“How Emma?”
“Spank me?” she asks, her raspy voice a sexy and somehow sweet play on my nerve endings. God, I want this woman. Over and over and fucking over.
“Or maybe I’ll just stop doing what you want me to keep doing. Don’t—”
“Move my hands.”
I study her a moment, searching her face in the dim light, ensuring she’s ready for this, that she wants this, that there’s no hesitation in her. Nerves, yes. I see those in her eyes. I feel those radiating off of her, but not fear or hesitation. I lean in and kiss her and then release her hands. Mine travel down her arms and slowly find her breasts, my fingers teasing her nipples until my tongue replaces them. She arches into each lick and suckle and I take my time, teasing her nipples, teasing her, because a spanking isn’t about the spanking. It’s about knowing it’s coming, the anticipation burning you alive. It’s about wanting it and dreading it and wanting it all over again.
“Jax,” she whispers, and then her hand is in my hair.
I catch it, and I press it back to the mattress. “I said don’t move. One warning. That’s all you get.”
“I want to touch you.”
“And you will. Soon. Don’t move, Emma. Because when you do, I will stop what I’m doing, turn you over and spank you now instead of later.” I kiss her, and it’s no gentle kiss. It’s rough and demanding, and when I tear my mouth from hers, a sound of frustration leaves her lips.
“Just spank me now.”
“Not a chance in hell, baby.”
“Jax—”
I kiss her again, my lips lingering above hers. “What are you thinking about?”
“You spanking me.”
“What else?”
“Nothing. Nothing else. Well, that and how much I want to touch you.”
“Exactly. That’s what a spanking is all about, Emma. Escape. Now, don’t touch me until I tell you that you can touch me.”
It’s then that I admit that, yes, I do want her submission. I want her to burn alive for me. I want her to do anything I say just to get more. I want her to want me that badly, but I also want so much more from Emma Knight. I want her to be mine and the fact that she was willing to walk away, to leave tonight, says she isn’t mine at all.
And damn it, I’m going to change that.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Emma
Don’t touch him.
That is no easy task when my body is on fire and my belly trembling with his lips that are now pressed there. I want to touch him. God, how I want to touch him. His tongue teases my delicate skin, and even as it does, he settles lower on the mattress, his shoulders between my thighs. His mouth moves lower, and he widens my legs. My sex clenches almost painfully with how badly I want him in that most intimate part of me. He knows, too. I feel it. I can feel him willing me to do what he wants and what he wants is for me to touch him, so he can spank me.
And as he predicted it would be: I both want that spanking and dread it.
His lips move lower, lower, and then sideways to my hip, his teeth scraping there, his tongue salve to the sting he’s left behind. And then he’s back to my belly, his mouth pressing there, his blue eyes finding mine, the depths of his stare smoldering with burning embers. I am burning alive, lost in this man, and yet, somehow, unbidden, I think of York. I think of every moment that man looked at me and made me feel insecure and uncomfortable. I think of all of his demands. And I think of these things because that’s not what I feel with Jax. After all I went through with York, I trust Jax enough to be vulnerable with him. He can’t possibly know how impossible I would have thought that to be for me with anyone ever again.
Jax catches my hips, and his breath is a warm whisper on my clit that drives away everything but him, this—us. I suck in a breath of my own now, waiting, wanting. My hands come down. They want to reach for him, but I catch the blanket instead. He laughs at my quick save, the sound a low, rough rumble, that vibrates off his tongue as it licks my clit. I arch with the sudden onslaught of sensations rippling through my body. My hips lift off the bed, my body begging for more. So much more. Jax does a slow twirl with his tongue, and his fingers slide along the wet heat of my sex. I am now balling the blanket in my hands, holding onto it to stop from grabbing him.
I pant out a, “Please Jax,” begging, wanting something, anything. I just want more. Please spank me. Please fuck me. Please just be inside me right now.
