Extraordinarily Yours: Collection 1 (An Extraordinarily Yours Romance Book 8)

by J. Kenner

  “No,” she said, her voice husky as she pulled away. She said the word, but her tone meant something completely different. Her tone meant yes.

  It was her tone he answered. With a low moan, he slipped his hand under the waist of her shorts, skimming down her back until his fingertips brushed her tiny bikini panties. She gasped, but he didn’t hesitate; still his hand moved lower until his palm caressed the bare flesh of her firm little rear. He tightened his fingers there and urged her closer, his erection straining against his jeans.

  Lane squirmed under his touch, but her body melded to his, her desire more evident with each motion. With his free hand, Jason cupped her chin, tilting her head back so that she had no choice but to look at him.

  She opened her mouth, but no words came out—just a low moan, a sound of pure, feminine pleasure. Jason brushed a kiss over her lips, his body pulsing with unstoppable desire. Lane’s hands grasped his neck, pulled him closer, urged him to make the kiss longer, harder, deeper.

  “Jason,” she murmured, breaking away. “We shouldn’t.”

  His tongue teased the edge of her ear. “Oh, yes,” he said. “We should.”

  “I . . .” She trailed off; then she leaned back in the circle of his arms, her eyes dark with passion. “I don’t—”

  “Shhh,” he said, pressing a finger to her lips. “Unless you’re going to tell me to stop, and then I’ll stop. But tell me now,” he said. “Because I swear to you that if another minute goes by with you in my arms, I’m not going to be able to.”

  For one horrifying second he waited, unsure of her answer. But then she looked at him, and he knew—knew from the dark passion in her eyes and the rose of her cheeks.

  “Kiss me,” she said. “Kiss me now, before I change my mind.”

  11

  Jason didn’t even hesitate, and Lane gasped as his lips closed over hers.

  He’d wanted her, she’d known that. But she hadn’t anticipated the force of his desire. His mouth was hot and demanding, and she welcomed it eagerly, her passion as strong as his. He deepened the kiss, alternately forceful and gentle. His touch evoked erotic memories; and she melted in his arms, the echo of their past encounters heating her skin and making her anticipate the next stroke of his fingers, the next thrust of his tongue.

  His hand cupped the back of her head; his fingers twined in her hair. His touch was possessive, and though she wasn’t his—hadn’t been for a long time—the power with which he claimed her was masterful.

  His other hand stroked her back, each movement loosening her shirt until it pulled entirely free of the waistband of her shorts. His fingers stroked her bare skin. His heated touch enticed her, sent a firestorm of desire rocketing through her veins. She moaned and pressed closer until she felt the hard bulge of his desire firm against the apex of her thighs.

  Her moan turned into a low mewl, a desperate cry of desire. She moved her hips without thinking, wanting to make him harder, wanting to be sure that he was just as desperate as she. Most of all, she wanted to make sure that there was no turning back.

  Lane didn’t know if she was being supremely foolish or refreshingly honest; all she knew was that being in Jason’s arms was intoxicating. Her body sizzled and sang, crackling like a forest fire. And she wanted Jason to stoke that fire.

  This wasn’t real—dammit, she knew that. This was just a reaction to what had happened combined with a vivid memory of what they’d once had together. But Lane wanted the memory, wanted the touch, wanted it all—and if that was a foolish mistake, then so be it.

  She would pick up the pieces later.

  “Lane,” Jason whispered, drawing away long enough to murmur her name.

  She recaptured his lips with her mouth. She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to analyze. She just wanted to make love to this man.

  “Touch me,” she whispered.

  His physical response gratified her as much as his low, masculine groan, his primal sound of longing and need. The hand splayed on her back stroked upward, taking her shirt with it.

  “Lift your arms,” he commanded.

  She complied without hesitation. The shirt’s soft cotton grazed her skin, its light stroke almost overwhelmingly sensual against her already primed senses. Even the brush of the air against her breasts was torture. Boldly, Lane took Jason’s hands, cupped them over her breasts. She hadn’t worn a bra, and right then she was grateful for that decision—one less barrier between them.

