Fury of Desire (46 page)

An order given. A message received, and… oooh, baby. Did he deliver, stealing her breath, circling his hips, pressing so deep he rubbed just… the right… spot. She tittered on the brink a moment, unable to breathe as Wick dipped his head. The heat of his mouth touched her skin an instant before the sharp edge of his teeth scraped her throat. He nipped her pulse point, and ecstasy arced, lashing her with white-hot pleasure. Suspended in glory, J. J. screamed his name. Wick shouted, muscles tensing, body throbbing, coming deep inside her.

As he twitched against her, she wrapped him up and held him close. He sighed and settled warm and heavy against her—hips pressed between her thighs, strong arms around her, his face tucked against her throat. Trusting her completely. Giving J. J. her due. Relaxing into her embrace as he drifted into the heated curl of afterglow.

So amazing. Unbelievable. It was beyond anything.

J. J. hummed in satisfaction. She loved making love to him. But holding him in the aftermath? Having him in her arms, skin-to-skin and heart-to-heart? Pure heaven. And as he murmured her name, she whispered back, her heart so full she could hardly contain it. Beautiful man. Incredible in so many ways, and as repletion drew her into relaxation, she pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, so very thankful he belonged to her.

Or at least, he would… when she got done with him.

Too sated to move, Wick lay in the shelter of his female’s arms. Still deep inside her, unwilling to leave the warmth of her body, he breathed her in, loving the richness of her scent along with the fact she no longer smelled of another male. Ridiculous, he knew. Unconscious from blood loss, Forge hadn’t touched her. No sex involved. Just the touch of her hands, a connection that allowed Jamison to share her life-saving energy. Exactly what his brother-in-arms needed to heal and rebound.

Knowing it, however, didn’t make it any easier to bear.

He hadn’t been able to stand it. Had needed to wipe all trace of Forge from her skin by replacing it with his own. Stupid. Possessive. Irrational. But there it was… his dragon half out in full force, being bitchy even in the face of his comrade’s need.

But it was over, and now she lay in his arms. His for the taking. His for the loving. His in the here and now… in a very public place. Wick grimaced. Fucking hell. He’d made love to her in the middle of the gym. Under the bright lights, on an exercise mat, in the shadow of a basketball net where anyone might open the door and see them.

Not the smartest move.

Then again, he hadn’t been thinking straight at the time. And right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. She felt too good against him, and as he nestled in, Wick took another breath. His mouth curved against the side of her neck. Cinnamon and spiced candy. It never failed. Her natural essence suited her. Called to him. Made him yearn and commit it to memory, imprinting it on his senses and in his heart. He needed to remember everything. Every last detail. How she tasted, the way she smelled, the softness of
her skin, and how well she fit in his arms… so delicate yet oh-so-perfect.

Small things. Big impact.

Each one must last him a lifetime. Endure years without fading. Tide him over and bridge time, allowing him to remember her with perfect recall. He knew it would come to that… to disappointment and the inevitability of good-bye. She would leave. A female of her caliber would never choose a male like him. Wick accepted it with certainty, but instead of making it easy, doing the right thing and pushing her away, he hung on tight. A few more minutes. Maybe an hour if he got lucky. After that, he’d find the strength to let her go. To allow her the life she deserved instead of the one he could give her, and then learn to survive.

Without her.

It wouldn’t be easy. He mourned her already. Losing her would hurt like hell. It would be easier to ignore the truth, but Wick refused to lie to himself. There was no going back. No chance of erasing the last few days. He didn’t want to anyway. Jamison made it impossible to regret meeting her. Instead, he felt grateful. Such a short amount of time, and yet, her impact on him was undeniable. Irrefutable. Incredible too. He hadn’t believed himself capable of loving a female. But fact didn’t allow for fiction. He loved her deep, loved her true, craved her in ways he didn’t understand yet somehow knew to be right.

A bitch of a thing. Especially while faced with the prospect of leaving her.

