Beneath the Burn (42 page)

Oh God, no. There wasn’t supposed to be blood. He looked into her eyes, and the smoldering arousal he found there both scared him and turned him on.

“The other one,” she said softly and without a hint of misgiving.

“No! You’re bleeding.” Shit, that came out too gruff, and he knew his expression was a mask of horror.

Her face pinched and her head turned away. “Okay.”

Well, that was one way to ward off premature ejaculation. “Look at me.”

She did, her eyes glassy with shame.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. I’m fumbling. I know it. And this is too damn important to fuck up.”

“Jay, it’s okay. Listen—”

“No, you listen. I’m going to make a mess of this. It’s an honest-to-fuck certainty.”

“That’s pessimism, not certainty.” She winked.

God, she was sexy. And understanding. And maybe a little crazy. But the sexy, crazy firecracker needed limits. “No blood. Not budging on that.”

He followed her lowering eyes to the tiny red bead clinging to her nipple. With a swipe of his tongue, he licked it away. This was her normal. Her benchmark for judging the value and quality of pleasure. He was an outsider, trying to get in. He’d get there. He would. In the meantime, he’d have to do things her way.

“Be patient with me.” He shifted his attention to the other breast, tasted the unmarked skin. “Don’t you dare feel bad when I get frustrated.” He dragged his teeth over her nipple. “And I get frustrated a lot.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Smart ass. He pressed forward and took her mouth. She met him with the same desperate energy, turning his thoughts to drivel. The firm slide of her kiss made him wild to deepen it, to own her mouth the way she owned him. He worked her lips over, pressing hard, biting, rubbing until they were swollen and red. He dragged his mouth over her jaw, down her throat, and sank his teeth into the rise of her breast without breaking the skin.

She blinked, bit her puffy lip.

Well, shit. The last time he bit a tit like that, the woman—he couldn’t remember her face—screamed for ten minutes. It had killed his erection instantly.

He rotated his pelvis in slow circles. She felt like an extension of his own body wrapped around him, and looked absolutely sinful tied to his bed. It made his heart pump harder, sending more blood south. There was a good chance he was going to pass out if he didn’t come soon. He needed her at his level, burning at the same fevered pitch. He pinched the uninjured nipple.

The vibration of her groan sent an electric current through his dick. It buried his balls deep. He froze long enough to keep the climax at bay.

When he thought he’d reached a safe degree of control, he reared his hand back and slapped her thigh with as much force as a hundred pound girl could absorb.

She smiled. Fucking
smiled
.

He licked those teasing lips. “Harder?”

The turned-up corners of her mouth stretched wider.

As small as she was, he would’ve thought she’d be more fragile, breakable. Yet, his hands had been all over her miniature packs of muscle, and he knew her strongest spot. It could take a harder strike.

He captured her untied leg, hooked it around his waist, and used it to lift her ass away from the mattress. Target bared, he unleashed an open-handed swing.

That got him a burning palm and a twitch in her thigh. Damn, the tough little brat. He settled her on her back and rolled his hips between her legs. “I’m not anywhere close to doing it for you, am I?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m having sex with the only three-time winner of
People Magazine
’s Sexiest Man Alive. If that weren’t enough, I’m lying in a wet spot”—she wiggled her hips—”that proves you actually live up to every explicit rumor I’ve read about you.”

Motherfuck. She followed the gossip rags. “Charlee, you can’t believe the shit they write about me.”

“Can’t I? There are a holyfuckton of women crowing about your
unapologetic fucking
. They even named your famous positions.”

Oh Jesus, she knew about that. “Don’t—”

“The Limp Away From Jay Lay.”

A small smile touched her lips, but he didn’t miss the flatness in her tone. She was jealous. It shouldn’t have, but the notion gave him a selfish little thrill.

“Then there’s the Mayard Mount.” She stared at his chest, eyebrows drawn.

He hated that his depravity cluttered the Internet. All she had to do was open a browser and type his name. All the shit he’d done with those women would be shoved in her face, mocking her.

“The Hands-Free Blow Me.” She gave him a pitying look.

“I think I lost my hard-on.” He thrust his hips to remind her where his dick was.

“Oh, and I’m currently experiencing a fan favorite, right? The Rope Burn.” She twisted her wrists in the binds and glared at him.

Was she just being open with him or was she pissed? A string of ugly emotions tore through him. Leading the brigade was his regret over all the meaningless places he’d put his dick. Surely, she understood what he thought of those women?

He dropped his brow to hers. “I’m sorry, Charlee. I can give you some trite excuses about how those women meant nothing. I’d like to think you know me well enough to see that.” He lifted his hips to pull out of her.

Her leg around his waist stiffened. “Fuck me like you fucked them.”

Unease punched through him. He looked down into her electric, singular eyes, sparking blue with flecks of silver.
She
was singular. He’d never treat her like them. “Never.”

“I know I mean something different to you. I’m not asking you to think of me the way you think of them. God, I don’t think I could bear it if you did.” She sighed. “I built up this really high pain threshold. I had to.” Her eyes slid to the side. “And I just need you to not treat me so delicately.”

Oh Charlee. She thought if he treated her like those women, he’d be rougher with her? He scattered kisses over her eyelids, cheeks, and lips. “Don’t worry about your threshold. I’ll get past it.” He would research, figure out how to get creative. For now, he’d have to go with blunt strength.

It would’ve been easier to flip her over and spank her while fucking her doggie-style. No way was he going to come in her the first time without looking into the eyes he’d dreamt about for three years.

Lowering his weight on her chest, he shoved her knee against her shoulder and rammed into her. His thrusts, harder than he’d ever attempted with anyone, filled the room with the wet sound of skin smacking skin. Fuck, she felt good.

