Blood Deep (Blackthorn Book 4) (22 page)

He glanced back into her eyes. She saw him hesitate, but the ache between her legs was soon replaced with the rigid girth of his erection as he eased just a little inside her.

Her eyes watered instantly, her nails digging into the palms of her hands within their binds as he pushed, words and thoughts stolen from her as she could see and think of nothing else.

If she’d done it before, she couldn’t remember. If she
had
done it before, she was sure it had never been like this.

It didn’t help when, with the solemn expression of pure sexual intent, he looked down between them to watch himself do it, to watch himself entering her.

‘Let me touch you,’ she whispered. ‘Untie my hands.’

The look in his eyes was one of refusal as he entered her more slowly than she had imagined he would.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, her attention locked only on the sensation of feeling him gradually breaking inside her. It felt painful and exhilarating all at the same time, an excruciating bliss as her body adjusted to his fullness whilst his hand locked onto her hip, keeping her in position, his eyes fixed on watching his entry.

Sex. That was all she’d convinced herself she’d wanted. That’s all she thought him capable of giving her. But contrary to what she’d forced herself to believe, his gentleness spoke of a patient and skilful lover. One who, surprisingly, was coaxing her to relax – coaxing her to allow him full entry without warranting what would inevitably be a painful thrust.

It was a tenderness that caused an unfamiliar stirring inside her again – something she didn’t want to feel. Because the pleasure was all-consuming enough, but to see him as the potential for anything more was truly self-inflicted cruelty far beyond what she knew she could handle.

J
essie’s breaths were heavy
, her skin uncharacteristically warm, her trembling exacerbating his need to take her there and then.

Eden’s groin tightened at how wet she was, yet how enticingly uptight nonetheless. It didn’t help that her anxious clenching, albeit involuntary, only made entering her all the more pleasurable, making him painfully aware of her tightness compared to his girth as he eased a little deeper inside her. She was the perfect blend of willingness and tension that sent his arousal soaring. His thigh muscles strained as he struggled to hold back, as he wavered over pushing harder. Because her resistance was purely physical, seemingly one of unfamiliarity, whereas her eyes anything but. Knowing he
could
thrust only shoved him closer to the edge of temptation. She would struggle at first, but then she
would
relent as he brought her to the edge of orgasm.

And he so wanted to do that for her – to give her that pleasure, that release, that moment of freedom that no one could touch.

He tightened his grip on the belt as he clutched her hip. He slowed his pace a little more, felt her start to accept him an inch at a time, every little bit further adding to the ecstasy. Still she wasn’t relaxing enough though. Even as he was gliding in and out of her, edging deeper, she wasn’t giving in.

He was starting to suspect that it wasn’t just the unfamiliarity of him that was holding her back physically, but maybe the unfamiliarity of sex itself. He wanted to ask her. He wanted to know if he was her first – wondered if it would even be possible in that place. How Pummel, in particular, would have kept his hands off her. But he knew there was also a possibility that, as well as being able to heal others, she self-healed. Maybe every part of her. Whatever the truth was, he wasn’t willing to ruin the moment by raking through her history or reminding her of her situation. He wasn’t going to risk anything pulling her away from him.

He pushed a little more, watched her stretch her neck further over the bed, the moonlight bathing her collarbone to the upward mounds of her breasts as she arched her back into him, her hardened nipples caressed by the cool air. As he toyed with them under his tongue, took their delicacy, their pliability, between his teeth, her groans sent ripples of pleasure through him. As he’d hoped, she arched her back more, allowing him to penetrate even deeper.

Once she finally started to relax, he braced himself with his belt-holding hand again, switched from her now closed eyes to watching the gentle movement in her firm breasts as he began to pick up pace. He let her hip go to brace his arm on the bed; closed his own eyes so he could relish in the sensation for himself.

‘You don’t have to be gentle with me,’ she whispered.

He snatched his gaze back to hers.

‘I don’t want you to be,’ she added.

