Dangerously Broken (20 page)

She was quiet for a moment. “Sometimes I hate that you know me so well.” She grabbed his jaw in both of her hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. “And sometimes,” she said, her voice going soft, “sometimes I sort of . . . love it.”

Her eyes were shining. With emotion. With something else. And he understood how deeply he loved her. How much he had all this time. It still scared the crap out of him. But right now that didn’t matter. Not one damn bit.

He stood, setting her on her feet

“Jamie?”

He silenced her with a kiss, pressing his lips hard against hers, needing the contact. Needing her. He stuffed the damn fear down and sank into her lips, her small frame tight in his arms. He sank into the contrast of delicacy and unbelievable strength that was
her
. He couldn’t stand for there to be the boundary of their clothes separating them one moment longer. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

*   *   *

S
UMMER CLOSED HER
eyes as Jamie laid her down on the bed and undressed her. Silently. Gently. There was something commanding even about his tenderness, and when she let her eyes flutter open to look up at him and saw the expression on his face in the quiet light of the rising sun, her heart nearly burst from her chest. Everything they’d talked about—his fears and his doubts and his determination to get over it—seemed to be swamping him with emotion. She wanted to think some of that emotion was for her as well. She knew it was, but she almost didn’t dare think it. Because in this moment she loved him more intensely, more thoroughly, than she ever knew she could, and it felt like the biggest risk she’d ever taken in her life.

One by one he pulled off her shoes, then her damp black dress, her bra, pausing with his fingertips under the edge of her panties to look down at her, to lock his gaze with hers. Her heart tumbled in her chest once more, and she had to swallow hard to even breathe as he slipped her black thong down over her thighs. Her body was melting already, but it was some simmering, languid sensation that was completely unfamiliar—something that had to do with the expression in his green eyes as much as it did his touch.

When he had her naked he straightened and undressed himself slowly, still watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded, his mouth loose. She recognized that he’d dropped some of the conscious control, and she had some idea of what it meant for him to get to that vulnerable place with her. With anyone.

His shirt came off, and her body softened all over, and she admired his beautifully pierced nipples, the tattoo,
memento mortalitatem tuam
, running up his ribs—symbols of the raw edge that was such a part of who he was. She understood the meaning so much more now. He licked his lips, the damp point of his tongue moistening his beautiful mouth. She wanted him so badly it hurt, but she couldn’t move—all she could do was watch. Wait for him.

Jamie.

He toed his boots off, unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down over his lean hips. He was naked underneath, and his cock was swollen with need—the same need her entire system was suffused with, drowning her in liquid desire. Jamie knelt on the bed, first one knee, then the other, straddling her. He reached down and stroked her cheek, her jaw, lingering at her lower lip, which had begun to tremble for some reason she couldn’t understand—not in any language, any words she was familiar with. And desire was some untamed animal that churned and snarled as she waited for him to take her—to take what was his.

“Summer Grace,” he whispered. He shook his head, his face momentarily crumbling before he pulled himself back together a bit. She thought she might cry. “Jesus, sweetheart. So much time to make up for.”

What was he trying to tell her? She couldn’t think straight.

“Jamie . . .”

He pressed his fingertips to her lips. “No more talking now. Just kiss me.”

He pulled her up into his arms and covered her mouth with his, his lips impossibly soft. He kissed her, pulled back, kissed her again and again until she was dizzy. Her arms went around his neck and he pressed his lips to hers over and over, sweet, almost chaste kisses that touched her on some deep level, making her sigh. She was a confused amalgam of need and fear and love—and sorrow for the time they’d lost, for the time they may never have.

No.

Unacceptable.

She pulled a breath into her lungs, pulled in his unique, familiar scent. The Jamie she’d always known.

Yes.

Finally he laid her back on the bed and slid his body over hers, holding himself up on his elbows, touching her cheeks, her mouth, her hair. His brows were drawn in concentration, and she’d never felt more the center of anyone’s attention. It was as if he’d found something important in her face. It was an overwhelming idea, but one she could understand as she looked up at him. She loved this face—
his
face—because it was his. Because it was beautiful to her.

She loved him. With every cell in her being. Exquisitely. Painfully. Undeniably.

“Jamie . . .” she started, but she couldn’t say the words out loud.

“Baby,” he said, cupping her jaw in both hands, blinking down at her. “Don’t say a word. We don’t need to tell each other anything, you and I. Not now. Now I need to be inside your body, to be a part of you. You need that too, don’t you, sweetheart?”

What was he saying? Was he as afraid as she was? Or did he mean it in the sweet way it sounded if she didn’t try to read between the lines? Because he
was
sweet, her Jamie. And he was right—she needed him to be a part of her, and she of him.

“Jamie, I need . . . everything.”

Need to love you. Love you, love you, Jamie.

