• • •
Disappointed and pissed, Ionie hopped off the vanity, discarded her dress, and stomped to the shower. The stall looked large enough to wash a Range Rover. She snorted.
A giant shower for a big pain in the ass. The eight shower heads engaged and she almost forgave Jarrid for his lack of post-coital affection when the pulsing jets sprayed in every direction, drenching her in hot water. It was bliss. She swiped her soaked hair from her face and grabbed the only bar of soap she found. Dove.
“The guy moisturizes?”
She finished soaping her body and stretched to provide the massaging jets access to every inch of her. Too bad Jarrid hadn’t offered to join her. The stall included a wide bench she could have put to good use. She shook her head and wondered when she’d turned into a sex fiend.
The second after you saw him in Patrick’s office. Hell, it wasn’t like her to moon after a man, but Jarrid sent her girl parts into happy land.
Still, his behavior tonight was off. Was she wrong to expect him to snuggle her close to his chest, his strong arms a shield against any other bloodsuckers?
That was a buzz kill. She turned off the shower. The bath mat tickled her feet as she tip-toed across it to retrieve the towel. She rubbed the rich cloth against her sensitive skin in hurried strokes until she was dry.
“Crap.” Her sweat-soaked dress lay crumpled where she’d dropped it. Jarrid’s closet. Towel secured, she headed for the bedroom.
The closet dwarfed hers by several feet. An insecure woman would have been intimidated by the multiple rows of high-quality clothing, the six shelves of shoes and boots, and the enormous armoire tucked in the back. Not her. Ionie skimmed her hand across his jackets, appreciating the different textures. She located a neat row of shirts, freeing a navy blue button-down to wear.
Clothed and delighted by her invasion of Jarrid’s private quarters made her bold. She cast a curious glance at the elmwood armoire. It appeared to be an antique. She checked over her shoulder and then she tugged the heavy doors open.
She stifled a yelp. Guns lined the inside walls. Daggers gleamed from a bed of black cloth. Grenades. Bullets. Throwing stars. The armoire was an armory.
Ionie slammed the doors shut. The armoire reminded her of Pandora’s Box, and she worried her lip as she recalled how that story turned out. Jarrid never said he was in security. All the firepower and pointy objects were what she’d expect in a Vin Diesel movie. While explosives made Vin sexy as hell, getting close to a man who used them was another matter. Her reporter instinct smelled a story. Her brain threatened to freak out.
She inhaled through her nose, expelling the air in a languid breath. She repeated the action until her tension eased. Her inner calm returned just as she heard the soft click of a door. She spun in time to see her mysterious host enter.
Jarrid was dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt inscribed with ‘Emo’ in green letters. His wet hair was slicked back from his face. Would she ever get used to seeing him? She doubted it. He was a walking, talking, flesh and blood fantasy.
With a weapons cache.
“You’ll stay here until I say otherwise,” Jarrid said. The gruff order came out of the blue and Ionie let her shock show. She opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a hand. “We’re searching for the vamp who attacked you.”
He motioned to the room’s only chair. She shook her head. If he had any more commands, she’d hear them standing. He released a heavy sigh. “It’s for your protection.”
Ionie bristled. “I don’t need protecting. I got unlucky and a bloodsucker confused me with a margarita. It happens.”
“Not on my watch.” Jarrid moved fast. She was breathing in his soap-clean scent in blink. “You’ll stay here until he’s found.”
The last of her patience disintegrated. “Screw you! I have a life, in case you forgot. I won’t let some random vamp attack change a damn thing.”
“Are you insane?” A vein ticked on his smooth forehead.
He’s angry? Good! Ionie didn’t understand why, but she needed to see him lose his shit for a change. Any emotion besides the chilly calm he’d used earlier was better than none.
“Did you know I’d be attacked?”
Jarrid flinched. “Of course not.”
“Then shove your protection order.” She stabbed a finger into his chest. “It was random. One in a million. You had no clue someone would grab me, so why are you overreacting?”
The half-angel’s hands gripped her arms, immobilizing her. Jarrid’s face lost its icy facade. She stared into his glimmering eyes and wished she could read his mind. They stood so close the soft fabric of his T-shirt brushed against her nipples. Do not go there! Her breasts strained to get more of the delicious friction, disobeying her brain as they offered themselves to Jarrid. She bit her lower lip to distract her from the warmth pooling between her legs.
“Don’t … do that,” Jarrid said through clenched teeth.
“Don’t do what?” If he could tell how attracted she was to him, she’d drown herself in the Detroit River. Feeling self-conscious, Ionie bit her lip again.
Jarrid pounced. One minute, she was looking up at his glorious face, and the next, she was flat on her back on his colossal bed. He plundered her mouth, his hot tongue sucking on hers like a decadent fruit. Though her mind was still processing the switch, her body got with the program. Ionie locked her leg around Jarrid’s thigh and her body arched to give his roving hands access to her ass.
