Rapture Untamed (12 page)

Which left her second option—to draw her attackers away from the primary battle, away from her teammates, where she could feed openly without harming her own. And the last thing she wanted to do was harm her men. Or the Ferals.

She glanced over to find Jag on his back on top of the bedspread. He’d flung one arm wide, his hand dangling over the edge of the bed. His other lay across his eyes, his armband gleaming in the muted light. Despite the abandoned way in which he slept, she sensed the coiled tension, like a living thing inside him that never slept. Tension, yes, and a deep misery she was becoming more and more convinced poisoned his life.

But, goddess, he was a fine-looking man.

Her gaze skimmed over his body with raw feminine admiration. His thick biceps, broad chest, and flat, hard abdomen. And his legs, as solid and sculpted as any she’d ever seen.

He was a difficult, antagonistic, mercurial man. But he was more than that, better than that, though he didn’t seem to know it, and she found herself drawn to him far
more than she should be. She’d be smart to steer clear of him, but circumstances had stolen that option. Either she ran away from her life, or she remained at Jag’s mercy until she figured out what he planned to do about her.

For now, she was staying with Jag.

Hungry in a draden-kissed way, the hunger prickling along the surface of her skin, she sat up and opened herself to a slow, gentle feed.

Almost at once, Jag bolted upright with a growl, fangs erupting in his mouth, claws sprouting from his fingertips to rake holes in the sheets at his side.

Olivia jerked, startled, and slammed down the feeding as she instinctively reached for a knife. He swung his head at her, part man, part ferocious cat, staring at her as if ready to attack.

At least she knew he wouldn’t sleep through her feeding.

Slowly, his fangs and claws retracted. “What the
fuck
?”

She lifted an eyebrow, her heart pounding, but the bulk of her fear receded with his fangs and claws. “Time to get up.”

He blinked, then impossibly, he began to laugh, that same wonderful rolling laugh that had pleased her senses so thoroughly when she’d found him with the puppy. A laugh that tugged and coaxed a smile of her own.

“A shit-ass way to wake up, Red. You’re a woman
after my own heart.” In his eyes, she saw genuine amusement and a respect that surprised her.

In that moment, as they smiled at one another, she felt something unlatch inside her, opening. Reaching.

Her breath caught, her heart swelling in a strange and awkward way.

Even as Jag’s smile began to fade, his gaze held her captive. He rose with the sinuous grace of a jungle cat and climbed onto the bed with her, his knee beside her hip. For one throbbing moment, he stared at her, his gaze dropping to her mouth, and she thought he was going to kiss her lips. Instead, his head dipped and he pressed a warm, damp kiss into the curve of her shoulder.

In an instant, the hunger that had pricked at her skin was obliterated by a hunger of an entirely different kind. Need thrummed through her body, lighting a million tiny fires.

Jag’s tongue stroked the sensitive skin beneath her ear, sending delicious chills rippling through her body.

“I love to taste you,” he said huskily.

She reached for him, her fingers sliding into his thick, soft hair, holding on against the wave upon wave of desire that tugged at her, threatening to pull her loose from her moorings.

His hand snagged her wrists and he pulled her hands away from him, wrenching her arms above her head none too gently. As he lifted his head and looked at her, she saw the hardness sliding back into his eyes.

“You touch me only if I say you can touch me. Slave.” A smile hovered at the edges of his mouth, but no kindness.

“Jag…” Disappointment cut her off, clamping her mouth shut. That thread of warmth that had briefly run between them had felt so real that she’d almost forgotten who he was. Or who he thought he was. And, she suspected, so had he.

Now he was determined to set them both straight.

She didn’t fight him when he grabbed her ankles in one hand and pulled her legs, straightening her body and pressing her back onto the bed. He wouldn’t hurt her. He might use her and pleasure her, but he wouldn’t hurt her. She was sure of that now.

But that didn’t mean she’d simply lie here and give in. Hell no. He wanted a fight. And she fully intended to give him one.

While one hand held her wrists above her head, his other pushed up her shirt and her sports bra, baring one breast, exposing it to the air and his heated gaze. He dipped his head and took the needy flesh into his warm, damp mouth. As his tongue slid across her nipple, she arched into his touch with a groan of pure pleasure, her body heating and ready.

Even as her body loved the feel of him, she hated what he did to her. He made her want so much more than he was capable of giving. True closeness, warmth. Caring.

Why? Why would Jag, of all people, instill this soft need in her? It wasn’t just the attraction. Goddess knew she was too old to believe a little physical attraction had anything to do with affection, or even love. Attraction was a response of the body, nothing more. Yet he stirred this odd ache inside her, right in the middle of her heart.

As if reading her thoughts, he released her breast and lifted his head, meeting her gaze with a confusion that matched her own. For a second, she saw behind the mask, glimpsing a bitter turmoil, sensing pain and a loneliness as deep as those that tormented her.

He shared her need to connect on a level beyond the physical. Beyond sex. To hold and be held. To be kissed and stroked. And understood.