  “Sweet Hera,” Jason whispered, his voice strangled. He took Lane’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, stroking and teasing, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Then he kissed her nipples.

  The touch scattered sparks throughout Lane’s body, starting in her breasts and shooting straight past her belly to ignite the flesh between her thighs. Jason moved to pepper her neck with kisses, his lips dancing up her soft skin, the stubble of his beard tickling and turning Lane on more than she’d ever imagined possible.

  His exploration paused at her ear, and he nipped at its lobe. His breath grazed Lane’s cheek, even as his tongue explored the curve of her ear. A tremor wracked her body, and Lane clutched Jason’s shirt, her hands balled into fists as she fought for control.

  His hands abandoned her breasts, and she moaned in protest as he moved to grab her waist. His mouth had left her nipples damp, and she felt them tighten and peak in response to the room’s cool air.

  She arched her back, a silent demand that his lips find her breasts again, that he stroke and kiss her there, but he didn’t respond. At least not as she suggested. His tongue worked another type of magic, dancing on her ear, the sensation unbelievably erotic, the thrusts timed with the gentle gyrations of his hips against her body.

  Lane’s blood heated, and she felt itchy with the need to feel his skin against her. She drew her hands down until she found the hem of his shirt, then slipped her fingers underneath, spreading her hands flat across his abdomen.

  A slight tremor of the rock-hard flesh under her fingers and a little nip on her earlobe was all the encouragement she needed. Boldly, Lane pushed his shirt farther up, her fingers exploring Jason’s smattering of chest hair. Her fingers tingled from the contact with his skin, and she felt lightheaded and weak-kneed. Pushing his shirt even higher, she clutched his shoulders, seeking his nearness and needing his stability to keep her from sinking to the floor in a boneless heap.

  In one bold move, he finished the job for her, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. He had to break contact to do that, and she mourned the absence of his touch.

  He filled the void soon enough. No sooner had his shirt touched the floor than he scooped her up in his arms. She gasped, the sudden sensation of being airborne surprising. For a moment her eyes opened wide, she looked around, wondering if she really was flying—but no, Jason’s feet were still firmly planted on the floor, and he was carrying her to the couch.

  “Does it fold out?” he asked.

  She nodded, unable to form words, as Jason gently lowered her to her feet. She stood there, hugging herself, as he tossed the sofa cushions on the floor and tugged out the bed. With one hand, he urged her onto it, and she went without hesitation.

  He gave her a strange look. “Are you su—”

  She silenced his question with one finger. “I’m sure,” she said. Not about forever. Hell, maybe not even about tomorrow. But right then she wanted him. Right then she needed human contact, human connection. And, more than anything, she needed that connection to be with Jason.

  He smiled in understanding, his hands pressing on her shoulders and easing her back against the bed. “In that case, I only have one other question.”

  She licked her lips and nodded, her heart pounding, fearful that he would back away, leaving her unfulfilled.

  “Is Davy a sound sleeper?”

  Laughing, Lane hooked her arm around his neck and pulled him down. “Very,” she whispered.

  “Good,” he said. Rolling onto his side, he trac
ed his finger down her bare arm. “Because—I want you, you know.”

  “You’ve got me,” she said.

  “I want you . . . naked,” he added, looking pointedly down at the shorts she still wore.

  “Yeah?” she asked. “Well, what are you going to do about that?”

  “Maybe I’ll just show you.” The grin he flashed was playful and full of promise. Lane remembered it vividly, and she stifled another little sigh.

  He urged her onto her back, then moved to straddle her, cupping her waist with his hands. Little by little, he urged her shorts down. When he reached the elastic band of her underwear, he snagged those as well.

  He knelt over her, lowering his mouth to her belly. He traced a trail of wet kisses down, lower and lower, until Lane realized she was holding her breath. He’d urged her shorts and panties down to mid-thigh, and now he pulled them off, taking his lips from her skin just long enough to complete the task of getting her completely naked.