His response is to suckle my clit, while his fingers slip inside me. My breath rasps from my dry throat, and my fingers cramp with how hard I clutch the blanket. He’s licking me now, and his tongue is merciless in its exploration. His thumb flicks my clit while his tongue replaces his fingers, delving in and out, over and around. And just when I’m right there, when I’m about to come, he seems to know and responds. He denies me that one last moment I need to be there, in that sweet wonderful place. His mouth lifts, and his fingers slide inside me again. They stretch me, stroke me, drive me insane.
Blood roars in my ears, and I don’t even try to hold back. I’m somehow just pumping against him, looking for the sweet spot he just denied me, and oh yes, I’m there. I’m so there again, thank you, Lord, only to gasp as his fingers are gone. His mouth is back on my clit, and the buildup begins again. I’m there quicker this time, right on the edge, and when I’m certain that he will pull away, desperation rises inside me. I need what he keeps denying me and to hell with his rule. I reach for him. I touch him, and the minute I do, I know my mistake, if you can call it a mistake. Because, yes, his mouth lifts, and yes, he denies me my orgasm, but now he’s on top of me, the sweet weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
“Have you ever been spanked, Emma?” he asks. “What I did to you, last time doesn’t count.”
“I feel like it should count. Your hand. My ass.”
“That was a warmup. You can say no.”
“Yes,” I whisper, no hesitation in me. None. I feel no hesitation with Jax.
“Then it will be nothing but good for you. I’m going to have to spank you, Emma,” he declares.
He leans in and kisses me, and in defiance of the very idea of a spanking, it’s tender, so very tender. His lips part mine, and he lingers there a moment. “What are you doing to me, woman?”
“It’s really more about what you’re about to do to me, right?”
His lips curve. “Say it. What am I going to do to you?”
“Spank me.”
“That’s right, baby. Now. I’m going to spank you.”
I swallow hard, and the next thing I know, he’s turned me to my stomach, and he’s on top of me. My heart races, and I can barely breathe. His lips settle at my ear. “Relax, baby. I’ll warn you.” He moves off of me and rolls us to our sides, his leg capturing mine, his hand on my backside. His lips back at my ear. “We don’t have to do this.”
I breathe out, and God, my nipples are so tight they hurt, my sex a dull ache that needs him inside me. “You teased me. Spank me or fuck me, just do it now.”
“Soon, baby.” He strokes my hair from my face and tilts my mouth to his, kissing me, the sweet-salty taste of me on his lips, erotic, arousing. And God, how he’s kissing me so damn right. I’m lost in the slide of his tongue, the feel of his lips on mine: his whole damn mouth. He turns me slightly, rubbing my backside, one hand sliding under me, and then I’m on my knees, and before I can lift my upper body, his fingers are back in my sex. Now he’s tapping my sex from behind and still, his fingers tease my clit, the front and back assault on my senses almost too much.
“I’m going to spank you three times,” he says, his face near mine. “You can count with me. I’ll tell you when. Okay?”
“Yes.” That’s all I can manage because God his fingers. And that tapping is vibrating through my sex. I’m dying. I’m burning alive. “Yes.”
He stops what he’s doing again. He stops, and I’m dying with need, but then his hand is between my shoulder blades, and he’s leaning in, his fac
e next to my face. “We don’t have to do this, baby,” he says softly. “We can—”
“Do it, Jax. Stop teasing me because payback is hell. I vow to tease you just as badly.”
He laughs again, my sex clenching with the low, sexy rumble, his hand stroking my hair. “Then I guess I better get to that spanking.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Emma
Then I guess I better get to that spanking.
Just hearing Jax say those words sends a rush of nerves and arousal shooting through my body.
He shifts then, and he’s on his knees, at my side, his hand sliding up and down my back, over my backside, then back up my spine. Slow. Fast. Soft. Firm. Repeat. And I feel it everywhere. All over my body. My nipples are puckered. My sex is one throbbing ache where I need him to be right now. He does this over and over until I can’t take it. “Jax!”
“Three times, baby. Count. Ready?”
