Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (18 page)

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

“Dammit, Sam. I wasn’t there to talk about the weather. What I had to say seemed pretty goddamn irrelevant as I watched the two of you. He went in with you. For the night.”

“You’re not in in much of a position to feel miffed over that.”

He stepped so close to her that not even an inch separated them. A vein pulsed at his left temple. Deep at her core, she quivered with anticipation. She reached for him and tiptoed, bringing her lips closer to his.

“Please stop talking,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, trying to pull him down to her.

“This isn’t how I wanted this to happen,” he said, arms lifting and meeting behind her back. His voice was low, an agonized whisper. As though his words were using the last of his willpower. Forehead bent to hers, touching her, warming her, he said, “I want to clear the air first. Please talk to me first. Really talk. About what happened seven years ago. About how we should go forward. I didn’t want this to happen when you’re practically engaged to someone else. It’s wrong.”

“Justin and I have an open relationship.”

He frowned. “Open? As in you sleep with other people?”

“We have the option of having sex with other people. You do understand the concept, don’t you? And we’re going to have an open marriage. Discreet, of course. But open.”

“Jesus Christ. Why the fuck would you—”

She put her index finger on his lips. “Shhhhh. Not going to talk about it any more than that.”

He was breathing heavily, as though he’d just stepped off the treadmill. So was she. He’d showered just a couple of hours earlier, when they’d come in from the trial. The scent of fresh soap mixed with his musky male, woodsy scent. His body, already warm from the run, was getting hotter. Desire had her knees and arms trembling, and deep inside her internal muscles pulsed with need.

He groaned, pulling her closer, pressing her body flat against him.

With the very last of her willpower, in a throaty voice that didn’t sound to her own ears anything like herself, she said, “Just so you’re clear, nothing is happening here but sex, and it has nothing to do with what happened before. We’re not going to have that conversation. Ever.”

“Believe what you want to believe,” he muttered, as his lips touched hers. “Just so you’re clear, I’d prefer to clear the air now. And we will go ther—”

“Forget it.”

“Give me a second,” he said, separating from her, turning, and walking away. He went into his bedroom, and reappeared before she caught her breath. He had a condom packet in his hand.

“Sex was a foregone conclusion on this job?”

Serious black eyes glanced at her with a complex look swirling with undercurrents that she couldn’t decipher. “If this were just a job, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m on the pill,” she said, a fact that had been sufficient for him before.

“Learned the hard way that the pill isn’t foolproof,” he said with a frown. “And I’d still prefer to clear the air first. By talking.”

She stepped closer to him, stood on tiptoes, and whispered, before their lips met, “Not sure the air will ever be clear and don’t want to waste time talking.” Before he could grab her arms, she gripped the waistband of his shorts and yanked them down.

His mouth found hers as she wrapped her hand around him. Pressing herself against his abdomen, she felt him shudder as she ran her fingers down the taut flesh of his erection.

Now.
Please
.
Persuade me I’ve been wrong. Prove my memory distorted reality. Show me you’re really not the best.

Chapter Fifteen

Sam had been an impatient, to-the-point lover back then.

Nice to see she hasn’t changed
.

“Not yet.”
Reaching down, Zeus pulled her hands off of him, clasping them in his and holding them firmly at her sides. She moaned in protest as he leaned into her and deepened their kiss, gliding his tongue over hers, tasting the sweetness of her.

Bending his head, Zeus moved closer, until her soft breasts flattened against the hard plane of his chest. She rose onto tiptoes and nipped at his lower lip with her teeth. His body shook as fresh anticipation surged through him. She licked the same spot with the point of her tongue, applying soothing pressure.

“Kick off your shoes,” he murmured, returning to enjoying their kiss, pressing his mouth onto hers while he held her arms down at her sides. He stepped out of his shoes, one at a time, as she did the same.

Sam flexed her fingers in his hold. “Let go of my arms.”

As soon as he freed her, her fingers closed around his hard dick. Again. Resisting the urge to lose control, he muttered, “Stop.”

She never did listen worth a damn.

Short fingernails scored the sensitive skin where his penis met his balls, lightly scratching as he slipped on the condom. He grit his teeth while sparks of want and need exploded along his spine. He’d gone from semi-erect to straining for release as they’d talked, and her blood-red lacquered fingernails were going to push him over the fucking edge.