Fingers stroking through the soft strands of her hair, Wick pressed his mouth to her pulse point. A gentle kiss against her skin. A tough good-bye said in silence. An
excellent reminder of what he must do. Taking a fortifying breath, he raised his head and lost his heart all over again.

Fuck, she was pretty.

Lifting his hand from her hair, he traced her eyebrow with his fingertip. She sighed as he drew a gentle circle on her temple, then drifted down over the curve of her cheek. Eyes closed, relaxed in his arms, she accepted his touch, turning her face into his palm. So trusting. Too vulnerable. Beyond beautiful. Unable to resist, he leaned in and brushed his mouth against hers. She hummed in welcome, allowing him to play, one hand caressing his nape while the other moved over his shoulder. Her touch made him needy. Her taste made him kiss her again, long, slow, and sweet. As he tangled his tongue with hers, Wick called himself a fool. Nothing good would come from putting off the discussion. Best to get it over with, instead of prolonging the unavoidable. But as he drew away, she opened her eyes and met his gaze head-on.

Which… shit on a stick… made him kiss her again.

How long it went on, Wick didn’t know. A minute? Ten? He lost track somewhere after the second kiss. Not surprising. Half the time he couldn’t remember his own name around her, but with her hands in his hair and her taste in his mouth? Sad to say, but sensible didn’t stand a chance.

Mustering every ounce of willpower he owned, Wick turned his face away. She grumbled in protest. He cleared his throat. “Jamison, we need to talk.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, touching her fingertip to his bottom lip. “Forget about sending me away. I’m not going anywhere.”

Wick blinked as surprise blindsided him. He hadn’t expected that, but as he met her gaze, he saw the acceptance.
Along with a shitload of determination. He frowned, trying to make sense of her reaction. No way should she be…

Jesus. He didn’t understand. “It would be better if you left.”

“For whom?” Both brows arched, she gave him a no-nonsense look. “You or me?”

“You.”

“Not true. I’m exactly where I need to be… right here with you.”

“
Vanzäla,
” he said, despair creeping into his tone. Shifting against her, he brushed a renegade lock of hair away from her temple and shook his head. “I’m trying to do right by you… give you an easy out. A way to—”

“I don’t want one. And if you’re honest with yourself, neither do you.”

“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what you need.”

With a curse, Wick planted his hand on the mat and pushed away from her. He needed some space. A lot of it. No way could he hold the line while touching her. But as he left the cradle of her thighs, she refused to let him go. Giving him a shove, she sat him down, and throwing a leg over, straddled him. Wick twitched. Small hands pressed to his chest, she nestled in, setting her exquisite ass in his lap and… Jesus help him. So much for holding out. He couldn’t help himself. He palmed her waist, reveling in the softness of her skin, temptation urging him to toss aside hesitation and claim her for his own.

He went the honest route instead. “Jesus, Jamison. I’m not built for this shit. I don’t know how to be your mate. I’ll fuck it up. I’ll hurt you without meaning to and ruin everything.”

“Bullshit,” she said, her bad language surprising him. Again. Par for the course, he guessed. At least, for the current conversation, ’cause… wow. Everything she said seemed to shock the hell out of him today. “I don’t accept that. You wanna know why?”

“Tell me,” he murmured, unwilling to shut her down.

A bad decision? Probably. But hope was a bastard with an axe to grind—amping him up, making his heart pound, whispering softly until he dared to believe that maybe… just
maybe
… Jamison might want him as her mate. A long shot? No contest. It was a Hail Mary pass in a losing game, but regardless of the outcome, he wanted to hear what she had to say.

Leaning in, she set her mouth to the corner of his. A quick brush of her lips. A faster retreat. Hardly a kiss at all, but… shit. It proved effective, grabbing his attention like nothing else could. “Nothing is perfect, Wick. The best things in life don’t come easy. They take commitment and hard work, and you know what else?”

Focus raptor sharp, he stared at her. “What else?”

