Shayla Black - [Wicked Lovers 01]

by Wicked Ties

  He held tighter.

  Jack backed into the bedroom, dragging her with him. Morgan tried to grab the doorknob and use it as an anchor, but he was too fast, too strong.

  “Damn you, put me down!” Morgan shouted. “Put me the hell down!”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he growled, ignoring her demand. “Stop it, now.”

  “You can’t tell me what to think, asshole.”

  “Think logically, cher.”

  Moments later, she found herself tossed onto the rumpled bed, flat on her back. Faster than a flash of lightning, he covered her chilled, frantic body and pinned her to the mattress. His arms stretched out over hers, hot fingers clasped around her wrists in a gentle but unyielding vise. The weight of his longer legs secured her own against the soft sheets.

  No. The word burned across Morgan’s brain as she struggled, the need to escape and find an isolated hole to hide in overriding all else. Jack tightened above until he held her completely immobile. No!

  “Relax.” His dark stare slammed into her, penetrating her fear with a calm, commanding stare.

  “Let me go!” Morgan tensed against him, arms, legs, doing her best to remain unyielding.

  “I know what’s running through that pretty head of yours, cher. Stop. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “If Reggie is guilty, then . . . then anyone—you—could want me bleeding, dead . . .”

  Her voice sounded breathy, trembling. Morgan hated the fact that her voice shook. On TV, she was the sexy bleached-blonde show hostess, professional with a hint of a wild streak. It worked. Out on the middle of the Louisiana swamp, under Jack’s roof, she was a terrified natural redhead who hated this crappy, helpless feeling, hated being out of her element physically, mentally, environmentally . . . sexually.

  Jack frowned, concern etching the furrow between his brows. “You’re thinking with adrenaline, Morgan, not logic. Don’t. We’ve been here alone for two days. At any time, I could have hurt you, if that was my intent.”

  Morgan paused, panting. Her mind raced. Jack’d had a million opportunities to rape or kill her—or both. He’d done neither. But coming down off the ledge wasn’t that simple.

  “How do I know you’re not toying with me, waiting for me to lower my guard and completely trust you before you move in for the kill? What do I know about you at all?”

  Jack paused, those endless chocolate eyes drilling into her, breath-taking in their stark sincerity and tight with frustration. “I am not your stalker. Nor am I in league with the scumbag. If you’d listen to your gut, you would know that.”

  “You never had any sort of plan to harm me?”

  “Harm you?” He pinned her with a stare stripped of everything except resentment and honesty. “Who helped you escape the shooter? Who brought you to safety?”

  She answered with a pregnant pause, her mind racing. Clearly, Jack hadn’t harmed her, despite constant opportunities. He had saved her that day in Lafayette; she knew that. She just didn’t understand why.

  “Damn you, what have I done to earn your distrust?” he demanded. “Not one fucking thing except try to make you see who you really are and what you pretend not to want.”

  “Three days ago I’d barely heard your name,” Morgan shouted into his tense face. “Now I’m supposed to place my sexuality and my entire life in your hands and think nothing of it? How many men would just . . . risk their lives to help a stranger?”

  “That’s what a soldier does every day, Morgan.” He clutched at her wrists, holding her tight. “He puts his ass on the line to protect the citizens of his country, most of whom he’ll never know. I was a soldier for too many years to change. Then I became a bodyguard. I wasn’t going to stand there and watch you die.”

  The white haze of panic began to lift from her mind as Morgan processed his words. Jack had saved her because that’s who he was. Maybe his behavior was part instinct, part chivalry. If he was working with Reggie to kill her, he was taking his sweet time. And that didn’t seem Jack’s style.

  Okay, so it wasn’t likely that he was Reggie’s partner in some grand scheme, but something still niggled at her. Something didn’t feel quite right.

  “So helping me in Lafayette had nothing to do with being on TV?”