He didn’t want to believe it, he didn’t even want to think it, but thoughts of entrapment slipped into his head again. But just as he’d told her, he’d know if she was faking – and there wasn’t one fake thing in her responses right then.

‘For me,’ she confirmed, those eyes now enticingly glossy. ‘It’ll make it easier for me if you’re not.’

Those few words betrayed more than he wanted to face.

He might have called her cruel for her entrapment back in the lock-up, but there was nothing cruel in those eyes. She had been scared, desperate, frustrated, and clutching for her survival. Now she was scared of something else. She was scared of how she was feeling.

His mask had slipped – and he’d been so relaxed, so caught up in the moment with her, that he’d not even realised it. He’d not realised that, although his tender sexual manipulation up to that point had been about drawing her closer to get what he ultimately needed, a part of him had seeped out with it.
Making love
to her was too strong a term – too alien a term for as long as he could remember, if he’d ever experienced it at all, if he was even capable of it – but still this felt different. He knew it because just the thought of hurting her felt wrong, even, as she had asked, for her own emotional needs.

His uncharacteristic hesitation wasn’t simply because he wasn’t convinced she truly knew what she asking though. It was because he knew that his consent to her request
could
forge the barrier she was clearly hoping for, the barrier he was working hard to break.

She was nowhere near ready to see that side of him – the side of him that even
he
didn’t want to face right then. He should have pulled away at that point, but not only did he know his rejection could hurt her; it could subsequently divide them again – potentially beyond repair.

‘I told you,’ she whispered, snagging his attention again. ‘I’m not delicate.’ She raked her gaze slowly and invitingly down his chest, before her brown eyes met his again. ‘I liked it – the way you were by the pool table. I thought you could tell.’

And she had. That much was undeniable.

Or she simply didn’t know any different.

He tightened his grip on the belt, held her hip down further into the bed, the slight flare in her eyes, the parting of her lips, helping him reconsider.

She was a job, just a job, and over and over and over again he had to remind himself of it. He’d fucked more women than he could remember in more places than he could recall. He’d performed sexual acts without second thought. He’d thrived on the high of brief encounters as much as repeated favourites. He’d detached himself from emotional complication because
that’s
what he did.

And right then, her heart was a complication they could both do without. More to the point, so was his. So if she wanted to bury both somewhere dark, somewhere inaccessible, he could play along.

But he’d do it without letting her be tainted by the dark side of him.

Lowering his head, tensing his thigh muscles, he thrust in one, long, hard and unrelenting move, pushing deep to the hilt.

She cried out, forcing him to slam his hand down over her mouth to remind her to be silent.

She nodded, her eyes watering.

‘Don’t make me gag you too,’ he warned.

He removed his hand slowly, using it instead to brace himself as he continued to thrust.

He wanted to loosen the belt, to free her hands – to feel them caressing him, stroking him, grabbing him. But he wouldn’t allow himself that intimacy. He couldn’t afford to allow himself that intimacy.

As she shuddered beneath him, bit into her bottom lip to keep herself silent, he clasped her breast, massaged her trembling flesh as he thumbed her nipple more vigorously before consuming her with his mouth again.

She snatched back another breath, the flare in her eyes escalating his arousal, let alone the feel of her taut thighs trembling either side of his as he watched himself thrust deep inside her before withdrawing to enter her again and again.

Losing himself, he thrust harder – harder than he should have dared, all but ramming himself inside her. He knew there was a risk of splitting the fine sheath of protective barrier between them but he didn’t care. Just the thought of being flesh on flesh inside of her sent shivers through him. Because he never went without protection. Ever. But right then he could have withdrawn, gladly peeled it off and re-entered her slowly to feel every exquisite sensation.

The prospect tipped him to the edge. Heat consumed his veins. Every muscle tensed. He could feel her clenching too – could feel the impact his increased fervour had created.

