Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers #4)(23)
Author: Christine Feehan

A soft sound escaped her throat, a breathy, urgent plea that made him nearly crazy with wanting to strip the clothes from her body. It wouldn’t be enough to take her like that, fast and hard and without thought. He felt. It was unexpected and even unsettling, but he needed to savor the feel of her skin, the sound of her soft, breathy moan, the dark richness of desire building in her eyes for him. Her body fit his, every curve, the flare of her h*ps and soft swelling br**sts.

Jack had never expected to want her the way he did, or to feel her inside of him the way he did, but he wasn’t going to waste his opportunity. He didn’t give a damn that his body was a mess. He had never experienced belonging. She belonged with him-and he with her. She didn’t look at him the way the rest of the world did. She didn’t see his sins. She didn’t know his heart had died a long time ago. She looked at him and saw a man-not a monster. He couldn’t even look in the mirror and do that, but he could through her eyes.

He leaned in to kiss her again, hands tunneling deep in her thick, silky hair. Her mouth opened for him, responded with hot passion. He took his time this time, refusing to be rough, savoring her taste, the feel of her. He slowed his wandering hands, dwelling on her curves and soft valleys, mapping her body in his mind-storing the images there. This would have to last him a lifetime, and he wasn’t going to rush it.

Briony couldn’t believe how gentle he was-how tender. His mind was a haze of need-of hunger-desire so intense he could barely think or breathe, but instead of stripping the clothes from her body, he unwrapped her as if she were priceless and fragile-with a tender care bordering on reverence. Her breath caught in her throat when he removed his clothes, tossing them aside carelessly, revealing the terrible cuts and burns on his body.

“Jack,” she whispered his name in an agony of need. “We can’t. We should wait until you’re healed.”

“I won’t feel anything but you,” he answered, knowing it was true. He lifted her to set her bottom on the edge of the railing and stood between her legs to give him better access to her body without further damaging his own. He couldn’t afford to pull the stitches loose and risk more infection, but damn it all, he wasn’t about to lose this opportunity.

He kissed her again, long, slow, drugging kisses until her eyes were glazed and her body trembled beneath his touch. He trailed kisses down her neck, over the curve of her br**sts to her ni**les. He felt ravaged with hunger for her, his mouth suckling a little too wildly, teeth teasing and tugging and dragging her into a much more experienced foreplay than her innocent eyes told him she should have, but he couldn’t stop from taking the gift she was giving him.

“I’ve never felt like this, Briony.” He couldn’t wait, couldn’t make love to her as he wanted, and it was frustrating to him. He needed a bed and about twenty-four hours instead of a practice room where someone might attempt to come in at any time.

He pressed a finger into her tight channel. She made a soft sound of need, her slick cream making it easy to stretch her a bit with two fingers. He couldn’t wait. Her scent was teasing him, his body swelling to painful proportions. She was hot and wet and so tempting-looking part sexy temptress and part innocent.

He caught her h*ps and held her to him, pressing into her slick, welcoming entrance. She was too tight, too hot, too everything, the feeling so intense his body shook with the need to slam into her and bury himself to the hilt. Her dark eyes widened and she shook her head. Before she could protest, he pushed deeper. “Relax, let me do the work, baby. It’s uncomfortable the first time, but once we’re past that, I’ll make it good for you.”

Briony couldn’t touch him. She needed to hold on to him, but there wasn’t a place on his body without cuts. The urgent need to have him inside her was slipping away, to be replaced by fear. He was too big. It was that simple. Her body couldn’t possibly be designed for a man his size. Briony moistened her lips and edged backward away from the stretched, burning feeling.

Jack tightened his grip on her. “You have to relax, Briony. You’re tensing up on me.” He leaned forward, a little frantic, unable to prevent himself from kissing her, again and again, coaxing her passion, cupping one breast and teasing her nipple until she was flooding him with her need and gasping for breath.

He slipped farther in, pushing through her tight folds until he felt her resistance. “Look at me, baby. Look only at me.” He wasn’t a man to be with a virgin. He was rough and dominant and didn’t know the first thing about innocents. Hell, he couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had been innocent.

Jack reached deep to find gentleness, to be patient. He wanted her first time to be something more than a man sweating and heaving, taking her fast and without care. He wanted to hold her close and make her feel the beautiful, extraordinary woman she was. “Tell me this is what you want, Briony. Tell me you want me.” She had to want him. He wasn’t certain he was enough of a man to pull back if she was too afraid, but he’d try-for her-he’d try. Sweat beaded his brow. Her scent drove him insane. Her body, so hot and tight, a perfect haven for him, tested the limits of his control. “Son of a bitch, baby, I’m not going to be able to hold back much longer. Tell me. Say it so I know I’m not a complete bastard and you want this too.”

Her fingers slid in a caress over his face. “I want you more than anything, Jack. I’m absolutely sure.”

In spite of the fact that there was fear in her eyes, and in her mind, he caught her hands, tipping her back, as he leaned over her, his fingers tight around hers to give her an anchor, pressing her wrists into the wood by her head. One hard thrust and he was through the barrier, burying his rock-hard flesh deep into her. She gave a strangled cry, and he made the supreme effort to stop moving, to let her adjust to his size. It was difficult when his body wanted to rage out of control. He gritted his teeth, feeling his pulse pound and his c**k jerk with the strain of waiting.

Briony caught her breath. He still felt too big, stretching her to a burning point, but somehow the feeling faded and the urgent need to feel him moving deep inside took over. Careful of his torn body, she couldn’t participate other than to lift her h*ps to meet his thrust, but she wanted to touch his skin, to take him in through her pores, to hold him close to her. He thrust deeper and lightning zigzagged through her body, sizzling and crackling and spreading heat to every cell.

A single sound escaped her throat. He held her down, his hands on her wrists like shackles, holding her in place while his body began a pulse-pounding rhythm. Restraint. Restraint. Restraint. The chant was a desperate refrain in his head. She was so tight it was nearly painful, and her scent was ripe, calling to the male in him, thundering in his head and heart and hammering in his groin until he could barely think with wanting to bury himself deeper and deeper, harder and harder.