  Braced on his elbows, which now framed her face, he shook his head. “I could give a shit about being on TV. Honestly, I saved you because I had to. That’s my job. But I also did it because I wanted to touch you. The first time I talked to you online . . . something was there between us.” He kissed his way down her jaw. “I sensed your innocence, your curiosity and uncertainty. That day we had coffee on the Square, the sight of you was like a punch to my gut. You and your aroused reluctance made me want you so bad I couldn’t breathe. Within five seconds of meeting you, I was looking for ways to stretch out our meeting, to touch you. I want you still.”

  Her pulse leapt as if it had found a trampoline. Wow, he’d just . . . laid it all out on the table. Shock tumbled through her, causing words and thoughts to trip over one another. Yes. No. She wanted. She shouldn’t. Instead, she swallowed, uncertain what she should say.

  “You want me, too.”

  His pronouncement, stated like arrogant fact, startled her. But she couldn’t deny it. Of course she wanted Jack. Even as he hovered over her and anchored her wrists to the bed again, a decidedly sexual question in his chocolate eyes, her nipples hardened. She felt herself getting wet once more.

  He dropped a kiss on her forehead, another on her jaw. “You know I’m not going to hurt you, right?”

  Slowly, she nodded. “You . . . You’re right.”

  “And your friend Reggie. He might be guilty, yes. He might not. Until we know more, don’t assume anything.”

  Morgan shook her head. “But he’s totally into photography. No one else—”

  “I understand. Just wait. Deke will keep digging. For now, I think it’s important that you don’t talk to Reggie, not until we know more. Had you planned to call him, check in?”

  “I tried yesterday. I can’t get a cell signal out here.”

  “No.” Jack shook his head. “Most people can’t. Will he raise some red flag if you don’t call?”

  “Not for a while; a few more days, probably.”

  “Hopefully, we’ll have this sorted out by then. Until then, don’t assume the worst. We have one fact that doesn’t make things look good for Reggie, but nothing is absolute. And even if he is guilty, you know he can’t find you here, right?”

  Wherever here was . . . “Right.”

  “In the meantime, I’m here to protect you.”

  “Why?” Why would he go so far out on a limb for her? “You don’t have to keep that promise.”

  “Yes, I do.” He nuzzled her neck, teeth nipping at her lobe as his hot breath fanned in her ear. “Besides, with you, it’s about more than protection.”

  Morgan shivered. She became aware of his fingers sliding up her arms to clamp around her wrists again, his legs pinning her own beneath him once more, the heat transferring between them, down the line of their bodies. And the stalk of his erection, thick, long, insistent.

  “So much more,” he whispered. “You amaze me. You are smart enough to stay one step ahead of a very determined psycho. Sweet enough to addict me. Stubborn enough to defy me. Strong enough to work to break into TV, which I know is a tough business.”

  The nicest compliment Andrew had ever paid her was to claim she was dazzling. Great, so she filled out a dress well. Whoopee. But Jack’s words drizzled onto her one at a time, like hot fudge on a sundae, coating her fear with something soothing and wonderful.

  A man out to hurt her wouldn’t care if she was smart, sweet, stubborn, or strong. Even more, he’d paid attention to her. Her—the deep-down person she was.

  Jack was getting to her, slowly making her melt. With a press of his hips against her sex, she melted a bit more. A flare of arousal ignited and spread through her body. With a sharp inhalation, she too
k the scent of him into her nose. He lingered there: leather, man, cypress, mystery. The urge—the ache—to press up and meet him gripped her.

  “You puzzle me, too,” he murmured against her skin, pretending not to notice how she tensed against him. “You took a big risk in digging beyond your own uncertainty and starting a TV show that encourages people to explore their sexuality, whatever it is. But you hesitate to explore your own. Why?”

  “I explored. I’m just not sure I want to be . . . held down or restrained or—”

  “Tied to my bed? You like being at my mercy.”

  “I don’t want to work that way! It’s not normal.”

  “It’s perfectly normal not to want straight vanilla sex. You’re not wired for that, cher.”

  “I’ve got to be. I want to be!”

  Before Jack, she’d never had a man bring her to multiple orgasms. It didn’t seem possible that he was only able to because he tied her down and filled her head with wicked suggestions of submission and other dirty deeds she had only fantasized about. That wasn’t it. Any way he touched her would be mind-blowing because she found the man himself irresistible. The pleasure he gave her had nothing to do with his domination.

