Burn for You

“I won’t be able to have you once,” I growled, and took her mouth.

The kiss was hot and desperate, partly because I figured I had nothing to lose and partly because I was so turned on I was almost angry. She responded by arching up into me and digging her fingers into my shoulders, which made my already-throbbing cock so hard it was physically painful.

I broke away and cuffed her wrists over her head on the pillow. We were both panting. I was practically vibrating with frustration.

“Fuck. Fuck, Bianca!”

She wasn’t done torturing me. She lifted her head, put her mouth against my throat, and bit me. Gently, but enough to sting. Against my skin she murmured, “Yes. That’s exactly what you should do, Jax. Fuck Bianca.”

I groaned. What the hell was going on? Hearing those words from that normally chaste mouth made it all the more carnal. I wanted nothing more than to rip off the little shorts she was wearing and bury my cock deep inside her, but I knew it would be a disaster. Everything would be awkward afterward. Everything would change.

There was no way I could have her only once. I knew I’d be addicted from the first taste and end up being obsessed, hounding her like a dog in heat, pestering her like her ex until eventually she hated me.

It was the thing I was most afraid of: Bianca hating me. My inheritance be damned, I couldn’t lose her.

The little savage lifted her legs and hooked her ankles around my waist. She inhaled deeply against my neck and made a sound of pleasure. She started to wantonly rock her hips.

“You’re killing me,” I gasped.

“Why are you making me beg?” she protested, sliding her hands under my arms so she could reach down and squeeze my ass, which she did, with vigor.

“Why are you suddenly so horny?”

She lowered her head to the pillow and gazed up at me, her eyes half-lidded and hot. Her voice was a throaty whisper. “Because you’re beautiful, Jackson Boudreaux. Inside and out. I’m an idiot for not realizing it sooner.”

My heart stalled out, then took off like a rocket. Resting my weight on my elbows, I cupped her face in my hands and stared down at her, wanting to memorize every little thing, every aspect of this moment. Her eyes and chin and nose, the way her hairline dipped to a widow’s peak at the top of her forehead. Her sexy red Cupid’s bow mouth.

I said raggedly, “I can’t. Not only once. I can’t risk it being weird after. I couldn’t live with myself if I fucked this up.”

She drew in a slow breath, let it out through her nose. Then she cocked her head and considered me. “So it’s a negotiation, then.”

My brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Well if you can’t do it only once, how many times do you think you would be able to do it?” She blinked lazily. One corner of her mouth lifted in a tiny, rogue grin that she quickly suppressed.

Speech was becoming difficult. “I . . . I’m so out of practice . . . I think the first ten or twenty times might just be getting me back up to speed.”

“Ten or twenty? Hmm. Ambitious, aren’t you?” She unhooked her ankles from around my waist and slid her foot down my leg, her toes curled around my calf. “And would that all be in one day, or . . .”

“No,” I said forcefully. I took my tone down a notch and tried to look serious. My blood pressure was through the roof. “No, I think I’d need a lot more time than that.” I cleared my throat of the rasp. “I mean, I don’t want to wear you out or anything.”

“Such a gentleman,” she whispered. Looking into my eyes, she slowly rubbed her breasts against my chest.

Her nipples were hard. I felt them right through my shirt, two firm little peaks that needed my tongue. A growl built low in my belly and worked its way through my chest and out my mouth, but still I held back.

Suddenly all the teasing left her voice and her eyes. She said firmly, “Jackson. I’m in your bed. I’m wearing your ring. We’re hot as two jalapeños for each other. Do me, dammit, and hurry up about it!”

A heartbeat of silence pounded between us. The moment stretched thin, then snapped, and the final shreds of my control curled up like burning paper and turned to ash.

I said, “You should write poetry,” and crushed my mouth to hers.

THIRTY-TWO

BIANCA

I’d seen Jackson’s scary side. I’d seen his hidden sweet side, too, and his suave side, and a dozen others.

But I’d never seen him dirty.

“Off!” he snarled, impatiently pulling my T-shirt over my head. He tossed it aside and it sailed across the room. He took a moment to stare down at me, his eyes black with lust, then he grabbed my sleep shorts and yanked them down my hips. Away they went, flung over to the dresser along with my panties. Kneeling between my spread legs, he made an animal noise as his gaze raked over me. Then his mouth was on my flesh.

There.

I cried out in shock. His mouth was so hot and wet, so unexpected. He dug his fingers into my hips and thrust his tongue deep inside me. I almost died from pleasure.

“So fucking sweet. I’d knew you’d taste sweet.” He took a moment to growl, his breath fanning over my spread thighs. Then he went right back to business.

I threaded my shaking fingers into the thick, soft mess of his hair because I needed to feel it. I didn’t realize how much I’d wanted to touch it until now. And now that I could, I took big, greedy handfuls of it and breathlessly laughed.

I sounded like I’d just robbed a bank and gotten away with it.

Jackson ignored my crazy laugh. His tongue—oh clever tongue—circled round and round that small rigid nub between my legs until it throbbed and I was gasping for air.

When I arched off the bed and cried out, Jackson turned his head and gently bit my thigh. “Close already?” he asked, laughter in his tone.

My hips rocking, I begged him not to stop in a garbled mess of words.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispered. “I wish you could see yourself.” He ran his palms up and down my thighs, testing the flesh, pinching it and stroking it, his big hands rough and warm. “This beautiful skin.” He kissed my leg. “These perfect tits.” He reached up and squeezed them, thumbing over my hard nipples so I shivered in delight.

His voice turned spine-chillingly dark. “And this gorgeous pussy. Look at you, spread open for me, all pink and soft. Christ. I can’t decide if I want to eat you until you come and then fuck you, or if I should make you come on my hard cock first.”

Sweet baby Jesus in the manger, Jackson Boudreaux is a dirty talker.

“Please,” I pleaded brokenly. “Jax.”

He gently pinched my clit between two fingers and blew on it. I moaned like a porn star.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, lazily stroking me.

I blurted, “Anything. Everything. You.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, “you already have me.”

Then he gifted me with his tongue again. I sighed in relief, my breath shuddering out of me, my body writhing under the expert movements of his hands and mouth.

He knew exactly how to take me to the edge and keep me there, teasing and gentling when I got too close, chuckling at my delirious implorings of “More. Hurry. I’ll kill you if you stop.” He took his time, though I knew he felt the same unbearable urgency I did. His fingers digging into my skin were just shy of painful. Every once in a while, he would catch his breath and curse.