“No. Yes! I—”
“Now. One. Count.” His palm comes down on my backside, and the sting is hard and fast, but a shockwave of sensations spirals through my body. And Lord help me, I think I might come. From his palm.
“Two,” he says, and then the sting is there again, and it radiates through me, all of me, but I swear it’s a fire in my sex.
“Three,” he says, and I suck in air, as his palm finds my backside for the final time. I arch into his palm, only to have Jax slide inside me. He drives deep and rolls us back to our sides, curling his big body around mine, and with his next thrust, I am lost, so very lost. I press against the hard lines of his body.
He cups my face, and I stretch my neck, reaching for his mouth, to find his kiss. His hands are all over my breasts, his cock driving into me, and I have never been so aroused in my life. One more thrust and my sex clenches around his cock, and I shatter. My entire body quakes with the intensity of my release, and Jax lets out a low, rough guttural sound, shuddering with his own release.
The room spins and fades in and out. I lose everything but me and this man. When finally, too soon it seems, I return to the here and now, it’s with Jax holding me, nuzzling my neck. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“Yes,” I whisper, and I mean it. I’m more okay with this man than I thought I’d ever be again in this lifetime.
“Tell me you liked it.”
My cheeks heat. “I did. You know I did.”
He shifts us and grabs some tissue, pressing them between my legs, before he turns me to face him. “Tell me you liked it,” he repeats as if he needs to see my face when I answer.
My cheeks heat and unbidden emotions ball in my chest. “Apparently a spanking can be all about pleasure,” I say, and when I try to turn away, he catches my leg.
“Emma?”
My fingers curl on his chest. “I’m good. We’re good. We’re really good, Jax.” My voice is low, rasping with those damn emotions I can’t seem to get rid of. “It’s just—you wouldn’t think I could feel shy right now, considering all I’ve been through, but—”
He cups my face and tilts my gaze to his. “Please tell me you aren’t comparing this to being raped?”
“Oh, God. No. No. Not at all. I’m sorry.” My hands go to his face. “Not at all. I liked it. I like you, Jax.”
He catches my hand. “You like me, Emma. Is that what you feel for me?”
“No. Yes. I feel—so much for you, Jax North. So much that it scares me. Our families—”
“Don’t get to decide who we are together. Remember that. Two together, you and me, baby. You and me.”
“You and me,” I whisper, and I want what those words represent. I want it so very badly. I trust Jax. I’m falling in love with Jax. He’s the man, the one man, who moves the world for me just by being in it. He really is.
He’s right in a world going so very wrong right now.
This calms my nerves. This gives me hope.
A few minutes later, Jax and I grab ice cream from the freezer, before heading back to bed to eat it. His phone rings and I listen to him debrief with Jill about the evening’s Harvest event, and my feeling of hope is jolted by a slow-forming foreboding sensation that comes over me and won’t let go.
When we finally snuggle under the covers, me resting on his chest, I drift to sleep only to open my eyes with the jolt of a nightmare. Me standing on that landing where Hunter fell to his death, where I almost fell to my death, while the walls pour blood.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Emma
I wake to a cozy bed, a dimly lit room and the spicy scent of Jax’s cologne, but not the man himself.
He’s gone. Realization hits me.
The Harvest.
The Harvest is happening.
I sit straight up and glance at the clock to read seven am. I don’t remember Jax talking about meetings until lunchtime. I’m sure of it. I grab my phone and check my calendar. I’m right. There’s nothing this morning. He must be in the kitchen. Or something is wrong. A text message alert pops up from my brother, and I tab to it and read: Come Home, Bird Dog.
“Nicknames I do not like will get you nowhere, Chance,” I murmur, setting my phone back down on the charger before I flip on the light and throw away the blanket. Shoving my feet into a pair of slippers, Jax’s oversized T-shirt, that I’d grabbed on a trip to the bathroom last night, falls past my knees. I love wearing his shirt. I’m so into this man, it’s terrifying considering our circumstances.