Finally he parted her thighs and slipped into her, and desire was met with desire, emotion with emotion. There was still some play of power between them, but it was more an exchange than it had been before, because she truly
gave
herself to Jamie, on every level. And he gave himself to her, finally, in some way he never had before.

Pleasure was a trembling sigh as it left her lips, a shiver of need as he closed his eyes and surged deeper into her body. Every touch was new: his hands on her breasts, his lips on her neck, kissing, biting gently. His body felt like a gift, like a new discovery as she traced the hard planes, the ridges of muscle in his back, the softer curve of his buttocks as they flexed, arching into her.

Sensation built slowly, as if her body knew they both needed it to last, not to hurry. She drew in another breath, closing her eyes as she smelled the rain in his hair—or maybe it was hers. It didn’t matter. Another long, lovely breath as he filled her once more, and the scent of early morning sunshine coming in through the windows made her open her eyes to see how it lit his beautiful body. She shuddered at the pleasure swamping her senses, and as her climax approached, tears filled her eyes, spilling over onto her cheeks.

“My baby,” he murmured, kissing her tears, drinking them in.

Emotion and sensation combined, a gentle explosion that was no less intense for the soft edges that surrounded them, and she had to hold back the words she didn’t dare speak as he made love to her for the very first time. Her body shook as she came, crying his name. Then he was coming with her, his hands digging into her hair. And as always, even that felt like a caress.

He was groaning, murmuring her name, his hips jerking, then slowing. He began kissing her again, and it was like some slow-motion makeout session that went on forever, until they fell asleep with him still buried inside her. Skin to skin. Flesh to flesh. Beautiful.

J
AMIE
SPEARED
A
piece of sesame chicken from the cardboard takeout container with his chopsticks and held it in front of Summer Grace’s lips, waiting for her to open her mouth. She smiled and obeyed his tacit command, groaning as she chewed.

“That sounds almost like sex, baby,” he said, leaning back against the pillows they’d propped up against the headboard of her white iron bed the way he had nearly every night since their scene at the club the previous weekend. He couldn’t get enough of her lately. And lucky for him, it was Sunday evening and neither of them had had anything else to do but be together. Other than a few breaks to shower or eat, or to feed the ever-disdainful Madame, they’d been in bed since Summer Grace got off work yesterday afternoon.

“Mmm. It’s almost as good as sex,” she said, her mouth still half full. She smoothed the hand not holding her own takeout carton over her stomach, and he couldn’t help but notice the way the peach satin of her short chemise pulled against her breasts, outlining her nipples. “Okay, so it’s nowhere near as good as sex with you, but it tastes like heaven right now. I’m starving.”

“You always work up an appetite when I let you be on top,” he said, winking at her before taking a bite himself. “You’re right—every bit as good as sex.”

“Jamie!” She swatted at him with a pale purple throw pillow.

“Hey, now. Don’t tempt me to put this food down and take you over my knee when we’re both enjoying it so much.”

She grinned impishly, and his heart caught in his throat, the way it had been doing all week.

“The food or the spanking?” she asked.

“Food now, spanking later. And earlier. And last night.”

“I like that about you an awful lot, Jamie Stewart-Greer.”

He popped another piece of chicken into her mouth simply to watch her savor it. “I know you do, sugar.”

“So,” she said when she’d swallowed, “what do you have going on this week?”

“My cousin Duff is coming in from Scotland tomorrow to get things started with the vintage motorcycle shop next door, remember?”

“Oh! Of course. And I only forgot because you keep plying me with food and sex until my brain is exploding.”

“That’s your stomach. And maybe something else.”

Summer Grace rolled her eyes. “Tell me about him again? Since my ‘something else’ is exploding and a girl just can’t think straight without it.”

He chuckled. “Duff is a few years older than me, which I guess would make him thirty-three now. He’s from Edinburgh. He’s always sort of been the bad seed in the family, but I don’t know . . . I don’t think it’s entirely his fault. He’s someone I’ve always looked up to, in more ways than one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, to begin with, my cousin is huge, a good six-foot-seven and built like a wall—like Rosie’s Dom Finn. He has been since he was maybe fifteen years old. Other guys always take it as some sort of challenge to try to fight someone his size, but his parents blamed him for it every time the school called. Then when he was old enough to get into the pubs, which is sixteen in Scotland, he got into a couple of bad fights, even went to jail twice. But I was there for one of them, and I can tell you he was taunted by those assholes, like he had been his whole life. The drinking just made it hard for him to take it. He won’t drink at all now. A sad state for a Scotsman, but it became necessary. But he’s a good guy, and he knows Harleys like no one else I’ve met to this day.”

“You know your accent just crept in there a bit while you were talking about him.”

“Did it?”

Summer Grace smiled. “It did. And I liked it.”

