by Tessa Adams
She burrowed deeper against him, and it sent him over the edge, had him doing wild, crazy things to her mouth as he savored every gasp and moan that escaped her mouth into his.
Her fingers clamped onto his shoulders, her nails digging into his upper back. The small, sharp pain took him higher—even as it cleared his head for a moment, let him think. That moment was all it took for him to remember that they were all but eating each other alive in the middle of a crowded bar. And while the animal in him was more than willing to take her right there, in front of everyone—to claim her for all to see—the man was more cautious.
And more determined that no one see her naked but him.
Wrenching his mouth from hers, Quinn yanked out his wallet. He dropped a couple of hundred dollar bills on the counter before reaching into the well for the bottle of Patrón the bartender had parked there.
The bartender didn’t even try to stop him.
“Let’s get out of here,” he growled, low in his throat.
Jazz nodded mutely, and he grabbed her left hand with his empty one and started cutting a path through the bodies to the front door. It only took a second, as most of the people in the place took one look at his face and got the hell out of his way. He wasn’t surprised. He was so frenzied with need that he figured everyone could see it.
He didn’t give a damn, would even admit to basking in the knowledge, because it told every man in the bar that she was his. That she belonged to him and that he’d kill anyone who tried to take her from him.
The last thought came from his beast, and it brought him up short. What the hell was going on? Neither he nor the dragon had ever been possessive of a would-be lover before, but as he glanced back and looked at Jazz—with her swollen lips and bright eyes, her messed-up hair and rosy cheeks—both of them wanted to rip apart every man who saw her and wanted her.
Which was absurd, especially since he was the one who had deliberately brought her to such a state in a public place.
He held her hand more tightly, pulling her closer to his body as he shoved open the front door. The cool night air hit him like a freight train, need ripping through him until his human side took a backseat to the dragon that had been aching to get out from the moment it first scented her.
Quinn tried to hold on, tried to tell himself that it was dangerous to take her without reining in the dragon first, but he was too far out of control to care. His body wasn’t concerned with who was in the driver’s seat—all that mattered was getting inside her as quickly as he possibly could.
He glanced around wildly, wondering where her car was, and if the shadows of the parking lot would provide them with enough privacy for him to do all the things he wanted to do to her. Or he could drag her around to the back of the bar, yank her pants down and take her up against the wall. He was about to go with option number two when his eyes fell on a motel, a couple of hundred yards across the parking lot. He pulled her toward it.
“Wait!” she said, breathlessly, trying to dig her feet into the ground. “My car.”
“It’ll be safe here until morning.” The words came out deep and dangerous, so distorted that they barely sounded human. The dragon was even more firmly in control than he’d thought.
“It has a flat tire, remember? I’m waiting for the tow truck to show up.”
Quinn nearly roared in frustration. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this—couldn’t remember if he’d ever felt like this—and she didn’t seem anywhere near as affected as he was. He could barely remember his own name, and she was worried about a stupid tow truck.
His dragon sliced at him with its razored claws, telling him to hurry. Warning him that he didn’t have much time before he lost the human side of himself altogether. Already, he was so frenzied he could feel the change beginning to take hold, the familiar burn that was the precursor to the shift. And wouldn’t that put a crimp in his plans? Changing into a dragon right now was definitely not the way to go—unless of course he wanted to scare the hell out of her instead of fuck her near to death.
No, scaring her was definitely not on the agenda.
But how could he convince her not to worry about the tow truck?
“Don’t worry about it,” he finally growled, tugging at her arm until she started walking again. “I’ll change your tire tomorrow morning.” Had the damn motel always been this far away?
“You’re just saying that,” she answered breathlessly, as he propelled her across the parking lot so quickly that her feet barely touched the ground.
He shot her a look loaded with heat, which filled him to over-flowing. “I’d say just about anything to get inside you right now, but I swear, I’ll change the damn tire. After.”
That seemed to be all the reassurance she needed because suddenly their frenetic dash across the parking lot was more about her pulling him than the other way around.
“Hurry,” she gasped, waving him toward the front office as they finally made it to the motel. Then she rested her back against the closest wall as if it were the only thing keeping her standing.
The dragon and the man both seethed with excitement. She looked so damn hot leaning there, hair mussed, lips swollen, nipples tight and hard against the fabric of her little cotton tank that he almost said to hell with the hotel room—and common decency—and took her right there.
His dragon flooded him with approval at the thought. Yes, it seemed to say as it had back at the bar. Take her here, now, in front of anyone who walks by, so they know she’s yours. He’d actually taken a step toward her before he could get his head back in the game, and even then it took every ounce of self-control he had to turn around and walk toward the office, away from her.
His beast didn’t want to go. It snarled and clawed and snapped at him more and more frantically the farther he got from her. He tried to ignore it, but it wasn’t easy—not when his hands were shaking like a junkie in desperate need of a fix.
Shocked at himself—at his behavior and his need—Quinn tried to regain a little control. But he couldn’t—there was a red haze in front of his eyes and all he could think or feel or smell or taste was her.
