Caine's Reckoning (34 page)

That was what she needed, what she wanted. But harder. Much harder. A shift of her thighs centered his cock. Oh, God, that felt good. She grabbed his shoulders as reality tilted, cotton and linen doing nothing to mute the satisfaction she could sense waiting for her if she could just get it right. Her hips bounced to the left, away from the restraint of his hand. The tug on the delicate skin between her buttocks froze her in place, caught between sensation and need. His grip shifted and his fingers rode the deep crease between her cheeks, slipping lower, gliding along the material, the smooth linen barrier amplifying sensation. His fingers bumped over the ridge of her anus, pausing when she gasped as the dark sensation shot inward, centering, pressing as she arched and shuddered, anchoring her between the promise of his cock and the darker glide of his finger.

She closed her eyes, unable to move. Shadows played over her eyelids as he changed positions. The mattress bounced as he shifted his weight to his elbow, sending tiny, potent vibrations outward from the pinpoint heat of their joining. His hand squeezed between them and his wrist pressed into her stomach just above her pubic bone, drawing the tight skin up to align her clit with the seam of his pants—rubbing it up and down the sensual roughness as he worked the buttons until she thought she’d explode. Then, unbelievably, he levered up, depriving her of his weight and that intriguing sensation.

She twisted, wanting it back, bearing down when all that met her search was his fingertip, moaning when the tip entered that tiniest bit. She cried out as the heavy weight of his cock dropped onto her engorged clit in a voluptuous culmination, searing it with smooth heat as his drawl rolled over her in a tense growl, lifting the hairs on her arms, tightening her nipples, readying her.

“Look at me.”

She did, raising her lids with difficulty. His expression was chiseled with the force of his need, his eyes slitted and intent as he watched her. Beneath her, his finger insinuated itself deeper with a rhythmic thrust. She gasped, arching away as the edge of pain blended with the cusp of pleasure, finding nowhere to go that felt as good, coming back as he centered her with a dual pulse of his finger and his hips, desire ripping at her simultaneously from front and back, demanding satisfaction.

“Has anyone taken you here yet?”

The question hovered in the heat between them, shimmering with possibilities.

She shook her head, torn between intrigue and fear. It would hurt, had to hurt, but her body ignored logic, weeping with anticipation, following his lead as he maintained the pressure, her pussy twitching with anticipation as her ass flowered to his attention.

“It won’t fit,” she gasped.

The smile that touched his mouth was knowing as she clenched around him, hungry for whatever he would give.

“Yes it will. Slow and easy, little by little until you want to explode from the pleasure.”

His head dipped, blocking out the light, leaving only the impression of his satisfaction. The sheets rustled a protest as he smoothed his hand over her ass, away from the ache he’d created, leaving her bereft. “But not today.”

Despair battled with relief, releasing from her in a high-pitched whimper that flowed into his chuckle as he fitted his lips to hers, rubbing lightly, teasing her with the heat of his breath and a ghost of sensation. He stroked first one corner of her mouth and then the other. She dug her nails into his shoulders, drawing him to her. Another chuckle and then his tongue smoothed along the seam of her lips, tickling unbearably.

A shake of his head punctuated his “Uh-uh” when she would have pulled away. His thumb and forefinger caught her chin, keeping her put as a bolt of pure lust drove deep into her core where it coiled and grew, magnifying the anticipation. “Open.”

With an incoherent cry, she opened her mouth for his possession, taking his groan as he thrust deep, bracing herself for the choking roughness she’d been taught by others, finding instead a controlled wildness that called up an equally wild response from within. His fingertips pressed between her shoulder blades, arching her up as he kissed his way down, nibbling at her lips, her chin, her throat. His other hand tugged the buttons on her nightgown. The next kiss nestled into the hollow of her throat, finding the frantic tattoo of her pulse, measuring it, encouraging it until the rapid beat became part of the moment, throbbing under her skin, echoing in her ears.

He moved lower still, riding the curve of her torso until his chin rested in the valley between her breasts, the rasp of his evening beard was one more stimulus in an overcharged moment. His hand slid under the placket of her nightgown, his skin impossibly dark as he pushed the material aside, not stopping until the soft linen cupped beneath her breast, pressing it in and up, toward his mouth.

“Now, there’s a pretty sight.”

She looked. Her nipple was taut and red, the white flesh beneath plump and lush in the golden lamplight. His gaze caught hers. “Just one thing missing.”

She wasn’t stupid enough to ask what, even if she could have found her voice. It didn’t matter. His lips parted and she caught a glimpse of his tongue, his teeth. Heaven and hell. She pushed against his shoulder, uncertainty blending with anticipation. “Caine?”

“Right here.”

“Here” was a fraction of an inch away from the vulnerable tip. He caught her hands, manacling them with one of his, separating from his goal long enough to drag them over her head and press them to the mattress. She tugged. He didn’t let go. Just smiled.

“Stay put, darling.”

She didn’t have a choice. The thigh he threw over hers pinned her legs. A quick kiss on her lips and he was moving back down. She strained to see, morbidly obsessed with watching it happen. All she could see was the top of his head getting closer to her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut as her fingers found the ridge in her wrist and rubbed it like a talisman, remembering too late what she’d invited. Pleasure and pride disappeared in a torrent of dread. “Oh, God. Please. Don’t. Don’t.”

She couldn’t bear it.

Caine stilled. Against her thigh his cock stretched and throbbed in an offbeat echo to her own racing pulse. One second stretched to the next. He didn’t move. Didn’t even seem to breathe. Hope rose and then he bent. From one heartbeat to the next she went from hope to terror. His mouth closed over her nipple. She screamed, anticipating the agony of the bite, drowning in the horror, yanking at her arms, twisting in his grip. She had to get free.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” The curse sliced into her terror, splitting it into two entities—one that demanded fight and the other that craved flight. Neither was possible. He was too strong. She couldn’t get away. She flinched as he rose, ducking the blow that was coming.