“Well, you’d better get used to it, because once Duff gets here it’s likely to pop up more than a bit, especially since he’s staying with me until he finds his own place. Which means we’ll have to have our liaisons here.”

“Liaisons? Is that what we’re having?” she asked, batting her lashes.

“Sassy wench. You know that’s not it. But I don’t need my cousin finding me spanking you in the kitchen, even if he’s as kinky as I am.”

“Hmm, I might have to start dropping by the shop more often. You know, to hear the Scottish accent.”

“Enamored of my big cousin already, are you?”

She set her carton of noodles on the night table and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. “I’m enamored of you, Jamie. Or haven’t you guessed that after all these years?”

“The feeling is mutual, sweetheart.”

“Is that what we’re calling the bulge in your lap? Enamored?”

He grabbed her narrow hips and ground up against her warm mound. “Mmm-hmm. Now put those chopsticks down and prepare yourself to get spanked now and eat later.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh what?”

“This!”

He lifted her small body and threw her over his shoulder as he stood with her in his arms, flipping the hem of her chemise up, revealing her delectable naked bottom so he could spank her.

She squealed.

“Summer Grace,” he said, his tone firm. His cock was even firmer. “Are you going to behave?”

“Yes,” she gasped, even as she continued to struggle in his grasp.

He just held her tigther as he walked with her through the old house until he reached the kitchen. Without bothering to turn the lights on—there was enough moonlight coming through the high window over the sink—he started opening drawers.

“Do you have any zip ties?” he asked.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Is that a yes?” he demanded.

“In the junk drawer. Next to the stove.”

He yanked the drawer open and saw a bundle of them. “Black. Perfect.”

“For what?”

He laid her roughly on the kitchen table, holding her down with a hand on one shoulder. “Do you really think this is the time to ask me questions?”

She bit her lip. “Um . . . No.”

“Good girl.”

Even in the pale moonlight, he could see the sheen of subspace gleaming in her blue eyes at the words. He knew they did something to her. Hell, it did something to him to say them. Especially to her. Because she was
his
.

He looked down at her, drinking in her beauty, the struggle still evident in the set of her lovely mouth. He’d rid her of that rebellious streak quick enough.

Taking her delicate wrists in his hands, he drew her arms to either side—then he stopped and grinned at her. “It fucks with your head when you can’t see what I’m going to do next, doesn’t it, sugar?”

“Yes, Jamie.”

“Shall I blindfold you, then?”

“Um . . . is that a trick question?”

He grinned. “Yes.”

Flipping her over onto her stomach, he drew one wrist down and slipped the zip tie around it, then around the table leg, locking it tight. Before doing the same to the other wrist, he grabbed the scissors from her knife block and set them close by on the counter in case she panicked and he had to get her out quickly. Once he had her securely bound, he pushed the satin chemise up slowly, allowing himself to enjoy her smooth buttocks, the curve of her tiny waist, the small, rhythmic movements of her body as she pulled in one deep breath after another. When he laid a hand between her shoulder blades, he could feel those heavy breaths, and knew her well enough to understand she was taking herself down further into subspace. But the wicked streak in him didn’t want her to center herself. He wanted her off-balance, wanted to fuck with her head a little. Because he needed it. Because she loved it.

He lifted both hands, paused, and slapped them down hard on her buttocks.

“Ow!”

Without warming her up or giving her time to ride out the pain, he did it again, then again and again, until his palms stung, until he felt her skin welting and she was making little mewling sounds between gasping breaths. She was squirming hard on the table, and he paused to massage her wrists, to be sure the zip ties weren’t cutting into her flesh, but they seemed fine. He leaned over her until he could feel the heat of her ass cheeks against his belly, loving that they were so hot because of his hands on her flesh—that
he’d
done that to her. That she took it
for him
.

She let out a small sigh—or a small sob, he couldn’t tell—as he kissed the back of her neck. He kissed his way down her spine, pausing to move the crumpled chemise out of the way. When he’d worked his way down to her beautiful ass, he bit into the sore flesh.

“Jesus, Jamie!”

In answer he did it again, harder this time, then immediately pinched her in the same spot.

“Ah! Fuck!”

“But you love it,” he murmured. “Tell me you love it, Summer Grace.”

“I don’t. I could kick you, you know,” she said stubbornly, making him chuckle.

His laughter died as he slipped his hand between her thighs, found her as wet as he’d known she’d be. He slid two fingers right inside her, his cock jumping when he felt the velvet clench of her pussy.

“Oh, really? You don’t love it? Try it again, sweetheart.” He smacked her ass hard with his free hand, smiling in the half-dark when he heard her gasp. “Only this time get the answer right.”

“I
don’t
love it,” she said as her body moved, her hips grinding onto his fingers.

He thrust up into her, hard and fast.