“Everybody screws up…
everybody.
” A furrow between her brows, she trailed her fingers over his collarbone and scanned his face. The worry in her eyes almost did him in. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to free her, provide her with opportunity instead of hemming her in. But as she chewed on her bottom lip, Wick lost his way. Right. Wrong. He couldn’t tell one from the other anymore. “I’m a prime example, the poster girl for doing it all wrong. So I want you to listen to me…
hear
me when I tell you… I’m not looking for perfect. Easy doesn’t interest me, but you do. All I want is to be with you. Just you. No one else.”

Struggling to believe, Wick swallowed hard. “You barely know me.”

“I know you better than you think.” Taking his hand from her waist, she turned his wrist out, revealing the scar on his forearm. He tensed, fisting his hand, trying to pull away, not wanting her to see it. Or ask what it meant. Her grip firmed, holding him still while she traced the brand with her fingertips. “I know where you’ve been. I’ve seen your past.”

“Impossible.” No way. Jesus help him. She couldn’t possibly know.

“God’s honest truth.” Eyes steady on his, her fingertips danced across his puckered skin. Sorrow clogged his throat, making his eyes sting, resurrecting the past while he burned with shame. Cupping his jaw, Jamison shook her head. “Stop it. You have nothing to be ashamed about. What happened to you was done without your consent, neither was it your choice. If I could go back and kill the bastard again for hurting you, I would. Ten times over.”

Fuck him. He couldn’t breathe. Didn’t know how to respond, never mind feel. He never intended to tell her, but somehow, some way, she’d unearthed the truth. “How… I don’t understand.”

“Energy-fuse,” she said. “I feel you… hear you… like a heartbeat. You shared your past without knowing it… through the bond we share… and guess what? I’m still here. It doesn’t scare me and neither do you.”

Her admission laid him bare, cracked him open, leaving him without protection. From the hope. From the need. From the certain knowledge that despite his past, she claimed him for her future. And as the floodgates opened,
his throat closed, leaving him unable to do anything other than whisper her name.

“Please, Wick. Don’t shut me out. Don’t send me away. I want you for my own.” Tears in her eyes, she pressed her palm to his chest, right over his heart. “You belong to me, and I love you. Nothing else matters.”

Undone by her, Wick folded beneath the onslaught. He couldn’t resist her. Or deny his need. He’d tried to be honorable. Had made an attempt to do what he believed was right. But Jamison disagreed, and honestly? He wanted her too badly. Was too weak to turn away from all she offered. So he accepted instead. Bowed to fate along with her wishes. “You deserve so much better than me.”

“Then earn it,” she whispered, holding him close, her cheek against his. “Be with me. Accept me. Love me, Wick. That’s all I ask. All I’ll ever need.”

“I do love you.”

“Then it’s settled. I stay.”

Gratitude hit him like a body shot, punching through to his heart. “You stay. But I want something in return.”

“What’s that?”

“Marry me,
vanzäla
… in the way of my kind.” Hands flat against her back, he kissed her collarbone and raised his head. “Stand in the sacred circle with me, say the vows and—”

“Yes.” Sky-blue eyes alight with pleasure, she smiled. “Just tell me when.”

“Now.”

She blinked. “Really? What about the rotunda, the ceremony, all the fancy froufrou stuff?”

“Nothing but bells and whistles.”

Her mouth curved. “No need for any of that.”

He grinned back, and tightening his hold on her, pushed to his feet and swung her into his arms. She settled like a gift, warm and willing against him as he stepped off the edge of the exercise mat. Chilly floors brushing his bare soles, he walked to the middle of the basketball court. As he put her down at its center, anticipation thrummed through him. Soon. In just minutes, she would belong to him.

No second guessing. No going back. His mate in every way that mattered.

Drawing his hands from her, he took a step back. Magic flared, prickling over his palms as he conjured the first stone. Oval in shape with smooth, round edges, the heavy weight settled in his palm. His gaze on hers, he placed it on the floor, then called forth another. And then another. Until eleven identical multicolored gemstones formed a perfect circle around his female. With a murmur, he opened a channel to the Meridian and evoked the spell, imbuing each of the eleven with the source that fed all living things.