by Norris, Kris
So, he’d used some breathing techniques—gone over a bunch of old army strategies—just to rid himself of the excess adrenaline coursing through his veins. The twitchy feeling that usually required a pitcher of beer or a few rounds of sex to quiet. But since he hadn’t thought either was on the table…
Sure, he wanted Jericho. Was certain he’d used up every reserve ounce of restraint the past few days resisting the urge to do more than hold her. But, she was hurt. Had stitches. And he knew how to shut down his needs. Lock them in a box and tuck them away until the timing was right. Until she didn’t look as if she was about to pass out. Didn’t grimace every time she moved.
He’d been doing just fine—had prepared himself for the instant infusion of her scent. The cute snuffling noises she made when she slept. How she’d curl into him the moment he got into bed with her—stay that way until she woke the next morning. Then, he’d walked into their room and spotted her leaning against the headboard, seemingly lost in thought.
He’d adapted. Put more of his energy into staying loose. A quick conversation, and he’d continue with his plan—tamp down the burning ache in his groin. The one giving him permanent blue balls. He’d strip down to his boxers, pray his dick didn’t rip through the fabric, then take pleasure in holding her all night.
Everything had been going according to plan, until she’d stared at him with all the heat he was feeling inside. He’d tried to talk his way out of it. Remind her she was still healing. Still weak. But she’d trumped his hand and kissed him.
His brain had fried. All rational thought just burned away, with nothing left but raging desire. Arousal so damn strong he wasn’t even sure he’d get his pants off before shooting his load. Not that he’d be done. He was sure he could go several rounds and not come close to quenching his need. Easing the ache in his balls. But that was the problem.
Despite being better than when he’d found her, she still wasn’t a hundred percent. Her mouth still twitched when she walked. And just thinking that he could hurt her—would hurt her because, damn it, gentle wasn’t on the table. Wasn’t even close to being viable. Not when he was jumping into the abyss.
Sure, he’d had his fair share of lovers. Had even casually dated an admin clerk at one of the bases until he’d been sent undercover two years ago. But all of his previous encounters had been nothing more than a release. Mutual pleasure. If he needed it hard, fast, the women he’d bedded hadn’t minded. Had known going in what to expect. He made sure they enjoyed themselves, but in the end, it was all about getting whatever else was bothering him out of his system.
He’d lost a couple of teammates? A night of sex helped push away those traitorous emotions. Had been the ultimate distraction. Until now.
He didn’t want a distraction. Didn’t need to escape. In fact, all he could think about was how he could make her see those stars she’d mentioned. He wanted to taste her skin until the flavor was seared into his memory. Savor the way her body molded around his. Expose the heart she’d resurrected.
Cannon just wanted to feel. Everything. With her.
Which meant not losing control. Not pushing her onto the bed and jumping on top. Shoving his jeans down just enough to free his dick then sliding into her. Thrusting his hips until he’d ground her into the mattress.
The exact opposite of what he was accustomed to. What his body was demanding, right now. And he wasn’t sure how to get from holding Jericho in his arms to making love to her without causing her more pain.
He couldn’t stomach the thought of that. Of his touch bringing her anything but pleasure. Sure, she seemed confident it wouldn’t, but he was easily double her weight. A thousand times stronger. He could bruise her without meaning to by just holding her. And with his brain already blasted by lust…
Jericho laughed, pressing her hands on his chest once he’d managed to place her on her feet without shoving her onto the bed. “You really are a worrier. Relax, Rick. You’re not going to hurt me.”
Fuck, the way she said his name. No one called him Rick unless he was either being introduced or bitched out. Neither of which happened all that often. But, damn, he liked the way her voice formed the word. Made it sound natural.
He smiled, palming his hands over hers. “You keep saying that, and I keep wondering if we’re both talking about the same thing. Because the way I feel…” He sighed. “It’s gonna be years before I’m remotely calm around you. Before I can look at you, touch you, kiss you without it blindsiding me. Taking me to the brink the second you get close.”
