapture, but he hadn't been able to share in it, except through his joy at her pleasure. He'd been left with the most beautiful kind of pain. The tightness that gripped and caressed him made him ache to release the pressure. He could feel the mounting, flooding heat of his semen at the base of his body, in the head of his penis. He could feel the painful smash of his heart against his ribs. Every fiber in his body was screaming for relief, but despite the force of his feelings, he couldn't let go.
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