Sex with Sam was like navigating through a war zone. Fortunately, he had prior experience—in war zones and in bed with her. He was prepared for her to fight for what she needed, when she wanted it. How hard. How fast. How deep.

For Zeus, it was a turn-on like nothing else. It typically took an orgasm or two to calm her down. He’d never come across anyone else like her. Didn’t care if he ever did. She was all he’d ever wanted. Then and now.

Getting Sam naked, fast, became of paramount importance. He lifted her exercise shirt and the snug, built-in bra and yanked it over her head. The action gave his dick a much needed—but not wanted—break, because it forced her hands off of him.

He drank her moan of protest as he peeled her exercise pants down. Sam returned her fingers to his shaft and squeezed as she glided her thumb over the sensitized tip. He shuddered from the base of his spine up to his very teeth. “Dammit, Sam. Next time I’m tying you.”

“Promise?” Voice husky, eyes sultry, she moaned as her thumb pressed the very tip of him, then glided around.

“More than a promise.” He groaned, as she squeezed harder. “If you keep this up, I’ll come in your hand. That what you want?”

Hell.
It wasn’t what he wanted. Not when he’d been dreaming of this moment for-fucking-ever. Fortunately for him, he was the stronger of the two. Digging deep, he found the willpower to pull her hands off of him, then shackled her wrists tightly in one hand over her head. Walking toward her bedroom, he pushed her backward with each step.

Two agents were positioned on the other side of the door of the living room. There was no need to broadcast their activities to the on-site agents. Experience reminded him that neither himself nor Sam made love in silence. He’d taken off his mic before the run, telling Ragno to alert him through on-site agents if a crisis occurred. One knock at the door and this would be over.

Eyes gleaming, with a sultry, half-smile on her face, she nodded in encouragement, stepping backward with him as he moved forward. He made it two steps into the doorway of her bedroom and kicked it shut. He’d wanted their first time—this time—to be slow and gentle, but evidently that was a fantasy she hadn’t shared.

Back then, he’d made love to her for hours at a time, in the process rubbing out her hard edges until she was malleable and softly loveable, with both of them drifting afterwards in a sea of thoroughly-satiated contentment. Now, assessing the depth of come-on tease and hot desire in her eyes, and the rapid rise and fall of her flushed chest, he gave up on the long-slow-savor approach.

Hell. Sometimes—like now—it’s just easier to give Sam what she wants.
How she wants it.

In two steps he had her against the wall. With her back flat against it, and her hands locked in his left hand, high over her head, he stepped back as far as he could while keeping her imprisoned.

Inhaling deeply, the scent of jasmine, rose, and natural musk drifted into his consciousness as he stared at her. She was slender and fit, yet had curves and angles. She was soft where he wanted her to be—at the mounds of her breasts, at her small, almost-taut belly, and at her thighs and her ass. Her pale, creamy skin looked delicate, and was a stark contradiction to the fiery, determined woman she was. Definitely not the way she was in bed. There was nothing delicate or demure in the way Sam liked to have sex.

Eyes falling below her waist, he moaned. What he had dreamed of, late at night, when subconscious thoughts overpowered his ability to repress his memories of her, was there, waiting for him. Nestled between the creamy flesh of her thighs, a triangle of soft, golden curls covered her sex. Just thinking about how golden blonde she was—there—drove him fucking crazy in a way that had haunted him for years.

“Ready.” She flexed her hips forward.

“Not yet.”

He stepped in closer, bent his head to her soft breast, opened his mouth to a pink nipple that hardened into a nub, and felt her lift her right leg behind the small of his back, curling it over his ass. Leg in position, she tried to use it to pull him toward her.

“Not yet,” he said again, knowing she’d ignore him until it suited her.
Hell.
He’d never get enough of her.

“Now,” she answered as she shimmied herself up him, with her back against the wall. Using her arms and his strength for leverage, she lifted her other leg and locked it behind his back.

Dammit. She always found a way.

Supported by the wall at her back, his left hand that imprisoned both of hers, and the death grip she had on his hips with her legs, she flexed her hips forward. Soft, warm flesh opened onto his dick as she pressed and rubbed against him. Moaning, she arched her back into the motion.

Clenching his jaw with the effort to stave off release, he watched her eyes slightly close, her cheeks become flushed, and her breasts bounce as she rubbed herself into a pre-orgasmic, sexy-as-hell state. His right hand shook as he reached between them, fingers threading through her soft spun-gold curls, probing her flesh.

