The Innocent: FBI Psychics, Book 2 (9 page)

The words were trapped in her throat, but it didn’t matter because his mouth was on hers, his tongue stealing between her lips.

How could she tell him she’d come for this when she’d never been able to
have
this?

That the feel of hands skimming around her back and pulling her close, like he’d just done, was completely alien?

And completely delightful.

She whimpered as he pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck as his hand cradled the back of her head. “How do you feel?” he muttered, rubbing his lips across hers. “Should I stop?”

Stop?

If he stopped, she was going to cry.

As it was, the way she felt when he pushed his thigh between hers was almost more than she could bear and she arched against him, wiggling, ready to push him to his back and ride him like a cowgirl. She clutched at him, her fingers digging into his arms, her nails digging into his skin as the friction of his thigh dragging back and forth teased, taunted.

She dragged her nails down his chest, curled them over his waistband.

Now.

That was all she could think.

Now.

“Jay?”

He tugged harder on her head and she looked up at him, her eyes struggling to focus. “What?” It ripped out of her, half snarl, half sob and her entire body trembled as she struggled not to rock against him, not to ride and chase after the ache that threatened to drive her insane.

“Do I stop?” he muttered again, this time whispering the question against her mouth.

“Stop?” She glared at him. “If you stop, I’m going to hurt you.”

“You ought to rest.” He feathered his thumb over the shallow cut he’d bandaged. There was still a little blood that had dried in her hair and she could feel the dull ache of a headache, a vision that had hit her too hard, too fast. Not to mention the ominous weight of what was waiting for her.
Behind the curtain
, she thought, a shiver racing through her. It wasn’t ready for her to see yet, and even if she tried to push for more, it wouldn’t come out. Not until it was time.

Yes, she should rest.

Yes, they should talk.

But as she ran her hands up the wall of his chest and hooked them behind his neck, she knew once they did, this was over. This wouldn’t happen.

For once in her life, she wanted to feel. To know what it was like to have a man’s hands glide over her and experience nothing but the utter bliss of his touch, none of his emotions bleeding in, none of his thoughts, none of his doubts.

She wanted to know what it was like to feel a body pressing against hers and to know she was wanted.

Just once.

Maybe this chance would never come up again, but at least she had the chance
now.
Morning would come and the truth would come out and she’d have to face it. She’d deal with it then.

Rising onto her toes, she pressed her lips to his. “I can rest any time.” She could rest any other night other than now and she could be alone any other night other than now. “Right now, I just want to be with you.”

His hands came around her waist, pulled her up against him and her eyes closed at the utter bliss of it.

Even as her heart started to break.

If that’s what you are, what you had to tell me…I…fuck, I’m glad that’s not why you’re here.

Jay seemed to come alive under his hands and, if he hadn’t caught her hands, if he hadn’t slowed her down, he suspected she might have tried to pull him to her right there, with the counter against her hips and his jeans still around his ass.

If he were smart, he’d just stop this.

But for the first time in two months, there was something else in his head besides the grief and the ache and the misery. For one night, he could let that go, couldn’t he?

Tomorrow was time enough to go back to tearing this town apart, searching for answers.

Her fingers, cool as silk, closed around his cock and he groaned as she worked his jeans down with her free hand. “Slow down, darlin’,” he muttered, capturing her wrists and drawing them back. “Slow down.”

“I don’t want slow.”

He laughed hoarsely. “Slow isn’t going to happen. But we can do better than this.” He grimaced and looked around. The shower wasn’t a bad place, but fuck. “Damn it, I don’t know if I even have any condoms here.”

“I…” Her eyes darted away. “Stupid to even discuss this, I know. Grown adults should be smarter and all, but I’m on the pill. Necessary. I’m clear on everything else. We get physicals in my line of work pretty often.” She shrugged casually as she said it, her eyes moving down to watch as her hands roamed down his pectorals.

He shuddered as she scraped her nails over his nipples. “Yes. Grown adults should be smart. I don’t feel smart. It’s been close to three years since I was with anybody and I used a condom then—had a physical when I renewed my life insurance and we shouldn’t even be having this conversation.” He paused, stared into her vivid green eyes. “Are we going to be stupid?”

“Damn straight.”

She whimpered as he stroked his thumbs up to the V of her thighs. Through her jeans and panties, he could feel the heat of her and he wanted nothing more than to just strip her naked and fuck her, right there.

Instead, he freed the button of her jeans, tugged them down, along with her panties. When she went to touch him, he had to catch her hands again because if she touched him again, now that she was naked, he was going to just forget anything and everything but being inside her.

“Into the shower,” he said, pressing a kiss to her mouth, smiling as a long, slow shudder rocked her. She did that, a lot, like his touch was something that sent her very world quaking.

Dealing with his jeans, he urged her into the enclosure and turned on the jets. It was programmed to the temperature he preferred, and he watched as her eyes closed in bliss. He was going to enjoy this, slicking her down with his soap, washing her hair. As he slicked the shampoo through her pink- and blue-streaked hair, he was caught off-guard. The rainbow of color washed out and she smiled at him, a sleepy, sexy smile that turned his dick to stone and his heart to mush. “Hair chalk,” she said softly. “I don’t always have the sort of job that lets me walk around with pink and blue hair. Plus sometimes I want orange or green. Or orange and pink.”

“You’re into variety,” he murmured, rinsing the shampoo from strands made dark gold by the water.

He eased closer to the gash, checked the bandage. “Feel okay?” he asked, painfully aware of the rasp in his voice.