A deep groan rumbled from his chest. Jarrid nipped her lower lip in response before peppering her neck with sensual kisses. One of his hands massaged her butt in slow circles, then he placed his free hand on her waist, gripping her possessively. She wasn’t going anywhere unless he let her.
Desire took over. Ionie ran her hands over the bunched muscles of his back, hating his T-shirt. It rode up as she slid her fingers up his spine. His lower body angled away from her so she wouldn’t be crushed.
Screw that! She wanted to feel his weight. She swiveled her hips to get into a better position to feel him up, when his hand drifted up her stomach and stopped.
She froze. Somewhere in her brain, the memory that her partner was new to this made her pause. This moment wasn’t only about her. If he wanted to explore, she’d go along for the ride. But I won’t be held responsible if I set the bed on fire.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Her smooth skin felt like warmed silk. Jarrid surrendered to the urge to touch the woman who had defied his ordered world. He had to experience the connection between them or he’d lose his mind. With each pass of his hand, his haphazard plan to talk to her was crushed under an avalanche of sexual hunger.
He rubbed his palm against the flat plain of her abdomen before he dipped his head to lay a kiss to her navel. She arched, moaning. He covered the area in lazy kisses, making her squirm beneath him. So responsive. He wanted more.
Jarrid’s eyes locked on the twin swells of her breasts and a new current of desire hit. He ran a finger over one brown nipple, watching in amazement as it hardened under his touch. Ionie moaned again and raised her breast in offering. He captured the bud between his fingers and squeezed. Her low whimper sent blood rushing to his crotch. He massaged her, amazed at the sounds slipping from her lips. He shifted his weight. With the other breast in his hand, he repeated his actions, eliciting more moans from his lover.
Compelled by curiosity, Jarrid lowered his mouth and sucked hard.
“Oh, God!” Ionie cried out, her hands fisting his hair.
He sucked and lapped until one nipple swelled against his tongue, then did the same to the other. A floodgate of sensation coursed through him. He groaned. Feverish, he had to get closer. He kissed her mouth, reveling in the possessive lash of her tongue. Her lips were luscious, full and sensual, and they encouraged him to take what he desired.<
br />
Only when his hand strayed to her neck did he remember her shirt. He grinned, noticing the garment. It belonged to him. He grabbed a handful of the fabric and ripped it down the front. Ionie gasped as he caressed her freed breast, cupping it in his palm.
“Much better,” he said, whispering in her ear. “What other treasures are hidden under my shirt?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He slid his hand down her length, curving at her hip, and followed an indelible line to her core. He played with the mass of soft curls at her apex, enjoying the way it tickled his skin.
“Keep going and you’ll find out.” Ionie’s husky tone held a challenge.
He gazed at her, a grin pulling at his lips. With a simple dare she’d made him determined to discover her secrets. He extended his fingers to see what she possessed. Slick moisture slid over his fingers as he discovered the passion of his reporter. He grunted approval. Her hips vaulted off the bed, dislodging his hand.
“Again,” she said, scrabbling to return his hand between her legs.
His cock throbbed against her leg as he dipped a finger into her heated core. Jarrid pressed inside and felt her inner muscles tighten in invitation. He slipped out before adding another, then a third, inside her tightness. Ionie thrashed on the bed, and only his larger body kept her from throwing him off.
He wanted more. His dick was a steel rod in his sweatpants, the ache in his balls demanding attention. He gritted his teeth. He was going to blow.
“I want to touch you,” she said.
Jarrid gave a sharp nod. Anything to end his torture. When she pushed at his chest, he rolled onto his back. He watched her glance at his tented sweatpants, her eyes as round as saucers.
“Holy crap!”
He raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”
“I didn’t expect a battering ram.”
Jarrid chuckled and reached for her, more than ready to continue where he’d left off. Ionie slapped him away.
“Oh, no you don’t. That’s mine.”
Her words shouldn’t have pleased him so much, but they did. That this gorgeous woman had claimed him — or one part in this case — warmed him to his soul. He had only ever belonged to The Order, yet Ionie wanted more than his assassin pedigree.
“Don’t move,” she said. Before he could ask why, she reached into his sweats and pulled him free. He thrust into her hands before he could stop himself.
“I said don’t move,” she said and then giggled.
“You’re trying to kill me.” His head bounced on the pillow.
“It’s only the little death, you big baby.”
What does that mean? Jarrid poised to ask when she lowered her mouth to his swollen crown and licked him.
“Fuck!” His hips bucked. He raised his head to watch.