  The window was slightly open, and the breeze from the beach brought a chill into the room, but Lane hardly noticed. Her skin was on fire, burning under Jason’s touch, and when he touched his lips to her inner thigh, the heat of her passion consumed her.

  Desire overwhelmed her like hunger, and she spread her legs, giving him better access and begging with her body to be touched where she most longed.

  He responded, understanding her unspoken pleas. He kissed her intimately, his tongue laving her, and she squirmed with almost maddening pleasure. Pure heat spread through Lane’s body, and she moaned, wanting Jason to touch her—there—needing him to find that one secret place that would bring her sweet release. He cupped her behind with his hands, holding her steady as he focused his assault.

  Lane’s body tingled, little tremors shooting straight to her toes. A steady pressure built in her belly and she held completely still, fearful that if she moved—if she breathed—she’d be on this wonderful precipice of pleasure and tormented anticipation for eternity.

  He knew her fear, and he knew exactly what she needed. He stroked her, a flood of warmth building and building, his fingers teasing her, slipping inside her warm folds just enough to drive her absolutely over the edge.

  The force of her fulfillment hit her, and Lane twisted, moving away from Jason’s delicious onslaught. He held her steady, though, forcing her to ride the crest of heat and color until she was certain her body couldn’t take it. She reached over her head, clutching the back of the sofa, her fingers gripping the upholstery as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her.

  At last the tremors stopped, and she breathed deep, her body limp and languid. Jason moved up the bed toward her, trailing kisses up her body, his heat radiating everywhere.

  Lane murmured his name, rolled into his embrace. Hooking her leg over his waist, she pressed close, her body seeking some sort of stability. Sparks. Oh, yeah. With Jason, there were definitely sparks. “That was wonderful,” she said, her voice breathy.

  He pressed a gentle kiss against her neck, the innocent gesture setting off another reaction in Lane’s body that was anything but innocent. “I’m glad you think so, sweetheart. Because we’ve only just got started.”

  Heaven.

  For years he’d fantasized about holding Lane in his arms again, about losing himself in her sweetness. He’d almost feared the reality of her touch wouldn’t live up to the power of his memories. He’d been wrong. The responsive, sensual woman now in his arms put his memories to shame.

  She’d been young and inexperienced when they’d been together. Her innocence and genuine pleasure from his touch had delighted him. Now, though, she was sure and experienced, taking pleasure as much as she gave. Her honest responses were still delightful, but there was a confidence about Lane that excited Jason even more.

  Of course, he tried not to think about the source—or sources—of that confidence. About where she’d gained the sensual experience of which he was now reaping the benefit. He stroked her arm, trying not to think; wanting only to lose himself in the pleasure reflected in her eyes.

  “Surely you’re not tired already,” she said, a tease in her voice. “From what I understand, superheroes have amazing stamina.”

  He grinned. “Well, sweetheart, you’ve heard right.”

  Slowly he rolled her over, sent his fingers dancing across her bare skin. She was naked and utterly beautiful; he still wore his shorts—an oversight he intended to correct momentarily.

  “Good,” she said. He glanced up, noting the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Because superheroes are supposed to be powerful, too.” She licked her lips and shot a coy glance at his shorts. “Care to try to prove it to me?”

  He laughed. “Careful there, unless you want to induce performance anxiety.”

  Her laugh joined his. “Well, I wouldn’t want that. I’ll keep my expectations silent . . . until later, when I flash my Olympic score card.”

  “Mmmm.” He took her breast in his mouth, teasing her nipple with his tongue. Then, pulling away, he blew cool air on her now-wet skin, watched as the light-brown flesh puckered.

  Lane moaned, her hand snaking down his back, fingers hard and insistent.

  “I assume I’ll get straight tens,” he said.

  “I don’t know,” she hedged, her voice a bit breathless. She arched her back, pressing her breasts closer to his mouth, need reflected on her face. At the same time, she slid her hand around to his belly, her fingers sliding under the waistband of his shorts and underwear. “The judging criteria is very strict. You’ll have to work very, very hard.”