  “I know you wish you were.” He smoothed a tangle of wild, flame-colored hair back from her face. “But if you’d let me, I’d help you. I want to show you that your desires are not only perfectly normal but totally wonderful.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “You’re burying your head in the sand and wasting yourself on what you want to be true, rather than what is,” he growled, frustration tightening his mouth.

  Morgan shook her head. No. A thousand times no.

  But she feared he was right. Something deep inside her flowered at his words. Hope, need, yearning. It was all there, every bit she’d tried to push down, block from her conscious mind. A part of her—a big part—wanted to gobble up everything he had to offer.

  “Why are you running from yourself ?”

  Andrew’s ugly slurs replayed in Morgan’s head, slashing deep at her self-confidence. You’re depraved. Only a whore wants that!

  As the tension ramped up in her body, so did Jack’s grip on her wrists. He drew one hand from her own to slide against her naked cheek. The warmth of his palm against her cool skin brought her completely back to the present. Back to the fact that Jack lay on top of her, his big body taut and tense and spread out, completely covering her.

  “Why are you the way you are?” she challenged. “Does there have to be a reason?”

  “I can cuff you to this bed,” he growled. “Order your sweet submission, fuck you half the night, and get you off half a dozen times.”

  Desire gouged her belly like a hot sword at his terrible, provocative words. Morgan closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, ignoring her dampening sex, and shook her head. “The only thing I want you to get is the hell off me.”

  She bucked beneath him, trying to throw him off her body. He didn’t budge.

  “I can feel your nipples stabbing my chest and your pussy getting all sweet and damp for me. I’m right, and you know it.”

  “I know you’re pushy! Maybe I don’t want to be ordered or bound or made to submit. Maybe I just want to be touched. Held. In the regular way.”

  He raised a dark brow. “You think you want vanilla sex?”

  “Traditional,” she corrected. “Absolutely.”

  Jack hesitated, his dark eyes scanning her face. The disbelief etched there played havoc with her composure.

  “We have some . . . chemistry. I’m not denying that,” she rattled. “I just think we’d find plenty of pleasure together without the ropes and commands.”

  Staring, Jack appeared to be sorting through the possibilities. Quickly, he came to a conclusion. And he smiled.

  She didn’t trust that wide, white-teethed Cajun grin for an instant.

  “As you wish,” he purred. “Vanilla it is, cher.”

  His capitulation was too easy. Now she really didn’t trust him. “You mean that?”

  “Oui. You’ll get nothing but kisses, gentle fondling, and straight missionary penetration.”

  Jack made it sound dull, damn it, and it wasn’t. It wouldn’t be between them. Still, some weird stab of disappointment ached like a pain in her gut that he’d acquiesced so easily.

  Gosh, did she ever sound contrary. She’d won her way. She ought to be thrilled.

  “Thank you,” Morgan whispered.

  He shrugged and shot her an ironic smile. “I aim to please.”

  Ignoring the hitch of disquiet brewing inside her, she smiled back as Jack released her wrists, moved his legs to allow her own more freedom. The taut coil of his spine relaxed and he settled on top of her, elbows bracing him on either side of her head.

  Jack glided gentle thumbs down her cheekbones and lowered his mouth to hers. Soft. Like a ghost, his lips whispered over her own, neither giving nor taking. Merely existing, soothing with a sweet press of lips, of breaths.

  Morgan closed her eyes and tried to sink into the tender rhythm of the kiss that flowed and lulled and seduced.

  Nice. Wonderful, even. But she wanted . . . more of it.

  It took two to tango, so she could fix that. Reaching around Jack’s head, she filtered her fingers through the soft spikes of his short hair and pressed his lips down on hers. He gave her more—pressure, access, passion. She moaned in the back of her throat.

  The kiss was timeless, endless. The sweet exchange of sighs, the gentle slide of tongues, the total immersion of her senses in him as a man all filled her. Desire rose in lilting waves to wash a soothing sort of want over her. She couldn’t wait to be closer, to touch him . . . but it wasn’t exactly sexual.

