Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers #4)(80)
Author: Christine Feehan

He watched her throat work, watched her swallow. Even that small ordinary action was sexy to him. His skin was too tight for his body and his blood pounded in his groin. Hell yes, he was afraid. If he let her all the way in, and somehow, someway, the ugly shadow of the man who sired him-who hid deep inside where he never wanted to look-was let out, he would destroy the one woman who mattered to him. He was too weak to drive her away. He’d had her now, and the thought of endless days and nights without her was too much to bear.

“Take off your top, Briony.” His voice had gone husky, but carried the ever-present command in it. He couldn’t change that even if he wanted to.

“My top?” She set the glass on the window ledge and grasped the hem of her shirt, arms crossed, pulling up in nearly slow motion so that inch by inch the smooth expanse of her peaches-and-cream skin was revealed. Her ribs, the underside of her br**sts, the firm, rounded globes and darker pink ni**les. Briony drew the shirt over her head, trying not to moan as the material brushed over her sensitive ni**les. She tossed the shirt aside to stand facing him, moonlight spilling over her, casting a silver aura around her.

The shadows caressed her body lovingly. Each breath she drew in lifted her br**sts, so that her ni**les moved from dark shadow to silver light. If it were possible, his body hardened and thickened more. He didn’t deserve her, but he was going to take her-and keep her. Maybe it wasn’t everyone’s brand of loving, but he’d give her everything he had-everything he was.

Jack moistened his lips and waited until he could breathe. His c**k was as hard as a rock, springing out from his body greedily, and his hand circled it, stroked, with the same casual way he wore his nakedness. “Get rid of the pants, baby, we don’t need them tonight-or any other night.”

For one moment, Briony hesitated, reluctance crossing her face. “I haven’t gained a lot of weight, but my stomach is quite a bit bigger.”

Impatience hardened his features. “I know exactly what you look like, Briony, and you’re so damn beautiful to me and so is your belly. Just get rid of them.”

His voice scraped like sandpaper, raw and urgent, eyes darkening with heat. Briony hooked her fingers into the soft pants and shed them, sliding them over her rounded h*ps and down her legs, where they pooled around her bare feet. She stepped out of them and stood bare-vulnerable-in the soft light of the moon. She couldn’t look away, mesmerized by the way his hand slowly stroked his shaft.

“Look how beautiful you are with my children growing inside of you.” His voice deepened, became nearly a growl. “Come here.” He indicated a spot in front of him. All he wanted to do at that moment was love her-his way-pour everything he was or ever would be into her.

Briony crossed the room, her br**sts swaying with every step, her heart quickening and the hot cream thickening in anticipation as her womb spasmed. Her mouth went dry just seeing the dark intensity in his gaze as it moved so possessively over her. He might be afraid of that trait in himself, but she reveled in it.

Yes, of course she felt fear of the unknown-he was far more experienced sexually than she was-but she was willing to go where he led, wanting the hot passion flaring between them. It spread through her belly and up her spine, little flicks of electricity sparking through her nerve endings.

His hand glided over her breast, the lightest of touches, but she was ultrasensitive and shivered beneath the pads of his fingers. He bent his head to kiss her, thinking to be ruthless, to show her what he was like, but his mouth gentled the moment he felt the curve of her silken lips. His tongue ran along the seam, savoring her softness, teeth tugging on her full bottom lip, a demand that she open for him.

He sank into the inviting heat of her mouth as he ran his hands over her body. Up her back, down her spine, massaging her rounded bottom-until the sensations of her mouth and her silky skin sent thunder crashing in his mind. Her arms crept up around his neck as she leaned her body into his, hard ni**les pressing tightly into his chest as his touch and kiss aroused her more. He took his time exploring her body, letting her explore his. Her touch, light and hesitant, but eager, nearly drove him out of his mind.

“I didn’t get to touch you,” she confided. “You were so wounded, cuts everywhere. I still don’t know how you were able to have sex. I watched your eyes and the pain was there, but not in your mind.”

There was an ache in her voice that struck him at the very core of his being. He knew he was a hard man, but she got to him, and he didn’t know if it was Whitney’s pheromones, her courage, or just the fact that her need of him was as great as his own for her. “I wanted you to touch me. I spent more nights than I can count imagining your hands on my body.”

Teeth nipped along her neck and shoulders, small pinpoints of pain, followed by the tender ministrations of his lips. His tongue tasted her skin, swirled like velvet over the tiny bites, sending whips of pleasure bursting through her.

Her hands traced each slice of the knife, injuries she’d attended to-wounds she’d stitched. They were everywhere, all over his body, front and back, small cuts and hideous burns. On his chest, she could make out the letters with her fingertips, the name of the man who had done such a thing, forever carved across Jack’s chest.

He flicked her nipple with his tongue and she shivered with pleasure. Her back arched when his mouth covered her breast, hot and tight, tongue stroking and teasing, sending licks of excitement through her body. He lifted his head to kiss her again, and it was addicting, the hard press of his mouth, the dark arousal washing through her body in waves. He pressed his thigh up into the damp vee between her legs, sending a shaft of lightning whipping through her.

Briony cried out, her head falling back as she pushed against him, riding his thigh, so that the flashes of heat flamed through her. She stroked his neck, down his chest, and leaned forward again to flick her tongue over the deepest of the scars, as if she could heal it with her moist caress.

His touch became more demanding, losing the gentle glide as he explored her body. His hunger was so sharp, so terrible, his need of her so great he felt like an animal, a predator, dark and dangerous in a feeding frenzy. He dropped to his knees, his hands dragging her thighs apart.

Briony gasped as his finger pushed deep into her heat. Her muscles clamped hard, raging for release as another gush of fluids betrayed her own need.

He swore harshly, hands biting into her hips, dragging her forward as he replaced his finger with his mouth.