Her body clenched against the force of each lunge, and her eyes blinked rapidly. He kept his movements measured, determined not to give her more than she could handle.

The bed scooted until it hit the wall. The headboard rocked and creaked. And Charlee’s pleasure flowed out in an erotic stream of moans.

It was insane. Beautiful. Unbelievably arousing. And it was a miracle he hadn’t lost his load yet. He tried not to look at the toned lines of her pinned leg beneath his fingers. The dramatic curve of her waist. The way her tits jogged with the intensity of his thrusts.

“Come for me, Charlee.”

She nodded. At least he thought it was a nod. Her whole body was nodding beneath his driving hips.

“Hurry.” His voice was guttural and distant beneath the roar of blood in his ears. “I’m barely hanging on.”

Her arms writhed in the rope. “I want to touch you.”

Christ. Fuck. Never had he considered being touched during sex, but his heart leapt at the thought of Charlee’s hands on him.

It was a terrible idea. He slammed into her. “Would touching me help you come?”

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. He didn’t think so.

“Come, Charlee. Come for me.” He shoved in and out, panting under the exertion, trembling against the overwhelming sensations.

She peered up through her lashes. “Okay.”

“You can touch me after…I…fuck you….to unconsciousness.” He punctuated the words with ram of his hips.

One of the bed posts hit the wall and dented the sheetrock. He reined in his enthusiasm.

“An after-sex cuddlier, huh?” Her voice was breathy and sexy as hell.

“Only with you.” He bit her raised chin. Bucked his hips. Slapped her thigh, one strike after the other. Sweat formed on his lip. The muscles in his biceps and legs burned. And the hot, tight vise of her pussy clamped down, moments from sucking him drying. “Come. Come, now.” He landed his heaviest whack high on her thigh.

Her yelp somersaulted into a long, arousing moan and blanketed his chest in hot exhales. She was so close. He vibrated with excitement.

“Look at me. I want to see you.”

Her eyes flew to his, glazed and seductive. He grabbed a nipple, twisted it. Her beautiful grunt caressed his face. This was it.

The pressure between his legs rose up, spread out through his groin, reaching, reaching. “Ahhhh. God. Fuuuuck. Charlee, I’m coming. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Everything narrowed to her and him and the unbelievable rush she was giving him. Breathe. Holy fuck, he needed to breathe.

On his way down, he shivered, twitching muscles he didn’t even know he had. Tingles swept over his skin and his body lay boneless on top of her. Oh shit. Too heavy. He lifted his weight and searched her face. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Did you come?”

She bit her lip and looked down and to the left.

Outrage restarted his triple-tempo pulse. “No? No, please don’t tell me no.”

She looked at him and glanced away again. “Okay.”

How the hell had he misjudged that? She must’ve thought he was the biggest prick. He sat back on his heels where he knelt between her legs and took a few calming breaths.

Okay. He could fix this.

The best orgasm of his life collected at the entrance of her pussy and dribbled down her outer lips. He’d never tasted himself before. Couldn’t be that bad. Hell, he’d never even gone down on a girl…well, while he was sober enough to remember it, anyway. But this was Charlee. Didn’t matter what he did with her, they’d figure it out and make it work.

He slid his hands under her ass and lifted her to meet his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Panic hitched her voice.

He was going to bite the hell out of her clit. “You’re going to come for me, Charlee. We’re not leaving this room till you do.”

She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Then she dropped her head and said to the ceiling, “You need to shove something in my ass.”

“What?”

“Quick and effective,” she mumbled.

He lowered her hips, tried not to think about the she things she’d experienced to fuel such a request. His mind flashed to random phallic-shaped objects in his room. The handle of her hairbrush. The Mr. T bobble head on the mantle. The glass bong under his— Wait, he threw that out.

Jesus, what was he thinking? “I’m not sticking anything in your ass.” He cleared his throat. Maybe he should clarify. “Unless it’s made for your ass.” His dick would be a perfect fit…in an hour or so, if he could muster the stamina. “And I don’t keep butt-plugs lying around.”

“Let’s just call it a night. It’s nearly six in the morning.”

He had to be at the range in an hour. “Charlee, Please—”

“Huntress.” She yanked on the rope and glared at him.

His shoulders sagged. “You’re going to safe word just like that? You won’t give me another chance?” Christ, he’d fucked up. How could he expect her to want him if he couldn’t even give her an orgasm? “I can fix this.”

Stretched by the rope, she strained her arms and waited. She wouldn’t repeat the safe word. And she wouldn’t have to. Under the scrutiny of her eyes and with shame burning his face, he removed the rope, bundled it up, and returned it to the drawer.

Her back was to him when he crawled behind her and scooted against her until as much of her body was touching him as possible. While he was behaving like a selfish prick, he might as well take everything he wanted. And he wanted to hold her until she fell asleep.

He locked his arm around her waist. She let her hands lay limp so he could gather them and intertwine them with his against her chest. As her body sank with the weight of gravity and exhaustion, he pulled her closer, so close he could feel every twitch in her back, every beat of her heart.

“The Strong Box.” Her soft voice drifted through him.

“What’s the strong box?” He knew what one was, but he didn’t know what
the
strong box was.

“It’s a container, usually steel, in which valuables are kept safe.”

She was going somewhere with this. He waited.

“It’s also the name I’m giving my favorite Jay Mayard position. You know, the one where he wraps himself around his partner and makes her feel valuable and safe and a lot less broken. It’s not a famous or practiced position, but it’s all mine.”

He melted against her back, buried his nose in her hair, and tumbled just a little bit more in love with her. Fuck that. He plunged.

“All yours, Charlee.” Every. Single. Breath.

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