  It was his turn to groan, and he released a low moan of pure, desperate need as her fingers caressed the base of him. “Off,” he said, forcing out the only word he could manage.

  She understood, shifting her body so that she could grasp his shorts and pull them off, down over his rock-hard shaft.

  But she didn’t move fast enough to suit, and he struggled the rest of the way out of his clothes and positioned himself between her legs. The tip of him pressed against her soft, sweet folds, but with supreme effort he held back.

  “I don’t have a condom,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re fine.”

  Thank Hera. If she’d told him to stop, he wasn’t confident that he could. He longed to sink himself into her, but he didn’t want to move too fast. He wanted this as perfect for her as it was for him.

  “Now,” she whispered. “Jason, please. Why the hell are you stopping?”

  He would have kissed her for that if her words hadn’t robbed his brain of every rational thought. He heard only her words, though, reacted only to her command. In one clean, powerful thrust, he entered her.

  Her velvety heat enveloped him, and he thrust deeper, silently obeying the commands of her body. Her legs tightened around him, and she thrust upward as well. With each inch he drove deeper, moved that much closer to the satisfaction that waited for him just a hairbreadth away.

  He withdrew and entered her again. And then again. They rocked together, a union of both body and soul, until the world split and release contorted his body with an intensity that was almost painful. When the tremors passed, he collapsed onto her, bearing the brunt of his weight on his elbows. He stroked Lane’s cheek and smiled into her satisfied eyes.

  “As nice as before?” he asked.

  “Nicer,” she said, a charming pink blush tinging her cheeks.

  He brushed her mouth with his lips, a light kiss that conveyed all the passion he felt. She was right. This time with Lane had been nicer. In the past, she’d blown him away, this woman with whom he’d expected to spend the rest of his life. Now, there was even more to her. He wanted to explore every facet, to learn every idiosyncrasy. He longed to be as close to her now as they’d been before. If only . . .

  He shook his head, a wave of regret and anger crashing over him. Damn Hieronymous. Damn him to Hades for stealing Jason’s life, both the time and his reputation.

  “Jason?”
Concern flashed in Lane’s eyes.

  He conjured a smile. “Just woolgathering.” He shifted away to lie on his side, pulling her close beside him and capturing her in his embrace. “So?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice light.

  She turned her head, twisting a bit to see him. Confusion colored her face. “So?” she repeated.

  “The final score,” he clarified.

  She laughed. “Oh, right. If I tell you, it’ll just go to your head.”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Perfect,” she answered. She twisted completely, turning in his arms to face him. In a quick motion, she planted a sweet kiss on the tip of his nose. “Every other man in competition is quaking in his itty-bitty briefs.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Quaking?”

  She snuggled up close. “Definitely quaking,” she said. “And don’t worry,” she added in a whisper, her face pressed to his chest. “You’re guaranteed the gold.” Then, with a satisfied sigh, Lane closed her eyes. Her breathing evened, and Jason watched, mesmerized by the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she drifted off to sleep.

  Jason didn’t sleep. He didn’t even doze. Instead, he kept his eyes wide open, memorizing every curve, every freckle, the position of every tiny hair on her body. Like a movie, he ran each touch, each caress, over and over in his mind, committing his and Lane’s lovemaking to memory, needing to make sure he would never, ever forget.

  At the moment, Lane was his. Of that, he was certain. It was the future he feared.

  Phelonium Prigg’s image sputtered and shifted, so Zoe gave her holo-pager one solid whack. A bit more static appeared, and then the Council bureaucrat came into sharp focus. He pulled himself up to his full height, all five feet four inches. Under the circumstances—as a projection on top of Jason’s desk calendar—the Protector seemed even tinier.

  Zoe exhaled, then propped her hands on her hips. “I was trying to reach Zephron,” she said.

  Prigg sniffed in that insufferable way he had. “Zephron is indisposed,” he said. He held up his hand when Zoe tried to interrupt. “Certain matters have come to my attention, however, and I would be remiss not to raise them promptly with you.”