Street Game (GhostWalkers #8)(84)
Author: Christine Feehan

She stood in front of him. Naked. Without a stitch. Her body was already betraying her. She could feel the damp nectar moistening her entrance. Every muscle was tight, crying out for him, straining toward him. His gaze drifted over her. Hot. Hungry.

Making her mouth water and her body weep.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?” he asked, and slowly lifted his hand to her breast, stroking a caress almost absently over the creamy swell.

She closed her eyes, savoring his light touch, but she felt it deep, so that her body reacted with a tightening, a cry for his. His fingers tugged at her nipple, sending a wave of heat rushing through her.

“Cup your br**sts in your palms. Hold them out to me.” His voice lowered another octave, so husky now she could feel the rasp between her legs.

She couldn’t help herself, blindly obeying, her hands coming up under the weight of her br**sts, holding them for him like an offering.

Mack could barely breathe with wanting her. Anger and arousal intensified his growing desire. His c**k was rock hard and the sight of her, offering her br**sts to him, her body bare, the moisture gathering on her tiny midnight curls at the junction of her legs, only made him all the harder. She had a lot to answer for, not the least of which was how she made him feel. Looking at her, knowing she had dared to leave him, knowing she’d entrusted her information to someone other than him, made him furious. And right now fury was alive and well, mixing with lust, giving him a need to dominate, to exert control, even to punish her for her betrayal.

She was so beautiful. Her br**sts rose and fell, cupped erotically in her own palms. Her ni**les were hard pebbles, her skin flushed. She trembled, her stomach tight with arousal, her thighs quivering. He took his time, his movements unhurried when desire coursed through him like a firestorm. His lips settled around her breast, drew the soft flesh into the heat of his mouth, his tongue flicking the taut pebble of her nipple so that a low moan escaped. He caught that little bead in his mouth, suckled strongly, raked with the edge of his teeth, so that she gave another choking, inarticulate cry.

His hand dropped to slide through the moisture gathered in her curls, now slick with welcome. Her body shuddered in response. He lifted his head and when she went to drop her hands he stopped her, shaking his head. “Just stand there waiting for me.

Just like that. I love the way you look offering your body to me.”

There was that note again, the one she couldn’t resist. He didn’t take his gaze from hers as he stripped off his clothes and tossed them aside. He was hard, beautiful, his shaft thick and pulsing against his stomach. His heavy erection looked almost as intimidating as the dark promise in his eyes. Her body was shaking now, every nerve ending stretched taut. She’d seen him like this before, and knew what was coming.

Mack liked to prolong the anticipation, stretching her out on a tormenting rack of pure pleasure. He’d bring her again and again right to the brink of satisfaction and keep her poised there, never taking her over the edge until she was pleading with him for relief, for anything he wanted. And he always succeeded. His possession was her dark addiction and he knew it and used it whenever he was on edge.

“Get on your hands and knees, Jaimie.” His voice was nearly hoarse, yet velvet soft and firm.

She did so, very slowly, watching him the entire time. He just stood, his movements unhurried, his hand absently stroking his erection. Her mouth watered.

She touched her tongue to her lips, not taking her eyes from the broad, flared head with the tempting small drops of moisture. She knew his taste intimately. Darkly male. Salty and unique.

He moved around her, dropping one hand onto her hip possessively. The feel of his heat was amazing. He knelt behind her, his fingers flexing at her h*ps once before gripping her hard. She was unprepared for his entrance. He slammed into her hard, burying himself to the hilt, the velvet steel pushing through the tight folds of her muscles, sending flames racing through her body and scraping over the tight bundle of sensitive nerves until she felt raw and inflamed and so needy she couldn’t stop her gasping breath. He hammered into her, over and over, driving her up fast.

Jaimie heard the roar of blood in her head, her pulse thundering. He was rough, but so careful of not hurting her. She loved the way he felt, so thick, invading her over and over, going deep, so deep she swore he was in her stomach. She was so close she pushed back hard, reaching for release. His fingers fisted in her hair and he pulled her head back, suddenly stopping all movement.

Mack leaned forward, his body over her back, his c**k a steel spike buried deep in her pulsing body. He put his lips against her ear. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to a man to know the woman who belongs to him doesn’t trust him?”

She stiffened. She could feel the anger running through him like a raging river. He pulled back, nearly all the way out, until she gave a protesting sob, following his body with hers. He slammed his body harder into hers. Her womb convulsed. Her body rippled, clutched at his, but he stopped again, leaving her gasping, needing. Mack at his most lethal with her. She recognized danger. His deliberate seduction hadn’t been about lying beside her all night needing her body. This was something altogether different.

“Mack, please.”

He bit her shoulder. Hard. His tongue swirled over the ache. “Don’t Mack me.

Who the f**k do you trust with your life when you don’t trust me? Joe? Is it Joe, Jaimie? Fucking tell me who it is.”

“Not Joe.” She tried to move, but his body locked hers beneath him, his fist tight in her curls. She tried to clear her mind. “You pulled the plug on the back-trace. I knew I was stirring up a hornet’s nest, but I wanted that last nail in the coffin.”

His fingers tightened in her scalp almost, but not quite, to the point of pain.

“Those two men who came here to question you would have destroyed your computers and then they would have killed you. They were definitely Black Ops.”

“I knew I was taking a chance, Mack, but I had to do it. I had to make certain you were protected.” She held perfectly still. His shaft pulsed and jerked in her, sending hot waves spiraling through her body.

“Phillip Thornton might want Kane and Brian dead, because he doesn’t want Whitney exposed. And he certainly can’t afford for his new identity to come under scrutiny, so getting rid of Kane and Brian is a good idea for him. Getting rid of you is even better. But there is no way Whitney or this Thornton are the ones trying to murder GhostWalkers. They put too much into us. They think of themselves as patriots. Thornton took the heat and disappeared in order to help Whitney arrange his own death. These men believe in the GhostWalker program.”