A moment later that glimpse of softness was gone, his smile taking on a sharp edge as if he were determined to remind them both why no one liked him.

“Scream for me, Sugar.” He shoved his hand between her legs.

As heat flooded her core, and her body betrayed her, racing hard toward orgasm, she swung her leg high and fast, kicking Jag solidly in the nose with her heel as she came.

They yelled in unison.

“Bitch!”

“Damn you, Jag!”

Their gazes locked. The battle had engaged.

Jag’s nose hurt like a son of a bitch, but he growled with pure satisfaction as he swiped at the blood on his face, then yanked off Olivia’s pants as she fought him.

Goddess, he loved a woman who didn’t take his shit. He had to be careful with most women. Oh, he tormented them in his own charming way, but he’d never liked tears. If they couldn’t take what he dished out, he went elsewhere.

Olivia not only took it, she slammed it right back in his face. Literally.

She fought him now as he ripped her panties from her, kicking him in the chest and landing a good painful kick to his gut.

Jag stumbled back, doubled over with pain and laughter as she glared at him.

“You bastard. Why does everything have to be a fight with you?”

“I enjoy having you at my mercy, Sugar. I enjoy watching you beg me to take you.”

She wrenched herself upright. “Goddess, but I hate this game.”

“Which is precisely why we play it.”

“Then fuck me, Jag. Please oh please,” she added tonelessly. “Just do it and get it over with.”

He grinned at her and grabbed her again, flipping her onto her stomach, then he straddled her bare hips, pinning her down. “I’ll do that, since you ask so nicely. But not yet.”

She groaned with annoyance, and he chuckled and yanked her shirt up under her arms. She fought him, trying to keep him from pulling it off her. So he drew claws and shredded the stretchy material without leaving a scratch on her skin.

“Want to keep your bra?” he asked silkily.

“Yes, damn you.”

“Then take it off.”

She tried to rise, and he let her. With another grumble, she sat up, her back to him. But as she moved as if to lift the bra, he prepared for an elbow to his jaw and almost got it. Grabbing her upper arms, he pushed her forward until she was off balance and unable to kick back.

“Take it off, Red, or I’m ripping it off.”

“Bastard,” she muttered, and yanked off the bra.

Jag pushed her face-first into the bed before she could strike back at him, then drank in the sight of her lovely, silken back.

He’d never thought himself a back man—legs, breasts, ass, oh yeah. But backs? Who in the hell was a back man? But there was something incredibly sexy about Olivia’s. The way her shoulders curved, small and slender, yet somehow strong as steel. The way her back dimpled beneath her nape, the way it narrowed as it fell to the sweet swell of her hips. And that glorious, creamy expanse of lightly freckled skin.

Leaning forward, he gripped her forearms and pressed them to the bed, ensuring she didn’t rear up and clock him in the nose a second time. Then he continued what he’d started the last time he had her at his mercy, what he’d been obsessed with doing since he first saw her standing in the living room of Feral House, talking to Lyon like some little flame-haired high-powered lawyer—taste every inch of her creamy skin.

His mouth dipped to her shoulder blade, his lips brushing her warm flesh as he inhaled her scent, a scent as rich and warm as her hair.
Sugar and spice and everything nice.
The ancient ditty ran through his head, and he decided it must have been written for her.

A shiver rippled through her even as she struggled against his hold. He loved that she fought him, loved that he could be rough with her and get a kick in the nose for his efforts.

His mouth trailed over the crown of her shoulder and down the top few inches of her arm, rewarded with her shiver.

“Jag, let me go.” Her voice was low, husky, and filled more with anticipation than any dark emotion.

“Nope.” Goddess, he enjoyed having her beneath him. The touch of her skin against his, the heat of her body between his thighs, the slender bones of her forearms safe in the cradle of his palms.

He inhaled her sweet fragrance and buried his nose in her bright hair. She was becoming an addiction, this one. After only a few days, he could barely stand not to be touching her.

But touching her wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

He captured both wrists in one hand, then lifted off her enough to flip her onto her back.

She bucked, but he locked his thighs tight on hers and all she managed to do was brush his rock-hard balls with the sweet cream of her arousal.

He sucked in a hard breath. Her eyes tightened with need. Gray eyes locked on his. In their depths he saw no fury, and only a little anger. Frustration, yes. And heat. Goddess, but heat sparkled and danced in those eyes until the gray shone as brightly as silver.

He slid his finger between her thighs, closed against him by the tight clamp of his own. His finger brushed the hard nub of her passion, and she gasped, sucking in a ragged breath. He flicked that sensitive spot over
and over, feeling the muscles in her thighs quiver and jerk even as her hips fought to rise, to give him better access.

“You want me to fuck you, Red?”

“If I say no?” she gasped.

“I’ll torment you until you do.”

“And if I say yes?”