Her eyes softened, and he swore there was love staring back at him. “Then, how about we expend some of that energy before we get to the main event?Blow off some steam, so to speak.”
“And how are we going to do that? You’re not up for running a marathon. And that’s what it would take for me to feel any form of control.”
“You asked before how we were going to start this off. I have a solution.” She placed her hands on his waist, released his belt, his button and zipper, then slowly dragged them down, going to her knees in order to pull them off.
She stayed there, her hands fingering the top of his briefs, her face lit up into a smile as she arched one brow. “I was hoping you could paint your first release across my chest. Ease just a bit of that ache. Then, we can move to the bed.”
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Her mouth? She wanted to take him in her mouth? He was barely hanging on, had very little blood left in his head—the one he needed to use, right now, to think his way into another option. One that wouldn’t have him gagging her when he started jamming his dick between her lips—and she wanted to suck him off? Christ, the girl was nuts because just one pass of her mouth was going to set him off.
He gathered her hair—fisted it around his fingers—intent on tugging her to her feet. Making this all about her, but she looked up at him. All big green eyes, with that light shining through, and he froze. Just stood there, mesmerized.
She smiled, nearly blinding him with the light, now, then removed his boxers. His dick bobbed out. Thick. Heavy. Like a damn pipe. He couldn’t remember ever being this hard. This excited.
Jericho hummed. “I’ll go out on a limb and suggest you haven’t been completely focused on the mission, lately, either. Because…damn.”
“Jericho—”
“Shhh. Do you know how long I’ve been imagining this? Been waiting for you to make a move? Just…stand there and enjoy.”
He grunted when she fisted his shaft—ran her closed hand along his length. “Sweetheart. I’m on the edge. Another pass like that, and—”
“And what?” She stared up at him, again. “You’ll come? Because that’s kind of the point.”
Cannon sighed in defeat, using the last of his neural functions to remind himself not to yank on her hair. Thrust into her mouth, because he wanted to do both. Wanted to watch her swallow him, feel all those silky strands bite into his hands.
Instead, he focused on breathing. On clenching his jaw. On tensing his muscles. Anything to prevent him from finishing after only sixty seconds. He made it exactly five times that before he was done. No longer able to hold back the searing pleasure burning along his spine. Shattering that fragile hold he’d been clinging to.
Jericho paused for one blinding heartbeat, her gaze rising to his before she closed her eyes and let him lead. He started moving. Short little jabs that increased the pressure in his sac. It gathered strength, coiling tight until the dam broke. He had the good sense to pull back, free himself before he was coming. Long white jets splashing across her chest as he emptied on her skin, finally curling over her to brace a hand on the bed behind her.
He wasn’t sure how he remained on his feet. Didn’t know if he was pulling on her hair or squishing her against the bed because nothing was working. His mouth, his lungs, his fingers, his brain. He was lost in a white haze where all that registered was that he was such a goner.
A few minutes—or was it
hours—later, he managed to blink. Open his eyes. He was still braced against the bed, but Jericho had wedged herself between his arms—when had he released her hair? She was just sitting there, watching him. A huge smile lifting her lips. She’d cleaned herself off. Hell, maybe she’d showered. He’d completely lost track of time. Didn’t know if he’d spent half the night trying to catch his breath. A feat he doubted would ever happen as long as she was close. Was anywhere in the same room. Maybe just being on the same planet.
Then, she touched him. Wrapped her small fingers around his arms, and bam. He was back. Desire, once again, red-hot inside him. More blood filling his dick. He had a moment’s thought about not hurting her. About controlling his movements, then he was shifting forward, sinking one hand back into her hair. Cupping her head as he leaned her down on the mattress, using his other hand to wrap one thigh around his ass.
He placed that hand on her injured side, below the closed wound—a mental note not to touch her anywhere else—as he positioned himself above her. She encircled his hips, her hands smoothing up his arms then behind his neck.
