Five Alarm Lust (3 page)

“Are you sure? I mean, you’re more than a little tipsy, and I don’t want to pressure you into…”

Gillian winced at the nervous titter that escaped and shook her head. “You aren’t.” It was the truth, however shadowed it might be. He wasn’t, she knew firsthand what being forced felt like—the pain, the disgust, the desperate need to hide… Jack wasn’t forcing her to do this. She bit her lip at the hesitant look on his face as he stared at her. His brows drew together in a frown before smoothing out to a quick, charming grin. Pushing aside the familiar panic, she met him halfway, her hands clutching at his open shirt. Shivers raced along her body.

She lifted her hips when his hands crept under her dress and paused at the hooks of her garters. A prickle of unease flared at the low groan he issued before he began peeling the satin stockings off. Gilli watched with a detached sense of fascination as her stockings sailed through the air to land in a tangled heap in the shower. Giving a half-hearted moan when he pulled her gown away from her chest, she arched into his touch as he pressed hot, slick kisses along her throat down to her breasts. Each sweep of his tongue over her flesh stirred the desire racing through her blood. With it that old sense of preservation clawed at her—a distance she refused to surrender.

Fighting against her responses, she whimpered and moaned with each touch, each caress, hoping he wouldn’t notice how fake they sounded, or how cold she seemed. Or how badly her body shook with each breath as she clung to the control so rapidly escaping her. Her breath coming in a swift gasp, she clung to him. He shivered at the rip of foil, the faint smell of lubricant wafting up to her. Her nails bit into his shoulders when he sank into her body, the stretched, too tight sensation burrowing through her. She stared at the ceiling, counting the square tiles, her body undulating and moving with his. She bit hard on her lip when she felt the coil tighten.
No! No, Gillian, don’t let go. Control. Control.

Each thrust against her sent tingles of passion through her clit. His rapid breathing, the bruising grip on her hips, told her how close he was. She increased her breathing, tilted her head back, and wiggled against him. Her nails scored his back, ankles crossed. She moaned softly and focused instead on the corner of the shower—even as she felt the tears scald the backs of her eyes.
What is wrong with me that I can’t do this? Why do I do this to myself?

Pushing back the icy numbness that settled within her, she clung to him, and clung to the vague hope he would leave her to shower away the guilt and erase the faint need to feel clean again.

She pressed her face into his shoulder as his thrusts grew rougher. His low, almost tortured groan as he pulled her against him struck a chord within her. She shivered at the tremble racing over his body, the hot wash of his ejaculate jutting into the thin layer of protection between them.

A weak smile crossed her face when he shifted. His hands were gentle yet firm on her face. He kissed her softly. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips when he inhaled.

“Hey, you okay?” Her attempt to soothe with a grin didn’t seem to work. With a sigh, he squeezed her shoulder. “I’m going to make us some coffee, and then we can talk.”

Relief flooded her as the door knocker thumped from the other room. “I’ll be right back, Gilli.” He stepped back to fasten his pants as he hurried from the bathroom. She slid off the counter and shuffled to the shower, the dress falling around her ankles to be kicked aside as she fixed the settings and stepped into the stall.

Hands braced against the cold tile, she lowered her head and sobbed. Her body burned with a need so foreign to her it rocked the precious control she held. For the first time, she’d come so close and it terrified her. She wasn’t any different than any other woman, and yet letting go, taking more from the brief movements, left her wallowing in shame and guilt.

* * * *

Barbara narrowed her eyes slightly, a smile pasted on her face. Every ounce of attention was focused on Gillian as she stumbled from the table. The large, grotesque spot on her gown irritated her. Careful to avoid getting caught, she watched as Lenny’s friend chatted for a second with Gillian before wrapping an arm around her waist and turning her toward the massive doors. In the dim lights she couldn’t see exactly what was happening, but it didn’t stop the flare of rage. What on earth had she done?

Feeling her husband’s hand curl around her waist, she shot him a smile and gyrated against him. How like Gillian to ruin her reception. How she hated the little bitch. It was simply too bad the paramedics had been so prompt that night. Their tardiness would have saved everyone a lot of headache. Barbara leaned back and giggled when Lenny pressed a kiss to her neck, his hands encircling her waist. Soon, very soon, she’d have it all.