Easing back onto his haunches, he kept her thighs spread around his as he pulled her up into his lap. Guiding her still bound wrists over his head, he brought her mouth dangerously close to his – close enough to kiss. Instead he gripped her neck, her waist, resolved he wanted that extra piece of her.

He let go of the nape of her neck to clutch her jaw. ‘Your turn to fuck
me
,’ he declared, staring deep into her eyes as his terse breaths infused with hers. ‘Slowly and
quietly
.’

H
e’d said
it with a vehemence she couldn’t refuse, the command as enthralling as the intensity in his eyes.

She used what strength she had left in her aching thighs to ease herself up just a few inches, the movement making her even more aware of the hard girth still inside of her. Revelling in the tension in his shoulders, the warmth of his smooth skin, the light perspiration coating him, she pushed back down a couple of inches.

His hand tightened on the nape of her neck again, his arm that had been around the small of her back now clutching her behind in order to retain a semblance of control as she eased down further. She soon found her rhythm, stroking him with the tense muscles of her inner sex, knowing her steadiness was goading him as much as allowing herself to linger in the pleasure of his hardness, the feel of him breaking inside the soft pliability of her flesh again and again.

In that moment she was free – without fear, without restriction, without responsibility. And as she eased him as deep inside her as she could manage, she felt only him, looked back at him to see his stubbled jaw was tight, his teeth clenched.

‘Take your contacts out,’ he said.

She shook her head. ‘I can’t risk losing them.’

‘What are you, Jessie?’

‘I told you – more trouble than I’m worth.’

‘Well, you’re the best trouble I’ve ever had.’

She smiled – a smile he reciprocated, creating a moment that she found dangerously reassuring.

She broke from his gaze to lower her head slightly. She closed her eyes as she picked up momentum, his grasp on her behind tightening as he grabbed her with both hands, squeezed and massaged her firm flesh, his breaths hot and heavy against her ear.

And she wanted to stay like it, locked in that perfect moment with him. She wanted to forget everything else, to feel that free forever. But she was riding the crest of an impossible fantasy – allowing herself the indulgence only to maintain any semblance of daily depleting hope.

‘All the way,’ he commanded, moving one hand from her behind to clasp the back of her neck again, squeezing as if warning her that, if she didn’t, he would.

She eased herself down further but, at the same time, without even thinking about it, placed her first kiss on his neck just behind his ear.

He stilled as if stunned by the show of tenderness.

Her heart leapt, it never having crossed her mind until then. She’d focused only on how he treated women – not on how women treated him.

He almost seemed uncertain amidst the unfamiliarity of the show of affection.

But he didn’t shove her away as she moved in for another one. Brushing her lips gently across his hot skin, she lingered over his pulse, his stubble rough against her lips as she traced her kisses down his neck, licking away his perspiration.

He coiled his fingers in the hair at her nape, tugging her head back slightly so she was forced to look in his eyes. ‘You wanted distance,’ he reminded her.

But she
had
to ask. She
had
to know. ‘Who are you?
What
are you? Because you don’t belong here.’

‘Because?’

‘Because of how this feels.’

‘And how does it feel, Jessie?

The word slipped from her lips too easily. ‘Good.’

He gripped her behind tighter, resuming control. ‘Bad can feel good, Jessie. Bad can feel as good as it can get.’

And he thrust, filling her completely again.

She clenched her hands in their restraint, her knuckles pale as she lowered her head to his shoulder, surrendering to the shivers sweeping through her body. Just when she thought it had got too much, he only thrust deeper. Panting, she buried her mouth in his neck as she eased into the excruciating bliss.

Hand still clutching the nape of her neck, his next thrust ignited sparks behind her eyes. As heat swept through her body, she clamped her jaw down over the soft leather of the belt to silence her cries.

And she froze.

So did he.

She hadn’t noticed he’d unfastened her zip. Didn’t have any idea until she felt his warm hand slip up her bare back.

She snatched back a breath, stared ahead at the wall. Tears instantly welled in her eyes as, amidst more pleasure than she could ever recollect, came the hardest stab of emotional pain.