He braced his weight on his elbows, staring into her eyes. “God, you’re beautiful.”
Another smile that tightened his chest. Made it hard to breathe. “Make love to me.”
Hell yeah. He angled his hips. Pushed into her then stopped, cursing inwardly when he realized he’d forgotten the damn condom. He grunted, went to move when she tightened her grip, waiting until he met her gaze.
She shook her head. Levered up until her mouth was beside his ear. “You’ve already saved my life by giving me blood. I hardly think we need a barrier between us. I don’t want a barrier between us. And I’m on birth control, so…”
He started moving. Thrusting. Claiming her as the words settled inside his mind. She didn’t want him to wear protection? True, he had given her a direct transfusion. Had shared so much more with her, but still… Bareback implied trust. While she’d told him, repeatedly, that he had hers, having her show him…
Jericho moaned, eating at his mouth as he upped the pace. She matched his movements, lifting her hips, begging him not to stop. He couldn’t stop. Colt could have picked that moment to barge in, tell Cannon that Ty Brown was walking down the street. That it was their one chance to capture the guy, and Cannon wouldn’t have been able to pull himself away. Not when he felt whole for the first time in years. Hell, in his adult life.
She did that to him. Filled all the spaces he hadn’t realized were empty.
Cannon lowered his head, kissing her neck, her shoulder. Any inch of skin he could reach because it wasn’t enough. Bodies joined, her legs wrapped around his back, fingers digging into his flesh, and it wasn’t enough contact. Not enough of them touching.
Jericho shifted. Grabbed him around his ribs as she tried to lift against him. He lowered more. No way he’d have her hurt herself. Twist her ribs. She inhaled when he allowed his weight to push her slightly into the bed, brushing her lips against his cheek.
“God, Rick.”
He came. Exploded. Died in her arms. Hips grinding, body shuddering. He was gasping for air, trying to breathe through the heat—intimately aware he hadn’t come close to getting her off. That he’d completely screwed their first time together.
He clenched his jaw, willing enough blood back to his brain to take stock, when she started pulsing around him. Moaning his name as her body convulsed beneath him. He didn’t deserve her orgasm. Hadn’t earned it. Had been too caught up in his own release. The rush of fire through his groin, but fuck, he’d take it. Take the way she writhed in his arms, head thrown back. How she contracted around his shaft, drawing out another few spurts. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her skin flushed pink. Her breasts pressed against his pecs with every frantic breath, her nipples like tiny brands against his flesh.
Crap. He hadn’t even tasted them. Hadn’t touched her. Kissed her. Worshipped her the way he’d pictured in his mind. He’d just climbed on top and started thrusting. Zero foreplay. Exactly the opposite of what he’d sworn he’d do.
He’d make it up to her. He had to because he needed more of this. Of sinking inside her, hearing her breath pant against his cheek. Feeling her unravel in his arms. So, he’d beg. Plead. Whatever it took to convince her he could do it right. That he wasn’t using her just to get off. That her pleasure, her happiness, meant more to him than his own.
Jericho breathed heavily beneath him, holding him tight. “Christ, Cannon, that…”
Here it came. The part where he’d been selfish. Had only been focused on his own release. He hadn’t meant to be that way. Had planned on spending hours touching and tasting her skin. But…god. He was way out of his element. Couldn’t seem to keep enough blood in his brain to focus on how to make her feel special. Because she was. More than she realized.
Another raspy breath. “That was incredible.”
It was?
“I’ve never come that hard, that fast.”
She hadn’t?
“Promise me we’ll do that, again. Just the same.”
Just the same?
He frowned as he pushed up higher on his elbows. “Did you hit your head, again? Because that was all wrong.”
She laughed. “Then, don’t do it right, because…damn.”
“You deserve to be pampered, sweetheart. Not have me rut like a damn grizzly.”
“I’ve always been partial to bears.” Another laugh. “Rick…”
He closed his eyes at his name. When his dick surged back to life just from her voice.