* * * *

Jack stretched out, his gaze on Gilli who slept soundly in his king bed. Her slim body wrapped around a pillow, her dark hair spread out over the pale sheets, her lips parted slightly. Delicate, pale, purple lace hugged her ass; a white muscle shirt clung to her breasts, the only clothing that was clean and dry.

He let the bottle of water swing between his fingers. He’d felt more than a little guilty when he’d gone to answer the door, his body still shaking with the force of his release. Hurrying back to the bathroom to ask if she’d like something to eat from the room service menu, he’d felt the barb of shame and something else, something a lot darker, slide like a dagger between his ribs at her muffled sobs in the shower.

His anger had faded at the lost, pained look in her eyes when she slipped from the bathroom to accept the steaming mug of coffee. Every attempt to get her to talk had been met with monosyllable words. After the third yawn he’d ushered her into bed. Now, two hours later, he watched her sleep. Her brows furrowed, her grip on the pillow tightened at times before she eased back into sleep.

Why hadn’t she come? The questions kept repeating over and over again, an endless, merciless drain on his sense of pride. Leaving a woman still burning hadn’t happened since he was sixteen, and he felt a knot of apprehension that he’d done it with Gillian. It wasn’t so much a matter of skill, but pride in himself. Hell, it had been years since a woman left his bed unhappy. Everyone knew his reputation, and it was well earned. So what was it about this one that kept her from falling over the edge? What could he have done different? Surely there was something.

He rested his ankle on his knee, his mind retracing the evening, a nagging feeling of missing something. Like an insect hovering near his head, the annoying feeling wouldn’t leave him. With a sudden clarity, he realized what had bothered him from the first moment he’d looked into her eyes. Beneath the thick glasses and shy demeanor beat the heart of a woman who was in pain. Something or someone hurt her and badly. He sighed; he’d be damned if he was going to let her hide from him.

Yeah, Jack, that’s really good. Thinkin’ ’bout yourself, aren’t you? It wasn’t like you did much to make sure she enjoyed herself. Hell, you did the wham bam thank you ma’am in under ten minutes flat!
The annoying inner voice of reason lashed out.
Where’s the man who has dates lining up to crawl into his bed because of his prowess?

He set the sweaty bottle on the table, rose, and strode over to the door. Flipping the DO NOT DISTURB sign around, he slid the lock closed. His bare feet were soundless on the carpet as he slid into the bedroom, his finger unknotting the sash of his terrycloth robe.

“Gillian.” Pressing a quick kiss to her brow, he trailed his fingers through the dark tendrils over her cheek. “Gillian, wake up. I need to talk to you.”

“No, go away. Sleepy.” Gillian brushed at his hand, her nose wrinkling in protest.

Jack grinned and shook her shoulder. He exhaled when she rolled away from him to sleep on her stomach. A soft smile played with the corners of his lips as he trailed a hand down her back. The thick puckered flesh below her third rib drew his attention.

He inched his fingers across the fabric-covered flesh and whistled under his breath. Something had sliced deep and long. He could feel the pucker where stitches were raised in the flesh. The scar trailed down her back to the top of her hip, where it blended into another that zigzagged across her shapely, pert ass.

He tugged the shirt up, his heart dropping at the series of small, faint lines that traced over her flesh. Some were deeper, wider than others, and he winced. He leaned down to press a quick kiss to her back, his tongue darting out to trace the line of the scar beneath his lips. Jack adjusted his frame until his back rested against the headboard, and then combed through Gilli’s hair with his fingers, his eyes tracing over the lines of her back. The dip in her waist, the full, plump curl of her ass, the long jagged scars that told of some horror he couldn’t comprehend. “Gillian,” he whispered, leaning over her. “Gillian, wake up, baby.”

“Sleep.”

“Later, babe.” He chuckled, his blood heating with a sharp need when she rolled onto her side, her legs sliding across satin sheets to reveal the shadowed flesh beneath the lace. Trailing a hand down her shoulder, he caressed the skin, his fingers dipping to tease the swell of her breasts.

“Go away.” Disgruntled, her brow wrinkling in annoyance, she waved at him and rolled onto her back. He grinned when she blinked her eyes open, squinting in the pale light before she reached for the bedside table and her glasses.

