White Fire: Timewalker Chronicles, Book 5 (17 page)

“I know.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward, her lips hovering just above his mouth, savoring the sweet anticipation of sampling him again. She stared down into his dark eyes and told the truth. “I don’t care. I want you anyway.”

Unable to resist another moment, she closed the distance and traced the outline of his lips with the tip of her tongue. God, he tasted good. “I want you, Ajax. Right now.” She kissed his cheek and his chin. “I know we’ll never be Marked Mates. I know. And I don’t care. I want all of you, just this one time.”

“You already told me no.”

“Yes. But a girl is entitled to change her mind.” She kissed a trail of soft caresses across his cheekbone to his ear, every whispered word from her lips were pressed there in a hot rush of air. She wrapped her arms around his head and leaned forward so the lace of her bra pressed flat to his chest. “Come on, Ajax. One time. No one else ever has to know.”

His entire body hummed beneath her, tight as a bowstring, and she sensed that he was on the edge. She was more than prepared to give him one more push.

Sitting back, she settled her weight more firmly against his cock. She held his gaze as she shrugged out of the robe, and reached behind her and unhooked her bra. Loose now, the thin straps slid from her shoulders to rest halfway down her upper arms. All she needed to do to bare herself was drop her hands.

So she did. She wiggled out of the undergarment, her breasts thrust up at Ajax in blatant offering. He didn’t look away from her, his gaze intense and focused utterly and completely on her mouth. Naked from the waist up and completely exposed to him, Emma slid her hands slowly from his wrists, over his muscular forearms to his shoulders. She cupped his jaw and lowered her lips to his. “I’m not a child. I’m a woman and I know what I want. I don’t need forever, Ajax. I just need right now. I just need you to make me burn.”

God, she wanted his shirt gone, wanted to experience the heat of his bare skin rubbing all over hers. The empty ache between her legs was a painful throb that drove her to tilt her hips so she could grind against him.

The electric contact made her forget to breathe. She lowered her mouth to his and placed a hard, demanding kiss on his firm lips. He didn’t move. Why hadn’t he moved? Why wasn’t he touching her? Was he punishing her for her earlier rejection of him? Was he worried she’d change her mind again? Be angry with him after? Was guilt trapping his arms at his sides, or caution?

She didn’t want his honor, his conscience, or his pride to steal this moment from her. Couldn’t a King have a one-night stand?

Abandoning his lips, she lowered her mouth to his neck so she could reach down to the couch and find his clenched fists where they remained so close to her flesh that she could feel the heat radiating from them on her thighs. So close, but not touching.

That wasn’t acceptable.

Slowly she slid her much smaller fingers up over the tightly closed fingers of each of his fists, lightly traced the backs of his hands and enjoyed the texture and feel of them, so much bigger and stronger than her own. She curled her hands around his to grip them and lifted them from the couch to move them slowly up and down the tops of her bare thighs, using his limbs to touch herself the way she wanted him to pet her.

He didn’t pull away or fight her for control so she held on and raised his hands to the sides of her waist, then higher, pressing his closed fists to her bare breasts.

She held them there and leaned forward to press her lips to his over and over, two words her mantra between kisses as she rubbed his fingers up and down, up and down over her hard nipples, as each orchestrated trip of his hand stole more of her air. “Touch me.”

He didn’t move.

Emma was on the verge of complete and utter despair. She would seduce, entice or demand, but she would not beg. She lowered his hands back to the couch and released him.

Fine. He’d obviously changed his mind since he’d pushed against the wall in her bedroom and kissed her senseless. Now she could add physical rejection to his most excellent resume of hurting her, and she’d find another man to give her what she needed.

She twisted her head around to locate her dropped robe. She dismissed him from her mind, ignored him as if he were a statue or a painting on the wall. All she was focused on now was her exit.

There was no easy way to get off his lap, so she braced her hands on his shoulders and lifted one knee from the couch so she could get off this crazy train as quickly as possible.

God damn it. What the hell was wrong with him? No, what was wrong with her? She pulled away from him, breaking the contact everywhere at once and cold air rushed in to mock her nakedness. Okay. So, maybe this hadn’t been the most well thought-out plan she’d ever come up with. She’d get over it, try to forget about it, and move on. She didn’t do drama or self-pity parties. She was a big girl. She’d made a play and it hadn’t worked.

It hurt like hell and the sexual frustration threatened to buckle her knees, but she’d deal. So be it.

Before she knew what was happening, his hands were tangled in her hair and he pulled her back down. Grip unbreakable, he held her still, their faces nearly touching. His arms were trembling, and she was shocked to see the stoic mask was gone. In its place was the face of a male on the edge of control. “Are you sure, Emma? This is what you want?”

“Yes.” All the air had long ago deserted her lungs and she found that all she could manage was that one word. He held her head still and the instant her body realized he wasn’t going to let her go, it reset. She settled her weight onto his lap again, her momentary doubts melted away under his command. Every cell in her body hungered. For touch. For relief. For him.

His gaze locked with hers and he looked deeply into her eyes as he closed the distance between them. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t close her eyes. She was trapped in the heat of his gaze, paralyzed by the raw hunger he no longer hid from her. Something feral and wild awakened under his gaze, under his control, a newly born fire in her gut that demanded more fuel, more contact, more…just more.

Their kiss exploded through her like a blast of dynamite. She didn’t feel him move, too caught up in the sensual bliss of his lips crushing hers, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth and the strength of his arms as they locked her to him.

The soft loops of her area rug tickled her body as he laid her down on the floor and knelt beside her. Vision glazed, she whimpered in protest as he pulled away from her long enough to undress. But the tigress in her settled at the first sight of his bare chest and rippled stomach. She settled and allowed herself to enjoy the visual feast as he kicked off his boots. His pants followed and he stood for the second time before her, naked and magnificent.