“Okay! But Jamie . . . I don’t just love it. I need it.” She groaned. “God, I need it.”

“Good girl.”

He picked up a metal spatula he’d placed within reach when he got the scissors out and smacked her ass with it hard enough to leave a visible mark—a rectangle of red on her tender flesh. He ran a hand over the sore spot, leaned down and placed a kiss on the mark. She breathed out a sigh, such a beautiful sound. He wanted to spend the rest of his life making that sound come from her lips, then kissing the pain away.

He straightened up. What the fuck had he just said to himself?

The twisting he’d felt in his chest all week bloomed into a frightening heat he tried to swallow down.

Love this girl.

No.

Just play her. Play her hard. Fuck her hard. It’ll be okay.

He focused on her gorgeously welted skin, using it to focus him once more before smacking her with the spatula again on the other cheek, and she cried out. Again he bent to kiss the sore spot—he couldn’t help himself—then he ran his tongue over it.

“Mmm.”

He pulled back and slapped the metal tool down hard on her damp skin, knowing it stung like mad.

“Oh, God!”

He did it over and over, moving from one lovely cheek to the other as he fought down that twisting sensation, then rained blows over the backs of her thighs, hard enough that he felt the echo of the impact reverberate in his wrist. He still had his other hand inside her sweet pussy, and the more he hurt her, the wetter she got. He stopped to concentrate on pumping his fingers inside her, angling them to hit her G-spot, and her juices pooled on his hand even before she came, screaming his name, her body shuddering.

His cock was so damn hard he could barely stand it.

That’s right. Focus on the sex. Just fuck her.

He reached for the scissors and cut the zip ties. Then, tearing off the jeans he’d pulled on long enough to answer the door for the food delivery earlier, he pulled her body down, forcing her legs apart. He took his heavy cock in his hand and plowed into her.

“Oh, yes, Jamie.”

With one hand on her hip and the other buried in her hair, pulling her head up until her slender neck was high off the table, beautifully elongated, he rammed into her, burying his cock deep. He did it again, and again, the physical pleasure warring with emotion for dominance. But he was out of control already—he knew it. Finally, he gave himself over, letting her hair go to wrap one arm around her waist and pulling her hips up as he thrust into her. He allowed the warmth to flood his chest as sensation made his cock go unbelievably rigid inside her body.

Her beautiful body that belongs to me, as I belong to her.

His stomach went tight, and he knew he was doing this wrong.

“Fuck, Summer Grace.”

“Jamie?”

He pulled out of her long enough to turn her over, to pull her upright, picking her up and pressing her back into the wall as he pushed inside her once more. Her arms went around his neck, her legs wrapping around his waist.

Yes, just right.

He slung his hips, driving deeper as he kissed her throat, his fingers digging into her buttocks. But it wasn’t about causing pain this time. It was simply about his
need
for her.

“Baby,” he murmured, his breath catching. “Need you, baby.”

Her voice was a quiet sob. “I need you, Jamie.” Her arms tightened around his neck.

He kissed her hard—and kissed the darkness inside her he’d never dared hope might be there. His mind buzzing, he drove into her harder, needing to go deeper. Her pussy was hot and sweet, her mouth hotter, sweeter. She was driving him crazy, his body, his mind, and he found himself unable to process what he was feeling. Exquisite pleasure. Burning emotion. His body poised on that edge as he waited for her to come again. He surged into her in slow, sinuous movements, keeping his pelvis close to hers, and soon he felt her insides squeeze him as she gasped and moaned.

“Ah, Jamie! Yes, yes . . .”

Her pleasure made his spiral, and he fell into that lovely abyss with her. They came into each other, their mouths locked in a kiss full of heat and sweet desire.

Hot and sweet—that was his girl.

They were both panting as he carried her through the house and fell onto the bed with her. They were still twined together. He didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t know if he ever could.

Panic tried to grip him, but her warm body against his, the soft
thud
of her heart against his chest, chased it away.

Maybe because it’s her, it’ll be okay.

Or maybe he was completely delusional.

He wasn’t going to think of that now. Not with her still warm in his arms. Still his. Until he let her go.

*   *   *

S
UMMER SKIRTED AROUND
a crowd of tourists and pushed through the doors of The Grill on Chartres Street in the French Quarter, the same place she and Dennie had been coming to for lunch or breakfast since middle school. The place was an offshoot of the reknowned Camellia Grill out on Carrollton. Both locations had only diner-style counter seating, and the menus were simple Louisiana fare—omelettes and pancakes and some of the best waffles anywhere in the world, not to mention the gumbo. But they came mostly for the staff, who habitually argued with one another, slung food at the diners and generally misbehaved. After all these years the guys who worked there all knew them, and their plates were slid in front of them with a wink and a free cup of coffee.