Burning Wild
Page 72
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“This isn’t just me, Emma. This is also you needing a man.” Deliberately he brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting her, his gaze burning deep, slashing at her with a controlled fury. “This is you needing me.” He caught her hair in his fist and brought her face within inches of his fast-hardening shaft.
For a moment she stared defiantly, but that wild something in her refused to let her have dignity or escape her own needs. Her mouth watered.
“You think I can’t see what you want? Or smell your arousal? This is us together, Emma, whether you like it or not. It may not be all neat and pretty and wrapped up with a little bow, but it’s what we have.”
She licked her lips, flicking her tongue out and swiping over the broad, flat head, unable to prevent herself from tasting him again. He shuddered visibly. Emma pulled back, ashamed of herself, fighting for dignity.
“We’re violent, Jake. I’m not like this . . .” She trailed off, staring at temptation. He was so unashamed of his raw sexuality, of his need, standing up with his hand massaging his shaft with hypnotic strokes, so that it responded by growing thicker and longer and much harder. She shook with wanting him, her core liquid and empty. “It feels like a sin.”
“You were made for sex and sin, Emma, whether you want to admit it or not. You were made for me. I refuse to be ashamed because I want you. I want you every minute of the day. When you walk by me in the house, I wish you were wearing a long skirt so I could just push it up out of the way and find you wet and eager for me. I want you in every possible way I can have you, and if you think I’m going to let you walk away from this—away from me—because you’re afraid, think again.”
He looked so masculine, the columns of his thighs strong. Emma gasped and leaned forward. There were scars, deep, long slashes fractions of an inch apart, up and down both thighs. She couldn’t stop herself from running her palm over them and then holding her hand there as if she could make it better. Each mark had been deliberately made with a very sharp instrument. “What happened? Who did this to you?” She was outraged, that strange, primitive part of her rising fast and ferocious again. “What are these?”
“Victories.”
The way he said it, with that soft little snicker, made her gaze jump to his face. He looked at her as if she were one of his victories. Self-disgust made her pull back, but his fingers only tightened in her hair to hold her still.
“Are you ashamed because you want me, Emma? Don’t pretend you don’t, because neither of us will buy that lie. I have your scratches, the marks of your nails, all over me. The taste of you is in my mouth, soaked into my pores, and the scent of you surrounds me.”
He held her there, refusing to allow her to look away from him. “Be who you are.”
She shook her head, uncaring that her scalp hurt, uncaring that her body pulsed and was wetter than ever at the way he was talking. Did she really want to be an object? A plaything for him to use and then toss away when he was done? Had she gone so far down the road of depravity with him that she couldn’t go back?
“This isn’t love, Jake. It isn’t even a relationship.”
He felt her words like a blow in the pit of his stomach. She didn’t love him. No matter what he’d done, he couldn’t make her love him. He could see the evidence of her arousal, every bit as strong as his own. He might not get her love, but by God, he could own her body. Shaken, hurt, anger rising to protect him, he stepped relentlessly closer, refusing to back away from what was between them. If the only way he could tie her to him was through sex, then so be it. He’d take whatever he could get.
“How would you know when all you’ve ever had was a few honeymoon months with that boy, Andrew? With your adolescent view of relationships I doubt you even know what’s between a man and a woman. Men can be cruel and life can be messy and sex can be violent. It’s all those things. But if this is what I get, you on your knees with your mouth on my cock and my marks all over your hot little body, then I’ll take it.”
She flinched visibly as he towered over her, straight and tall, his eyes antique gold, glittering with heat. His shaft was thicker than ever and his hand was a fist, gripping tightly, pushing his erection along her lips. She found the way he was so unashamed of his blatant sexuality both compelling and admirable—and erotic. Her body responded to his arousal no matter what her head said. His low, sexy voice, the way he talked, everything about him sent ripples of fire straight to her center until she wept with need—and wept for her own inability to resist him.
“I don’t understand what we’re doing, Jake,” she said. “We could lose everything we have. You know how you are. Are you so willing to risk me? Don’t I mean anything at all to you?” There were tears in her voice that she couldn’t hide, didn’t want to hide.
He had to understand the consequences of what they were doing. He used women and threw them away. He couldn’t deny that. Leopards didn’t change their spots. Wasn’t that the old adage? He would use her and eventually he would grow tired of her. How could she possibly keep a man like Jake happy? He had shredded her innocence, taken her far beyond her experience, and yet she had somehow been every bit as wild and willing as he had been. And then what? He’d throw her aside, move on to a new woman, and she’d be left broken, ashamed and unable to stay in a house without love. The children—everyone—would lose.