Another curse and then her name rapped out in a sharp imperative. She struggled harder.

She got her hands free, but he grabbed them again when she went for his eyes with her nails, pressing the backs into the mattress. He held her until exhaustion took the strength from her resolve, the sounds he was making slowly shaping into syllables as she panted for breath, and finally comprehensible words. “Easy, Desi girl.”

It wasn’t what he said, but the way he said it that gave her pause. She’d heard men talk to wild horses that way, gentling them. She’d never heard a man use that tone on a woman.

She opened her eyes, blinking against the hair tangled over them. He was watching her, his expression inscrutable. His mouth was a tight, straight line in his face. His grip on her wrists loosened. “All done?”

She nodded, drained by the futility of effort. She’d been kidding herself by thinking she could win against him.

He released her left wrist, bracing his weight on his right forearm as he brushed the hair away from her cheek. His finger skimmed her temple, oddly enough making her think of the kiss he’d placed there earlier.

“I’m your husband, Desi.”

“I know.” Her voice was hoarse from her screams.

“I’m thinking that doesn’t mean much to you yet, but to me that means it’s my job to stand between you and anyone or anything that would hurt you.”

She didn’t know what to say so she just lay there, drawing air into her burning lungs.

“Even my own base urges.”

He brought her right wrist up to his mouth, pressing his lips against the reddened area hard enough that she knew he felt the evidence of the break. The cold, deadly rage in his gaze belied the gentleness of his drawl as he said, “Now, why don’t you tell me about the man who liked to hear you scream.”

“Please…”

“Please what?”

Please fuck her, hurt her, ignore her, anything but make her remember him. “Don’t bring him into this.”

“He’s been in this since the first day we met, and I’m damn sick and tired of it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you sorry. I want you honest so I know where the fears are lurking to ambush me.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose.”

His hand tightened on her head, the other tucked behind her back. “Never said you were, but you’ve got to admit, we’ve had some problems.”

Problems he wouldn’t have had if he’d married a woman without her history. Problems he wouldn’t have had if he weren’t an honorable man who kept his promises. She curled her fingers into fists. “I’ll do better.”

If it killed her, she’d do better.

Caine sighed and rolled onto his back, draping her over him, tucking her knees up. His palm kept her face pressed to his chest. Beneath her ear, she could hear the beat of his heart, faster than normal but steady. Between her legs, his cock. Equally steady. She scooted down, pressing him closer. She’d much rather have him make love to her than question her. The small smack on her butt scooted her right back up. But strangely, not with fear. That spank had seemed more play than anger.

“None of that now. We need to talk.”

She was half-tempted to try it again to see what happened. She inched down. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

His hand cupped her rear, halting her efforts. “I might not be an expert on women, Gypsy, but even I know this isn’t something you can do better at. Not with you having so many open wounds inside where I can’t see, and me unknowingly bringing the salt to rub in them.”

She rested her cheek on her hands. “Why do you always have to be right?”

“Because it beats the heck out of being wrong?”

She bet it did. “Someday, I’m going to be the one who’s right.”

“You going to make me eat shoe leather when you are?”

It took her a moment to figure out what the little tugs in her hair were. He was playing with the ends. Lazily, as if his body wasn’t throbbing under hers. As if he wasn’t waiting on an answer to a question that was important to him. He was giving her time to work up her courage. She didn’t kid herself that he’d let her get away without answering, but he understood she needed time. She rubbed her finger over the scar beneath her palm. “No.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just be shocked by the novelty of it.”

His laugh jostled her up and down. “I bet you’ll think of a way to rub my nose in it.”

“Maybe.” But she couldn’t see herself wanting to. No one had ever made her feel as Caine did. As if she mattered for herself. As if her happiness mattered to him on a level she couldn’t see. A level she didn’t trust. To him, she seemed to be more than disposable. And she owed him. More than the truth, but that was all he was asking for. She took a breath. And then another. And another. Each one shorter than the last, each one not giving her what she needed.

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

She shook her head “I…just…want…it…over…with.”

Both hands moved to her back, the surfaces of his fingers were rough, but the sweeps of his hands gentle. “So do I, but I don’t want you losing air on the way. You need the sack?”

He’d kept one handy since that first attack.

She shook her head. She was not going to breathe into a bag in front of him. “Just…allow…me…a…minute.”

“I’ve got all night.”

The night was almost gone and he hadn’t slept any of it. Yet she knew he’d be up at first light working. And then he’d be tired. She closed her eyes, willing the panic away. One minute stretched to two and then five. Her breathing eased.

“I gather this was one bad character.”

She nodded.

“He yell a lot?”

She shook her head and cleared her throat. “The others always yelled and blustered, but he always spoke in a very clear, cultured voice. Even when he was hurting me, he never raised it.”

His hand stroked her hair from crown to ends. “Guess we don’t have to worry about you mixing me up with him that way. I can kick up a fuss when the occasion warrants it.”

“No.”

“So, how do you mix us up?”

“It’s important to you that I do things right.”

“Right in as how I want it?”

“Yes.”

His hand paused at her shoulders. “So when I give you orders, you start hearing someone else.”

It wasn’t that easy. She shrugged, not knowing how to explain it.

“I’m not counting that as an answer.”

“Sometimes I just get confused in my mind between what I want to do and what parts of me scream for me to do. Sometimes I can’t even tell what’s real and what’s not.”