“Do I want all that other stuff? Sure. But, baby…that doesn’t mean anything else is wrong.”
Christ. He really didn’t deserve her.
“Still, I was thinking we could give it another go. Unless you’re tired. Or sore.”
Shit. He’d forgotten her ribs were still healing. That he was supposed to be keeping things light. Gentle. Here he was, crushing her into the bed after claiming her as if it had been a mission sent down from heaven.
He went to shuffle off her when she slid her hands behind his neck and pulled him down, pressing her lips to his. And, just like that, all thoughts of moving, of giving her a chance to catch her breath just vanished. Burned from his brain as he focused on kissing her. Tangling his tongue with hers. Tasting the sweet essence that was uniquely her.
Jericho held his forehead against hers when he pulled back. “God, you take my breath away.”
“That’s because you make me breathe through you.” He smiled, staring down at her. And he knew, right then, he was going to spend the rest of his life with her. No questions. No doubts. Whatever it took. He’d told her before that he didn’t back down, and now, it was time to prove exactly what that meant.
“Then, I suggest you take a deep breath because I definitely want to give this another go.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Do you have a death wish? Because it’s certainly starting to look that way from where I’m standing.”
Jericho sighed as she focused on Cannon. There was no missing the hard tone, the pinched lips and narrowed eyes. He’d been edgy as soon as she’d suggested they talk about her going back to the office. Hearing her say she wanted to head in today…
He’d gotten that look, again. The one that was a mix of pride and fear. That she’d caught a glimpse of in the restaurant, as well as when she’d been hurt. And she’d bet her ass that his last statement was his way of dealing with the fear part. Something she assumed he hadn’t experienced much of. No doubt, fear had been beaten out of him during his initial Ranger training. If not then, it had definitely been buried after making it into Delta Force.
He hadn’t talked too much about his time in the Teams, but she knew what it took to make it through selection into Special Forces. It wasn’t that he didn’t have any form of self-preservation. It’s just that everyone else came first. And she had a nagging suspicion she’d sky rocketed to the top of his list.
Sex changes everything.
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br /> It’s what her mother had told her, time and again. But, after sleeping her way through a handful of lovers, Jericho hadn’t really understood what it meant. Until this morning.
Until Cannon.
He’d hadn’t just rocked her world, he’d unhinged it. Sent it spinning off on some weird orbit. The kind that never quite recovered. Never resumed its original path. That was her. Still reeling, trying to adjust to a different form of gravity. One that pulled her toward him then refused to let go. Even now, standing there, looking him in the eyes, it was all she could do not to cave—ease the tight lines around his eyes.
That’s when it hit her. It wasn’t the sex that had changed her. It was the emotions that one act had brought to the surface that had shifted her equilibrium. Left her feeling off-kilter. The kind of feelings she suspected involved one tiny word.
She wouldn’t say it. Not, yet. Because, as soon as she admitted she loved him, there would be no going back. And she knew she’d have to start looking at every decision—every risk—not just by how it affected her, but how it affected him. Affected them.
That’s what love was. A constant compromise. A dance between doing what she wanted to do and what she knew Cannon needed her to do in order for him to remain sane. She had no idea how to juggle that. How to be a Deputy Marshal and be Jericho Nash—the woman in love with Rick Sloan. Warrior.
And the man who’d saved her life.
She groaned inwardly. Maybe if they’d stopped after the first time, she’d have had a remote hope of staying distant. Pushing down her feelings until she could examine them rationally, later. But, for some crazy reason, Cannon had gotten the impression that he’d ruined their first encounter. How had he phrased it? That he’d done it wrong?
She hadn’t understood what he’d been referring to. She’d been hanging on the edge after the first thrust, and feeling him empty inside her had been her undoing. It had taken her minutes, maybe hours, to breathe, again. The only saving grace had been that he’d been equally affected. Had stayed poised on top of her the entire time before finally easing off.