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Just sore.”

He nodded, told himself he should finish this up, tuck her in bed.

He wouldn’t though, not unless that was what she wanted.

He turned her around, stroked his hands down her naked back. Pale skin, swirls of ink. “All these tattoos,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the vining roses that climbed up her spine. “They drive me nuts. Why roses?”

Her breath skittered out of her on a sigh and she glanced back at him, her hair dripping in her eyes. “My grandmother…reminds me of her. Happy memories. There were roses that climbed up the wall to the window of the room where I stayed when I visited.”

There were a lot of roses.

And thorns. Many thorns. “And the thorns?”

“For the pain.” Her eyes clouded and she looked back at the wall. “A lot of it, growing up. I put a thorn for the really bad memories.”

He had counted nearly three dozen thorns.

“When did you start doing these?” He pressed his lips to the deep, deep red rose blooming over one shoulder.

“When I was twenty-five.”

He paused, his hands tightening on her hips. Just what could linger over from childhood that a woman of twenty-five would feel the need to mark her flesh like this? Over and over? “Are the thorns done?”

For a long, long moment, she was quiet, the only sound the water raining down around them. Then she sighed, pressing her brow to the wall in front of her. “No. I’ll never be done, Linc.”

She turned around then and slid her hands around his waist, plastering her wet, naked body to his. “I don’t want to talk about the roses, the thorns… I don’t want to talk at all. I want you. Just you.”

He hesitated. In the back of his mind he suspected this was a mistake. There were things he needed to do, things they needed to say. And he couldn’t help but think how he planned on dragging this fucking town down with him. Into the pits of a very real hell. Making everybody who’d turned their backs on his daughter suffer.

Jay’s hands came up, cupped his face. “One night,” she whispered. Her lips were cool, soft against his, and the water slicked their bodies together. “We can have one night.”

One night.

He banded his arm around her waist and hauled her against him.

With his free hand, he fumbled and managed to turn off the shower.

If they only had the one night, he’d have her in his bed.

Where he’d dreamed of just this.

He moved out of the shower and she almost made him forget his intentions, almost made him lose his mind as she slid against him, wet and slick, the folds of her sex parting around him as she arched and moved, wiggling almost desperately.

“Now,” she muttered, leaning in to sink her teeth into his lower lip.

“Bed.” He cupped her ass in his hands, let himself explore those plump, ripe curves as he moved through the bathroom into his bedroom. He knew the way in the dark. Many a night he had paced the floors of his home, although it hadn’t happened quite like this.

Determined to keep his thoughts off that, he focused on Jay.

Coming to the bed, he put her on the wide, unmade surface and shoved the sheets, the comforter back. Robyn, his housekeeper, had quit after almost thirty years of working in the Mont Oak. That had been three weeks ago and, since then, the place had developed dust piles upon dust piles, although he did manage get through the basics—his own laundry, cooking when he had to eat.

Making beds was a waste of time, though. Except right now, he wished he had made the bed. Seen her spread out on his comforter of navy, with all that bright hair fanned out to frame her face, her bold green eyes watching him as he kissed his way down her torso.

Her nails bit into his shoulders as he pressed a kiss to her naval, traced a line down to her hip. Down, down, down until he could part the neatly trimmed curls with his tongue.

She was hot and wet and when he licked her, she arched up against him with a broken cry.

He circled her clit with his tongue, listened as his name caught on her lips in a sigh. Stroking one hand up her leg, he speared two fingers together and pressed against her. She resisted at first then yielded, closing around him hot and tight. A sound, startled, hot and sweet, fell from her lips. The next sound was muffled and he shot a look up at her just in time to see her shoving her hand against her mouth to smother the cry.

It was too much.

After years of feeling next to nothing, of
forcing
herself to feel next to nothing, now she was feeling everything and it was more than she could stand. One big hand slid under her ass, arched her up. The other… She shivered as he pumped his wrist, stroking his fingers in and out. Each scrape of his fingers over sensitive tissues dragged her higher, pushed her closer to a precipice she wasn’t sure she’d survive.

Abruptly, he stopped and she caught her breath as he came over her, dragging her wrist away from her mouth and twining their fingers together. “I want to hear you,” he growled against her lips. “Every broken sound. Every moan. Every scream. Whatever you feel, I want to hear it.” He dipped his head and licked her lips. “Don’t hide it from me.”

Stripped bare, she stared up at him as he shifted and reached down between them, tucking the head of his cock against her.

Oh, shit
.

Stunned, she stared up at him. Felt him pressing harder.

The burning started.

She caught her breath, tried to blank her features as the burning gave way to the promise of real pain.

His hand on hers tightened. “Relax, Jay…” He dipped his head, rubbed his lips against hers. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Has it been a while?”

She managed to suck in a breath, tried not to whimper as he pulled out and surged in, deeper this time and that promise of pain became
real
pain. “Yeah. A while,” she tried to say.

It died in her throat as a startled cry ripped out of her.

He stiffened, slowly rising up, his weight braced on one elbow as he stared down at her.

“Jay?”

Her breath came in harsh, ragged gasps.

She could feel the hot wall of his chest against hers, her hair, still damp from the shower, clinging to her skull, and worst of all—or maybe best of all—she could feel him, the thick, heavy column of his cock, pulsing inside her. She twisted against him as another slow pulse echoed between them, a delicious little tease and a hot little pain all at once.

Linc groaned and reached down, steadying her with one hand on her hip. “Stop it, Jay. Look at me.”