“Uh, you don’t need these,” Jack whispered, pulling the dark-framed eyewear free of her and setting them on the stand next to him. “Don’t need your eyes to feel.”

“What are you talking about, Jack? Where’s my shirt? I need…”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips and leaned forward. “You don’t need to go anywhere, Gilli, except right where you are. We didn’t get a chance to talk before.”

“Talk?” Gillian swallowed, her face blanched of all color. “Um, about what? I need my clothes or a robe or…”

“I haven’t left a woman hanging since I was sixteen.” Jack pushed himself deeper into the bedding. “And it bothers me that you didn’t come.”

“I’m fine. It was good. Really. I um … I … I should…” Gillian scooted back on the bed, her fingers tangling in the sheets.

Jack caught the dart of something in her eyes. Fear? Shame? Uncertainty? He narrowed his gaze, his mind racing. What could such a warm woman have to hide? “Gillian, you’re not going anywhere until you tell me why.”

“Why?” She tucked her feet beneath her bottom, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

He sighed. Her parroted statement toneless, her eyes widened, he caught the tremble in her fingers. “Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” She inched backward, putting more space between them.

“Oh, I never thought that. It’s just, it must be getting late, and really I should be getting back to my room. Thank you for letting me crash. Did you give room service…” Gillian rambled until he caught her ankle and pulled her back across the bed, to lean over her.

“No, room service didn’t take your dress yet.” Jack leaned forward, hands planted on either side of her hips. “Why, Gillian?”

“Why? Why what? I don’t understand the question.”

“Why did you let me fuck you in the bathroom? You didn’t enjoy it. If I had to wager, I’d say you weren’t even really into it. Was it about the shirt? Did you think I would just want sex? I’m not…”

“I never said you were.” Gillian huffed, her breathing erratic, her voice squeaking as she tried to focus on a point over his shoulder. “I did so want to. I could have told you no.”

“Okay.” He clasped her wrists in one fist and held them over her head. “Then why didn’t you come?” Leaning closer, he stared into her eyes.

“Come?” Gillian tugged on her arms, a frown marring her brow. “I don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

“Come. Never have. Only whores do that. I’m about as sexless as a block of ice, so why would I come?” She shrugged, the bitter words spilling out to fall between them. “Mike didn’t care, why should you? Look, it’s nothing against you—it’s me. I’m broken, useless, so don’t feel like you had to make me come or you forced me or anything. You didn’t. I wanted to have sex.”

Shock ripped through him at her quick response. Her words spoke volumes, as did the shadows in her eyes. With a sudden clarity that took his breath, it hit him. The scars were in some way connected to the lack of sexual interest. He caught the tension, the stiffening of her body when he shifted, pinning her more firmly in place. “Fuck.”

Gillian jumped beneath him, her breath quickening. She wiggled, trying to gain leverage to get from beneath him. “Look, I’m just—”

“What happened, Gillian?” Jack leaned closer, the warm draft of her breath on his face soothing even as it stirred the passion within him. “Why don’t you enjoy sex? Never had a lover who took the time…”

He could feel the throbbing of her heart beneath him, hear the faint but distinct sound of her rapid harsh panting. Something cracked at the tears in her eyes. “Talk to me, Gillian. Let me in.”

Shaking her head, she squeezed her eyes shut. “Look, if you want a repeat—”

“I want to make you feel good. I want to see you come apart in my arms while I’m sunk balls deep within that hot, tight cunt of yours. I want to know that you’re satisfied, that you’re not just doing this because you think I want it.” He pressed a quick kiss to the side of her mouth. “Tell me how to make you come.”

“I don’t know.” Gillian’s heartbroken whisper stirred his blood. Anger rose like a tempest, swirling around him as he stared down into her face. For all her bluster and talk, Gillian was as virginal as they came. She’d had sex, but he doubted if she’d ever made love. Had she ever really experienced the difference between a man servicing his own lust and one who was into the woman in his arms?

“Then let’s learn.” He pressed a quick kiss to her nose before dipping his head to lick at her lips. Taking slow, languid swipes across the plump flesh with his tongue, he tasted the mint of the toothpaste she’d used before crawling into bed, the coffee she’d drank … all mixed with the taste that was hers.