“Hot,” he whispered, sliding his fingers through her folds, drawing a deep breath as he found her opening. He pushed two fingers deep into her tight sheath. She shivered with him. “Mmmm. Wet.”

“Like I said. Ready.” She looked down, to where his hand was working her, where his penis was poised and straining between the two of them. “Really. Now. Would be good.” She met his eyes. There was a wicked gleam in hers. With heavy breaths punctuating each word, with her hips meeting the thrust of his hand, she whispered, “Is this how…” She drew a deep breath. “You want me to come?”

Nope. As usual, she has a great point.

Moving his hand away, and dropping her arms, he gripped her hips with both hands. Lifting her so that he was poised for entry, he used his thigh, butt, and calf muscles to upstroke, and his arms and shoulders to slide her down onto him. Pulling out, he groaned, then pumped forward, forcing every inch of his thick, straining shaft into her as hard and fast as possible. As he repeated the action, again and again, he could tell from her moans, the way her eyes glazed, the way her tight channel contracted around him, the way her hips flexed, that what he was doing was working.

God knows it is for me.

She held on around his neck. For a few seconds he could feel her mouth there, open wide. As her groans grew louder, her head fell to his right shoulder.

“Zeus,” she moaned, arching her hips into his. “Oh God. Zeus.”

Her channel pulsed and tightened around him in orgasmic spasms that felt like blissful torture on his dick and almost pushed him to completion. He shuddered, resisting the urge to come as she bit into his shoulder. It took him a few seconds to regain control, and he held still while he searched for it. He gripped her hips tightly, lifting her up and down. Slowly. In. Out. Each soft moan of hers provided fuel that kept him going.

Long minutes passed, then her breathing quickened.

When he felt his orgasm building with another of hers, he settled in deep, reached between them with one hand, slipped his thumb into her curls, found the tight nub of her clit, and pressed hard. Her breathing escalated while her channel contracted around him. Sweet, delicious moans escaped from her, punctuated with his name. The sounds she made as she came rivaled the best music he’d ever heard, providing the perfect ending to the heartbreak world of wrong decisions in which he’d been living for seven years.

Her cries grew louder, until she said his name with the same exact wild moan he remembered from the last time they made love. He exploded with a violent orgasm that took his breath and kept going. Each mind-bending spasm chipped away at the hard wall of frustration that had surrounded him since walking away from her.

She turned her head to him, and, as his orgasm waned, he bent to meet her lips. Mouths open, they kissed a long, slow, deep kiss. Breathing with her, he didn’t even have energy to open his eyes. After a couple of long minutes, when he stopped seeing stars, he realized their position had never been comfortable for her. By now it had to hurt. He broke away from the kiss.

Without a word, she eased her legs from around his hips. He moved his hips, and slipped out of her, as she slid her feet to the floor. When all he wanted to do was hold her, she squeezed away from the space between the wall and his chest, separating herself from him. She turned her face from him, intent on moving away. Not content to read her body language, he needed to see her expression.

Dammit.

He reached for her arm, but when his fingertips grazed her, she pulled away. Grabbing her and tugging her back against him would have been easy, but something in her quick movement away told him now was not the time to be manhandling her. She kept walking in the direction of the bathroom without looking at him.

“You okay?”

Finally, she turned. The look in her eyes sliced through him with the feel of cold steel. He expected coy. Something teasing. Post-coital laughter. Sam had always been good to give an assessment of how they’d been together, interjecting any number of descriptive words into her pronouncement. But now there was no glib quip. Eyes wide, lips red and swollen from their kisses, she looked as though she’d been stunned into silence. Her uncharacteristic expression scared the hell out of him.

“Dammit. Talk to me. Are you okay?”

She gave him a soft, slow smile, one that suggested it took a lot of willpower, and tried to emphasize the message her eyes were attempting to convey with a nod. Her expression did nothing to help him understand what the hell was wrong. “Fine, Zeus. That was wonderful. I just need a minute.”

Her eyes glistened with something.
Fuck.
Tears? She never cried after sex. At least not sex with him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, with a headshake that was more alarming than persuasive. “I just need to get cleaned up.”

And she didn’t do that either. She wasn’t a prissy type who had to wipe away evidence of love making the minute it was over.

Hell. Hell. Hell.

One giant step forward, he thought, as he watched her walk into the bathroom. The door shut, and the lock clicked.

Twenty steps backward.

What in the fucking world did I do wrong this time?