  Minutes slid by, one into the other. Still, Jack did nothing more than kiss her, sweep his palms across her cheek, her shoulder. The want inside her began to build to a soft crescendo. Something in her demanded more. Again, she took it.

  Nudging Jack to her side, Morgan nipped her way down his jaw, then pulled away to tug at the belt of his knit robe. She parted the gray jersey material. It landed in a heap on the floor.

  Beneath, she wore the naughty bloodred lingerie with cutouts that revealed both her nipples and sex. What would Jack think?

  A mental image of his growl of lust fired her. She pictured his fierce need overtaking him, compelling him to pin her down, clutch her thighs, spread her open as he thrust his way deep inside her with a lot of passion and very little mercy . . .

  No! No, they were here for traditional sex.

  Shaken by her wayward thoughts, she sent him an uncertain glance. Jack sucked in a sharp breath and his eyes heated from a warm hearth fire to a toasty bonfire.

  “You’re beautiful, cher.” He caressed the slope of her breast with the backs of his fingers, toying with the lace around the bra’s cutouts, skirting around her nipple.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Very much.” He leaned in to drop one sweet kiss on her shoulder.

  Morgan frowned. “You’re not touching me.”

  Jack knew what she wanted. He had to. The ability to read her body was one reason she found him virtually irresistible. Besides the fact that he was brave, could be charming, daring, funny, or tender. But he always knew just how to turn her on.

  “How would you like me to touch you?”

  “Don’t play games,” she bit out.

  “Never. I want your happiness. I’m trying to make sure you get the experience you need.”

  “Just . . . touch me. Make love to me. You understand that.”

  He grinned. “My understanding and yours are different. I’m in somewhat unfamiliar territory. I haven’t done . . . traditional,” he said, using her word, “in years. And never with you. You’ll have to help me out.”

  Morgan crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re being uncooperative.”

  “I’m deferring to your wishes.” Annoyance tinged his voice. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do m
y best.”

  “Touch my body, kiss me—anything you’d normally do without ropes or demands or pain.”

  Jack looked up at the ceiling, appearing to ponder her words. “That gives me a range of activities to choose from. I’ll try.”

  Mollified by his seeming willingness, Morgan leaned forward and peeled off Jack’s shirt, revealing the hard slabs of his pectorals and the firm ridges of his washboard abs sheathed in soft, golden-brown skin. Unable to resist, she sucked his flat male nipple into her mouth. She laved it with her tongue, pulled the point past her lips to nip at it with her teeth.

  He sucked in a sudden breath, and she smiled to see the erection beneath his jeans take shape again. But as she backed away to gauge his reaction, he merely stared at her with a heated question.

  “Doing something like that to me would be great,” she said, trying to answer.

  Nodding, Jack reached out and plucked her nipple with his thumb and finger. Gentle swirls of sensation made their way from her breast to her abdomen. When he repeated the process with her other breast, he garnered the same results.

  Standing hard now, the nubs of her breasts demanded attention.

  “Jack . . .” she entreated.

  Without a word, he closed his mouth around one nipple, circled it with his tongue, sucked the bead past his lips . . . then released it. Again, he did the same to her other breast. Sensation began to tighten inside her. Yes, she wanted. Jack made her want—like crazy usually.

  This wasn’t usual. It was . . . slow. But slow was good. Long ramp-up to an excellent climax, right? A little delayed gratification.

  Except it felt isolating since he wasn’t talking to her.

  Frowning, she placed more kisses down the line bisecting his amazing abs and headed straight for his fly. He made no sound, neither moan nor protest, when she eased his zipper down and slipped his jeans off his hips and onto the floor.

  Morgan moaned. He looked unbelievable naked—a sex god come to life, just for her.

  Once she’d divested him of his clothes, Jack did the same for her, easing the bra straps off her shoulders, then unclasping the garment at the back. He planted tiny, hungry kisses on her belly as he pulled her crotchless panties off her body and tossed them across the room.