He smiled, his smile deepening as she raised one imperious brow. “Then I’ll torment you until I tire of the game.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“I am indeed.” He pressed his finger deeper between her thighs, encountering a slick wetness that eased his way. Finding the cave he sought, he pushed his finger deep inside her.

She arched up, her plump, perfect breasts rising as if seeking his mouth, a soft groan escaping her throat. The sound drove his own need higher, tightening his balls as his cock swelled impossibly thicker.

But he wasn’t ready to end this. He wasn’t nearly ready. Instead, he dipped his head and took one offered breast deep into his mouth, sucking the soft flesh until his body was so hard with need he feared he’d never be soft again. Two releases, three…no number would be enough.

He didn’t want to feel this way, this need twisting inside him, demanding he touch her. Protect her. Possess her. She was his, dammit. His.

His slave.

A fist clenched high in his chest. A single word flickering in his mind like a spark igniting into a tiny, fragile flame.

His mate.

With a growl, he reared back.

No.
Hell no
. He did
not
think that word.

He shoved the thought aside, drawing the bitterness that lived inside him tight around him, like a rough, itchy, and all-too-familiar blanket.

Olivia met him with eyes half-closed and drenched in desire, her mouth open just enough to suck in tiny gasps of air, her lips soft and pink and infinitely lush.

His body tightened, demanding he claim that mouth as he’d claimed other parts of her. That fist high in his chest tightened, demanding he pull her into his arms and cradle her against his pounding heart.

But the thing that lived within him, that swirling, writhing mass of bitterness and bile, wanted nothing to do with either.

Driven by a need he could never fight, he flipped her onto her stomach yet again, released her wrists to grab her hips and wrench them high until she was on her knees.

With his own he spread her thighs and slid his cock between them to stroke her swollen lips. “You want this, Red. You want me inside you.”

“Yes, you jerk. You know I do.”

“Say it.”

“Fuck me, Jag. Fuck me!”

He pulled his hips back, positioned himself at the mouth of her sheath, and drove home. Her body enveloped him, pulling him deep.

She groaned, pushing her hips back against his, forcing him deeper as he thrust into her again and again.

“More, Jag. More.”

She was already starting to rise. It was so good. So damn good.

Too damn good. The darkness inside him rebelled.

Driven by a need he couldn’t explain even to himself, he pressed calming cool into her body through the hands on her hips, forcing back her heat and her enjoyment.

“Jag,
what are you doing
?”

He didn’t reply, for he had no answer. Only that contrary darkness urging him on as he thrust into her over and over.

“Jag, let me come. Let me come, damn you.”

“No.” As he continued to press the cool into her hips, her hot little sheath became tighter, less welcoming. Still, he took her hard until he reached his own blinding release. A release she didn’t share.

The knowledge brought a small sting of satisfaction that quickly turned sour. Even he didn’t like himself very much sometimes.

He pulled out of her and was about to slide his hand
between her legs to bring her to orgasm when she drove her heel into his thigh, missing his balls by millimeters, then twisted away from him and off the bed.

She stared at him, a small pissed off warrior with fire in her eyes. He tensed, ready for her anger. But when she spoke, her voice was low and strong as steel.

“Every time we start getting along, you ruin it. Every time. You can deny it all you want to, but you don’t like yourself. And you can’t stand for anyone else to like you either.”

Now he was the one pissed off. “Don’t presume to understand me, sister.”

But she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The sex between us could be good, Jag. Really good, and you know it. But you won’t let it be, will you? If I’m not mad when it’s over, you’ve failed.”

He stood and grabbed her shoulders, his fingers flexing in anger, digging into her flesh. “You’re my slave, Olivia, or have you forgotten that? The sex is for my enjoyment, not yours.” But the words were a lie, every one of them. He loved pleasuring her. Loved watching the releases break over her. Why then had he denied her? Denied them both?

It had nothing to do with people liking him. That was crap and just proved she didn’t know him at all.

“Let me make you come, Red. With my palm. A quick, violent release that’ll melt you from the inside out.”

She met his gaze with weary eyes. “Are you giving me a choice this time?”

Was he?

The bile inside him spread, nearly making him sick to his stomach. He released her and turned away, knowing what her answer would be. She didn’t want him touching her.

“Go take a shower, Olivia. The others should be here in an hour.”

He heard her turn and pad to the bathroom, her steps nearly as silent as his own. But her voice refused to be still in his head.

If I’m not mad when it’s over, you’ve failed.

Bullshit. He liked what he liked, was all. Except, what he’d done had been intentionally mean-spirited. A new low, even for him.

So why had he done it?

Shit. To piss her off. Like she said.

He lay on the bed and stared at the water-stained ceiling as he waited for the shower to go off and his turn to go in. He suddenly longed for the hot, stinging spray of the shower to wash away the cold that had come upon him suddenly. A cold that he knew deep down would never be chased away by hot water.

Because this cold wasn’t of the body. Olivia was stripping him raw, forcing him to feel the layer of frost that had long ago formed around his heart.