Hurrying into the bathroom, I swear there is a burn to my backside where he spanked me, which, of course, is my imagination. He didn’t hurt me. Jax wouldn’t hurt me, and I won’t let my family hurt him. I enter the room and flip on the light to find a note on the mirror. It reads: Coffee and me waiting on you in the kitchen. Then we’ll go back to bed. Or for a run. You pick.
I smile and bite my lip. “I want to do both with you, Jax North,” I whisper. “And so much more.”
Eager to see him, I brush my teeth, brush my tangled hair, wash my face, and just in case of company, throw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt of my own with sneakers. Finally, I pull on a hoodie and stare at the closet where my clothes could one day hang next to Jax’s. The man offered to buy a whole new house for us to get us away from the castle. He’s committed. He’s shown me that in so many ways. And after last night, who am I kidding? I’m in love. I love Jax North. It’s too soon for such proclamations, I know it is, but we’ve been together around the clock and gotten to know each other. I’ve even come to love this place the way I do him. I’ve come to know things about him that I didn’t know before.
That I didn’t—know before.
I know things that I didn’t know when I read my father’s journal in the past. My mind jolts with realization. There was a passage that is in my mind now about a woman. Was that Jax’s mother?
I walk to my suitcase, go down on my knees beside it and pull out the journal from the side pocket. Opening it, I flip through the pages, but I’m struggling to find the spot. “Damn it,” I murmur because this feels important. What am I missing?
“Emma.”
At the rich, deep timbre of Jax’s voice, I glance up to find him in the doorway, looking deliciously male in sweats that hug his powerful thighs and a T-shirt that sculps his perfect chest, his hair a blond mussed up, sexy mess; his blue eyes piercing. And as always, it seems, my heart skips a beat just seeing him. That’s the power of this man. That’s what he does to me.
“Hi,” I say, pushing to my feet, my cheeks heating with memories of last night.
“Hi,” he says, his eyes warm, the same memories inked in their depths, but then they lower to the journal and quickly lift, just a hint of that warmth fading. “And here I thought I’d get you for coffee before they did.”
I don’t have to ask who he means by “they.” He means our families. “I remembered something. I wanted to find a passage, but I can’t. There was something about a woman who meant nothing when I read it, but I thought now that I know what I know—what if that was your mother?
”
He sucks in a breath and looks skyward, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and I am instantly living with regret again. We fucked away his immediate reaction to that DNA test, but we never really talked about how he feels. I should have talked to him about what he feels. I toss the journal back into the suitcase and cross to stand in front of him, wrapping my arms around him. “I’m sorry. I would love nothing more than to have coffee with you and to just forget all of this for as long as the Harvest lets you.”
His gaze lowers, and his hands come down on my waist. “Whatever you think he wrote about my mother, I don’t want to know.”
My heart squeezes. “Okay. Yes. I get it. Jax, I—”
He cups my head and kisses me, a deep tormented kiss that torments me right along with him, before he says, “I know you want this over and so do I. I get that, too, Emma. I do.”
“I know. I know you do. The thing with your mom—”
“The part where she most likely had an affair with your father? Or the part where my brother seems to have known and tried to shut the family out of the family business?”
“We don’t know that’s what was happening. My father blackmailed your clients. He probably blackmailed your brother, too.”
“Or not.” He takes my hand and kisses it. “Coffee.”
He’s done talking about his mother, and I don’t push him. Not now, not before he goes to the Harvest. He needs a break from this. I see that now. “Coffee,” I agree.
He surprises me then by adding, “Bring the journal and forget I said I don’t want to know. I need to know.”
“Jax—”
He kisses me hard and fast. “I need to know.” He turns me around to face the suitcase and steps behind me, his big body framing mine, leaning in close to murmur, “Don’t make me spank you.”
My cheeks heat with the reminder of our erotic encounter last night, and I’m not so sure his threat is working. I think I liked it a little too much because yes, please. Spank me. “Emma,” he prods softly.
“Yes?” I ask, smiling but not looking at him.
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