Street Game (GhostWalkers #8)(51)
Author: Christine Feehan

Just as she thought she’d hit the peak and the rolling ecstasy was subsiding, her body gripped his even harder and hot seed splashed deep, triggering another, even more powerful inferno that engulfed her completely, sweeping her body into a frenzy of flames so that she writhed, so that strangled cries emerged. Her heart pounded and her lungs burned. She burned.

She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t break his hold on her, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was proving a point. He gave her what he wanted to give her. Lust, brutal and strong and controlling, such pleasure she might not survive it.

He’d give her his protection. But it was going to be on his terms, not hers.

“Don’t you ever f**king leave me again, Jaimie,” he whispered hoarsely, his gaze boring into hers. “Do you understand me?”

She had no voice; she might never be able to speak again. She licked dry lips and managed a nod while deep inside, where no one could hear, she was screaming.

Mack searched her face for a long time before he seemed satisfied. He collapsed over the top of her, sprawling on her as he used to do. It was only then that she realized he still had his clothes on. She was completely na**d and she hadn’t even realized he was nearly fully clothed until she felt his weight blanketing her. The material hurt her sensitive skin and he must have known it because he nipped her chin with his teeth, and then pressed a kiss over the sting before rolling off of her.

Jaimie closed her eyes as she flung one arm across her face. There was no hiding.

She couldn’t pretend away the breathless cries or her ragged breathing as she fought for air. There was no way to fake her response to him. He knew exactly what he did to her. He lay next to her, one arm wrapped possessively around her waist, just as he had done so many times before while she lay wishing sex—great sex, mind-blowing sex—would be enough to sustain her, but knowing it would never be.

She hoped he’d go to sleep just like the many other times he’d worn himself out again and again until neither could move and then, without saying a word to her, he’d wrap her up in his arms and fall asleep. Now she didn’t want to talk, and he was stirring.

She’d always loved him, from the first moment she’d seen him, so big and sure of himself. So completely confident. Just the opposite of her. It had been hero worship all those years ago and Mack had treated her like a puppy, a little girl all eyes and a mop of curly hair with a brain too advanced for her years. He’d seen her through all those awkward times with a casual protection that evolved into something fierce and primitive.

Jaimie had always wanted to belong to him. She had been desperate to belong somewhere—anywhere—all her life, and there was Mack. He was everything she didn’t have. And it was dangerous to be desperate, to love someone too much. She didn’t think that was possible until right at that moment. She lay na**d on the floor of her workroom, her heart pounding, head roaring, weeping inside. She wasn’t strong enough to resist him, and she never would be.

“I can feel your energy, Jaimie,” Mack said softly and turned his head to look at her.

The jolt, the thrill, she got every time he focused on her was pathetic. His eyes seemed to look right into her soul, a silly cliché, but Mack could make her feel like the only woman in the world just by looking at her.

“I know. You’re right, my talent is getting stronger. And I’m not screaming in pain. You were able to shield me.” She was screaming in pain, he just couldn’t hear her. “I guess we’re both growing stronger.” She didn’t get as much control of her voice as she would have liked, but if she was lucky, he would put the tremor down to regaining her breath.

He pushed himself up and looked around for her clothes. His hands were unsteady as he caught up her shirt. “There’s something magical that happens when we’re together.”

It was the last thing she expected him to say. Her breath caught in her throat.

Mack didn’t say things like that. He didn’t have an ounce of the poet in him. He was all warrior, slashing eyes, grim, tough face, sure of himself. She could only nod her head, her throat closing unexpectedly.

“Sit up, baby. We made enough noise down here to bring the cops, let alone all the boys. We need to get you dressed.”

She felt the color sweep up her neck. He meant she’d made a lot of noise. She couldn’t remember, but she might have begged him not to stop. Loud. Very loud.

There might have been a scream or two punctuating the pleading. She wasn’t certain she was ready to face him.

“I know I’m not good at talking to you the way you want, Jaimie,” he continued, his voice low as he tugged the T-shirt over her head. “I’m not exactly a smooth talker like Lucas, but I mean what I say.”

He’d never said anything. Not once. He’d never told her he loved her. He said he wanted her a million times, showed her he wanted her a million ways. Mack was very demanding when it came to sex—generous and demanding. He was always absolutely certain of himself and his power over her. She avoided his gaze as she lifted her arms and allowed him to slide the material over her head.

“Jaimie? Aren’t you going to talk to me?” He paused in the act of tugging her shirt over her br**sts. “What’s wrong?” There was a soft, ominous note in his voice.

Energy separating was rather like coming down off a huge adrenaline rush. Their bodies tingled and raw nerve endings sparked and jumped. His shaft jerked and pulsed. Her womb clenched and wept.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You can look me in the eye and tell me the next time you’re thinking of running, you’ll talk to me instead.”

“I did talk to you.”

“Well, you obviously didn’t get through.” He jerked her shirt down and stood up, casually zipping up his jeans. He’d always been comfortable naked, padding around their apartment without clothes whenever possible, and he looked just as comfortable now even though they’d nearly brought down the place and the men couldn’t have failed to hear.

He had to steady her when she stood up, swaying, her body weak. “What did you want me to do, Mack? Hit you over the head with a two-by-four?”

“Yes, damn it, if that’s what it takes. You don’t walk out on me, Jaimie.”

He kept his hand on her arm as she yanked up her soft drawstring pants. She was trembling. His palm slid up and down her bare skin as if to soothe her.

“I’m not the same person I was,” she said, but even as she uttered the words, she wondered if she was lying. She fought hard to stand on her own, but the entire time she’d been building a future with the idea that Kane and Mack might need somewhere to go when they retired. They had to retire sometime, didn’t they? Did any of them even have a future?