Instead of reaching for him, she lifted her arms over her head and arched her body before him, putting herself on display in a blatant offering.

He dropped to his knees, but did not cover her as she’d hoped. He knelt at her feet and reached for the last barrier between them, the thin peach-colored piece of satin and lace that covered her. She lifted her hips and he slid the material down her legs slowly, as if unwrapping a present. When he dropped them, forgotten on the floor she lay on her back and hid nothing, placing her body on display, a blatant invitation.

He groaned and leaned over to kiss the inside of her ankle, trailed his lips up her leg to her knee and pushed her legs apart. He moved between them as he tasted the top of her thigh. He cupped her ass with his hands and nuzzled her core with his lips and tongue, just a taste, just long enough to make her lose her mind. She buried her hands in his hair and held on, tugging on him, urging him to continue his journey, to taste the rest of her. Emma captured him as he’d earlier held her, in silent demand.

He complied and traced the curve of her hip with the tip of his tongue, nibbled at her ribs with small kisses. He kept one hand under her ass, the other he lifted and his palm explored her hip and waist, then kneaded one breast as he finally took the other into his mouth.

God, she was on fire. Everywhere. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but arch into his mouth and whimper his name. “Ajax.”

The insistent tugging at her breast ceased and she felt bereft for a heartbeat until he resumed the sweet torture on the other side. He still knelt between her knees, his stance wide enough to balance most of his weight as he leaned over her much shorter frame. But there was nowhere for her legs to go except up and over his thighs. It left her spread before him like a feast, completely open. Utterly wanton.

She wanted more. She was burning up, hurting and needy, desperate for another taste of him. She needed all of him, his taste in her mouth, his hot flesh pressing her into the rug, and his hard cock filling her.

Lifting her head and tugging on his face with her hands, she pulled him up into a kiss and nearly wept with relief when he settled his body over her, his rock-hard erection nudging her core in a teasing dance, always hovering at the edge, never filling her up, never giving her what she needed.

“Please.” So much for not begging. She didn’t care. She was beyond caring.

“Not yet.” He kissed her harder, deeper, his mouth taking complete control as he lifted himself just enough to move the hand that had been massaging her ass up over her hip and then down, to her core. A soft sob left her when his fingers found her and he groaned.

“So wet.”

“Please.” She pushed against his hand, wrapped her legs around his hips and shifted beneath him, trying to force him to touch her, to enter her, to fill her.

Two fingers, a slow glide as he finally filled her, that was all it took. She shattered in his arms, her body no longer her own as in that moment she gave it to him.

His tongue invaded her mouth and she opened for him in every way, denied him nothing and held nothing back. She had no fear. She wasn’t going to bleed, wasn’t going to hurt. No one lived as long as she had without exploring their own body and tending their own needs.

But God, this was so much better than any self-induced orgasm. More intense. More. Just more.

His hand left her and she locked her legs around his hips. She needed him inside her. Now.

Shifting until she felt the tip of his cock right where she needed it, she flexed her legs, pulling herself up onto him when he didn’t fill her fast enough.

His kiss turned frantic and he finally gave in, pinning her with his hips to the hard floor and she lost control as another orgasm screamed through her with no warning. She couldn’t breathe and tore her mouth from his, turned her head to the side to attempt to catch her breath because he wasn’t done with her.

Then he moved. Withdrew. Pushed into her again. He dropped his face to the curve of her neck and locked on to the tender skin with his lips, sucked on the sensitive skin, tasting her as he pumped into her body, tilted his hips so his abdomen pressed and rubbed her most sensitive spot while the sensation of being stretched, filled pushed her into another orgasm.

Her inner muscles clamped and pulsed around his cock and he froze, every spectacular muscle she explored in his chest and back rigid as he tried to hold back…and failed.

He moaned her name and she tilted her pelvis to take him even deeper as the pulsation of his release moving through her core triggered her already swollen heat to clamp down even harder around his cock. He shifted, one move over her clit, and she came again.

They both lay still. Spent. And she found herself unwilling to release him from her hold. He rested on top of her, his face still nestled at her neck, the soft brush of his lips lingering in soft kisses pressed to her skin with something that felt suspiciously close to tenderness. He held most of his weight on his forearms and she was grateful, the hard floor at her back an as unyielding as the massive male who lay over her.

But she wasn’t ready to let him go and he made no move to leave her embrace. She held him to her, legs wrapped around his hips, arms around his shoulders. She didn’t even try to resist the impulse to pet him, to allow her touch to linger on his back and shoulders, to soak up every sensation, every single second of the experience that she could.

This was the bar, the standard of bliss against which all future lovers would be measured. She entertained the idea of taking him with her to the shower for more. God she wanted more.

The rippling muscles in his back lay docile and accepting of her caress. He was like a tamed tiger under her hands, all power and darkness, heat and safety. If she were with him, nothing would ever hurt her, nothing would ever touch her, no Triscani would ever threaten her. He made her feel safe. And wanton. And deliciously feminine.

He stirred against her, his lips traveling up to reclaim her mouth as she felt his cock swell where it remained deep inside her.

Kissing him back, she moaned, and arched her back, invited him to take her again. He moved, just a slight thrust of his hips and she gasped into his mouth. God, nothing had ever felt like this. So good. So right.

Emma wrapped her arms around him to hold him close and made some demands of her own. She’d tasted the exquisite bliss of being claimed by him. She wasn’t ready to give it up, especially now that she knew no other male was ever going to measure up.

Chapter Twelve