Ripping out his wallet, he slapped a credit card down on the counter and growled, “I need a room. Now.”
Perhaps it was Quinn’s urgent tone—or maybe the clerk was just used to people coming over from the bar in a hell of a hurry—because he didn’t say a word, didn’t bother asking any questions. Just took the platinum card, ran it, and handed Quinn a key.
“It’s number twenty-seven. At the top of the staircase to your left.”
“Thanks.”
Then he was outside, his entire body stretched as taut as a violin string. His dick ached from being locked inside his jeans—from being so incredibly aroused for so long—and all he could think about was the relief of plunging into Jazz’s warm, willing body.
“Come on,” he snapped, bent on hustling her up the stairs. But she was way ahead of him, her long legs taking the steps two at a time. He followed her, the tequila bottle still clutched in his hand, and imagined what she would taste like drenched in the spicy alcohol.
As he fumbled the key into the lock, he made a promise to himself that he would find out. Later.
After what seemed like an eternity, the lock turned and he shoved the door open. He kicked it closed with his foot, started to reach for her. But she was already on him, her arms wrapping around his neck as her mouth slammed down on his.
Jasmine was on fire, her entire body a conflagration of need and want and give-me-more as she launched herself at Quinn. He caught her—as she’d somehow known he would—and started backing her across the room while his mouth raced frantically over her face.
Over her forehead, down her cheeks, across her jaw before his lips finally found hers. When they did…when they did, her knees buckled and she had to twist her fingers in the soft cotton of his T-shirt to keep from falling. He was so intent on devouring her that she doubted he’d even noticed
.
“I need to be inside you,” he growled against her mouth, his hands slipping beneath her tank top to cup her breasts. They were full, aching, her nipples so tight it was a physical pain, and when his thumb brushed against them she didn’t know whether to scream in frustration or whimper with delight.
She did both, letting out a little squeal that was as foreign to her as one-night stands in ratty motel rooms. The sound seemed to push him over the edge because suddenly her pants were around her knees and he had two long fingers buried inside her.
She did scream then, the sensation of being full with him almost more than she could bear.
“I’m sorry,” he snarled, as he spun her around so that her ass rested against his upper thighs. “I can’t go slow. I’ll make it up to you next time.”
“Just do it,” she whimpered, fumbling for her purse. Whipping out a condom, she all but threw it at him before steadying her hands on the dresser and bending at the waist in open invitation.
There was one long second of silence, one long moment of agony, while he sheathed himself and then he was there, between her legs. Blunt and hard and so big and thick that her eyes nearly crossed as he probed gently at the opening of her sex.
She expected him to be rough, hurried, expected it to even hurt a little at first, and braced herself for it. It had been a long time since her last lover, after all. But now that he was so close, he didn’t rush. Instead, he leaned forward until his lips were right next to her ear and whispered, “You’re so beautiful. So goddamn beautiful.” He ran his hand down her cheek.
The words, combined with the feel of his cock right against the heart of her, ratcheted Jasmine’s need to a fever pitch. “Please,” she begged. “I need—I need—”
“What?” he demanded, thrusting forward just a little, until he was buried about halfway inside her.
It wasn’t enough.
“I need you!” she wailed, thrusting back against him in utter desperation.
He broke. She didn’t know if it was her words or the feel of her pushing against him, but Quinn’s control snapped like a fragile spring twig.
He slammed into her, so hard that he rocketed her up onto her toes. She was wet and hot and more than ready for him, so there was no pain—only pleasure so intense that she climaxed right there, with the first stroke of his cock deep inside her.
“Fuck!” he growled, his fingers digging into her hips as he held her in place. Again, she expected him to pound into her, was even anticipating it, but he held her—and himself—still. As if he were absorbing every clench and contraction of her body on his.
As if he were somehow absorbing her very pleasure into himself.
And then he began to move, slow, long, powerful strokes that had her clutching at the dresser as the fire reignited deep inside her. Soon—too soon—she was on the brink of coming again. But she didn’t want to go over alone this time, didn’t want to lose herself in the ecstasy without him.
Tightening her inner muscles in a long, slow caress, she tried to take him as high as he had taken her. He groaned, thrusting harder, so she did it again. And again. And again.
One of his hands worked its way up from her thigh to her hair and he pulled her head back sharply. She gasped, but didn’t fight him, as he twisted her head to the side.
“Kiss me,” he snarled, seconds before his lips came down on hers, hard.
She did, pulling his lower lip between her teeth and nipping at him. He tasted like lime and tequila and the desert on a warm summer evening and she wanted more of him. Craved more of him until he was an inferno in her blood.
She bit him again, a little harder this time, and the little shock of pain must have been what he was waiting for because he came with a roar. She followed him over the edge, her body wigging out in twenty different directions as her orgasm ripped through her like a forest fire.
There was a pain in her left side, another in her right hip—her body protesting such vigorous use after being babied for so long. She wrenched her mouth from his, gasped for breath, but Quinn wouldn’t let her go. He followed her, his mouth ravenous on her own while the heat of his body seared hers wherever it touched. In moments, the pleasure overwhelmed the pain.