Jake crouched down beside her, his hand sliding to the back of her head. “I’ve never claimed another woman for my own.” His voice was gentle, compelling her to meet his gaze.
For a moment she stared defiantly, but that wild something in her refused to let her have dignity or escape her own needs. Her mouth watered.
“You think I can’t see what you want? Or smell your arousal? This is us together, Emma, whether you like it or not. It may not be all neat and pretty and wrapped up with a little bow, but it’s what we have.”
She licked her lips, flicking her tongue out and swiping over the broad, flat head, unable to prevent herself from tasting him again. He shuddered visibly. Emma pulled back, ashamed of herself, fighting for dignity.
“We’re violent, Jake. I’m not like this . . .” She trailed off, staring at temptation. He was so unashamed of his raw sexuality, of his need, standing up with his hand massaging his shaft with hypnotic strokes, so that it responded by growing thicker and longer and much harder. She shook with wanting him, her core liquid and empty. “It feels like a sin.”
“You were made for sex and sin, Emma, whether you want to admit it or not. You were made for me. I refuse to be ashamed because I want you. I want you every minute of the day. When you walk by me in the house, I wish you were wearing a long skirt so I could just push it up out of the way and find you wet and eager for me. I want you in every possible way I can have you, and if you think I’m going to let you walk away from this—away from me—because you’re afraid, think again.”
He looked so masculine, the columns of his thighs strong. Emma gasped and leaned forward. There were scars, deep, long slashes fractions of an inch apart, up and down both thighs. She couldn’t stop herself from running her palm over them and then holding her hand there as if she could make it better. Each mark had been deliberately made with a very sharp instrument. “What happened? Who did this to you?” She was outraged, that strange, primitive part of her rising fast and ferocious again. “What are these?”
“Victories.”
The way he said it, with that soft little snicker, made her gaze jump to his face. He looked at her as if she were one of his victories. Self-disgust made her pull back, but his fingers only tightened in her hair to hold her still.
“Are you ashamed because you want me, Emma? Don’t pretend you don’t, because neither of us will buy that lie. I have your scratches, the marks of your nails, all over me. The taste of you is in my mouth, soaked into my pores, and the scent of you surrounds me.”
He held her there, refusing to allow her to look away from him. “Be who you are.”
She shook her head, uncaring that her scalp hurt, uncaring that her body pulsed and was wetter than ever at the way he was talking. Did she really want to be an object? A plaything for him to use and then toss away when he was done? Had she gone so far down the road of depravity with him that she couldn’t go back?
“This isn’t love, Jake. It isn’t even a relationship.”
He felt her words like a blow in the pit of his stomach. She didn’t love him. No matter what he’d done, he couldn’t make her love him. He could see the evidence of her arousal, every bit as strong as his own. He might not get her love, but by God, he could own her body. Shaken, hurt, anger rising to protect him, he stepped relentlessly closer, refusing to back away from what was between them. If the only way he could tie her to him was through sex, then so be it. He’d take whatever he could get.
“How would you know when all you’ve ever had was a few honeymoon months with that boy, Andrew? With your adolescent view of relationships I doubt you even know what’s between a man and a woman. Men can be cruel and life can be messy and sex can be violent. It’s all those things. But if this is what I get, you on your knees with your mouth on my cock and my marks all over your hot little body, then I’ll take it.”
She flinched visibly as he towered over her, straight and tall, his eyes antique gold, glittering with heat. His shaft was thicker than ever and his hand was a fist, gripping tightly, pushing his erection along her lips. She found the way he was so unashamed of his blatant sexuality both compelling and admirable—and erotic. Her body responded to his arousal no matter what her head said. His low, sexy voice, the way he talked, everything about him sent ripples of fire straight to her center until she wept with need—and wept for her own inability to resist him.
“I don’t understand what we’re doing, Jake,” she said. “We could lose everything we have. You know how you are. Are you so willing to risk me? Don’t I mean anything at all to you?” There were tears in her voice that she couldn’t hide, didn’t want to hide.
He had to understand the consequences of what they were doing. He used women and threw them away. He couldn’t deny that. Leopards didn’t change their spots. Wasn’t that the old adage? He would use her and eventually he would grow tired of her. How could she possibly keep a man like Jake happy? He had shredded her innocence, taken her far beyond her experience, and yet she had somehow been every bit as wild and willing as he had been. And then what? He’d throw her aside, move on to a new woman, and she’d be left broken, ashamed and unable to stay in a house without love. The children—everyone—would lose.
Jake crouched down beside her, his hand sliding to the back of her head. “I’ve never claimed another woman for my own.” His voice was gentle, compelling her to meet his gaze.