She gave herself to him—gave herself to his kiss and his touch and the wild, wicked need that was as much a part of him as his lopsided grin and intense, electric green eyes.
As she did, the whole crazy maelstrom started inside her all over again. She pulled him with her as she fell.
CHAPTER SIX
When it was over, Jasmine’s faculties returned slowly. As the seconds crept by, she became aware that she was spread-eagled across the dresser, her stomach resting on the cool wood while her hands still gripped the sides for traction.
Her tank top was pushed up around the top of her chest and tangled with the bra that Quinn had unhooked but hadn’t taken the time to remove. Her pants were still around one of her ankles and her ass was in the air—or it would have been, if Quinn hadn’t been collapsed on top of her, the ragged sound of his breathing harsh in her ear.
“Can you breathe?” he asked after sucking a huge gulp of air into his lungs.
“I don’t think so,” she gasped.
“I’m sorry.” He started to move away.
“Don’t go.” She moved her arms back to clutch at his hips, not wanting him to leave despite the sudden screaming of her not-quite-mended ribs.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He soothed her by running one strong, smooth hand up her back, tangling it in her hair and gently massaging her scalp.
She relaxed into his touch, shocked at how soothing it was when minutes before it had been anything but.
He stroked her for a few moments, his hands leaving little trails of warmth wherever they touched, and unbelievably, she felt her body stir to life, when seconds before she would have sworn nothing short of a tornado ripping through the room could have roused her.
It wasn’t the same as the first flash of desire—or even the second—that had him throwing her over the dresser, going at it like wild things. No, it was a slower burn, one that was less intense but no less powerful for its slow climb.
He was still buried inside her and she moved against him, seeking a deeper contact. He groaned, thrust more deeply into her, and then paused when he was seated to the hilt.
She concentrated on the feel of him inside her, against her. The way the smooth skin of his abdomen felt resting against her ass. The way his fingers felt as they pressed in and around her spine in a massage that made her want to curl up and purr like a cat. The way the rough denim of his jeans scraped against her upper thighs.
She liked the feel of him, liked everything about him, especially the way he responded to her, like he had been wandering in the desert and she was the only thing around that could slake his thirst.
Then he was pulling away, though he gave her plenty of time to steady herself. She wanted to complain, wanted to hold him to her again and freeze this perfect moment in her memory for all time, but she knew he was right to leave her.
Her legs were trembling from the strain, her hip screaming from the awkwardness of her position. Not for the first time, she cursed the car bomb—and its makers—that had put her here.
She wanted her old body back—unblemished, strong, capable of going for hours without complaint at whatever activity she chose. She barely recognized herself with all her aches and pains, barely knew this woman who waited for her lover to head into the bathroom before unpeeling herself—slowly and painfully—from the dresser.
What should she do now? she wondered, looking around the still-darkened motel room for the first time.
Should she give him a quick thank-you and head out to her car to see if the tow truck had arrived? Or should she stay here and make small talk with the man who had just turned her world inside out?
Neither option appealed to her as she fumbled her pants and underwear up her thighs and settled them back into place. She saw the b
ed—lake-sized and centrally located—and an unbearable tiredness filled her. What she wanted, it turned out, was to stretch out on the mattress and fall asleep.
But doing so would be stupid. Quinn might have just rocked her world, but that didn’t mean she could trust him enough to let herself be vulnerable in front of him. Slumping against the dresser, she prayed her tired, aching body would hold up a little longer. Just long enough to get the pain under control, and then she’d be ready for whatever he threw her way.
Before she could do anything more than sigh in relief at having most of the pressure taken off her injured leg, Quinn was back.
He flipped on the bedside lamp, and though the bulb was dim, the sudden influx of light blinded her. She blinked a few times in an effort to adjust her vision and then stared across the empty room at him.
He was looking right back at her.
For the first time, she realized how big he was. He stood at least six foot six, with incredibly broad shoulders and arms that looked like they could rip a hundred-year-old tree out by the roots without so much as breaking a sweat. It was strange to realize that a man so large, so dangerous-looking, had taken her without hurting her in the slightest.
The knowledge shattered the last of the tension she was carrying—along with her renewed sense of caution—and she truly relaxed for the first time since she’d been forced to pull over to the side of the road. As soon as she did, the tiredness she’d been fighting rose up and overwhelmed her.
As if sensing her weariness, Quinn was across the room in a flash of speed that barely seemed human. He rested a hand on her lower back and propelled her toward the bed that suddenly looked as inviting as an oasis in the middle of the Sahara.
She grabbed her cell phone and made a quick call to cancel the tow truck. As she did, he yanked the comforter back and she sank down onto the cool sheets gratefully, her mind going almost completely blank before her head had even hit the pillow. Inside a little voice screamed at her to wake up, not to drop her guard no matter how good a lover Quinn had been. But it was too late, and Jasmine slid, softly and easily, into sleep for the first time in a long, long time.