Ionie repeated the action, this time swiping her tongue around the tender ring. His head flopped onto the bed, his body awakened to sensory overload. Her small hands moved up and down his shaft, and he gripped the mattress to keep from thrusting. When her hot mouth covered the top, he went deaf and mute.
She couldn’t take his length into her mouth completely, but his seductress never paused. Jarrid panted and his body shook. He dug his fingers into the mattress. He’d rip a hole in it if she kept going. He didn’t care. Each stroke of her hands and tongue brought him closer to ecstasy.
Too soon he felt his balls draw close to his body. “Ionie,” he said through gritted teeth. “Stop.”
A wickedness twinkled in her eyes. She cupped him and squeezed. That was it. His seed exploded up his shaft. Jarrid threw his head back and cried out.
Her lips released him and he managed to blink open his eyes. Her swollen lips curved at the corners, obviously pleased with herself. He grabbed her waist and flipped her over, covering her body. He was determined to repay the vixen.
His cock stirred against her wet entrance, making her gasp.
“You can’t be ready so soon!”
Jarrid let his grin answer, enjoying her breathy moan when his tip brushed her opening. His body worked on pure instinct. He gripped himself. Ionie ground her sweat-soaked hips, rubbing against him.
“Please, Jarrid, I need you inside me.”
Fuck yes! He wanted nothing more. He tightened his grip. Then he paused, calculating a slight problem. He was not the average human male.
“You’re too small, minx,” he said. “I’ll never fit.”
“Try.” Ionie’s hands reached between their bodies. She wrapped her fingers around him. “Just go slow.”
Slow? His control was on life support. He exhaled a heavy breath, then lined himself up with her slick opening. A slow as he could manage, he pushed himself inside.
Fuck! He panted against her neck and kept himself immobile. Sweat ran down his back and he strained against the urge to push. After what seemed like hours, he moved a few inches deeper.
“Oh, yes,” Ionie said, her body accepting him. “More.”
Jarrid watched her face for signs of discomfort. What he saw was a woman in bliss. Her hair was a dark blanket on the bed, strands sticking to her wet neck and chest. He caressed her breast, earning low moans that made her thrust her hips upward. She took more of him, and then her dark eyes glittered with an emotion he couldn’t name.
“Start moving,” Ionie said in a voice so husky he obeyed.
He moved in a slow grind, pushing himself deeper within her. She gripped his hips for leverage, then she met his next tentative thrust with one of her own. Jarrid fell head-first into the original sin. He increased his pace and bit his lip as pleasure beyond everything assailed his senses. His Grace expanded inside him, a bomb waiting to explode. He welcomed the oblivion of his building orgasm.
“Need you,” Jarrid said, gripping her tight.
His hips snapped in a steady rhythm as he claimed his woman. Ionie cried out, a mixture of begging and praise. He heard her and she fueled his passion. Desire was everything.
She is everything. He ground into her, determined to share all the pleasure she gave him. Ionie’s orgasm shattered, its tremors crashing against him, blowing him apart. He yelled his release into the mattress to keep from destroying the bedroom windows.
This second release was more powerful than before and his Grace flared out before he could stop it. Ionie screamed, this time in pain, as white light flooded the bedroom. Jarrid threw a buffering wall to protect her from his power, but he was still inside her. His soul used the connection to drill past his defenses and into the woman who’d stolen his heart.
• • •
Something inside Ionie collided and she cried out. Where one force felt like ice, the other thing within her was fire. The brilliant lights slammed against each other, a tornado of blinding luminescence. She cowered from the ethereal vision, hoping to stave off the worst of the agony. She couldn’t. There was nowhere to hide.
“Ionie!”
She heard Jarrid call out, then his strong hands gripped her shoulders tight. Ionie shook her head side to side. Her mouth opened to speak, but she could only scream. The lights flickered like deadly beacons. They were so close she felt cold and heat at the same time.
“Open your eyes, damn it!”
She did. Jarrid’s gasp came from above her. She raised her hands in blind terror and clutched his muscled arms. She latched on for her life.
“Can’t see!” she said. “The lights. Oh, God, help me!”
“Lights? Ionie, what do you see?”
She didn’t want to look. “Fire and ice. Help me, Jarrid. Please!”
His arms enveloped her. “My Grace is the ice. Go closer to the ice.”
Like hell I will! The two powers collided and another pain wave slammed into her.
“Damn it! I can’t reach you unless you move closer to my power,” Jarrid
said, fear poisoning his words. “Touch the ice. Now!”
Tears slid down her face. Whatever was happening, she didn’t know how to stop it. He called the cold light his grace. Was that angel power? Could he make the pain stop? She may not know much about nephilim, but she knew she trusted Jarrid.
With fear a thick knot in her stomach, Ionie imagined her arm stretching towards the swirling lights. She thrust her hand into the whirlwind.
Touch the ice. Grab the cold. It was a litany in her mind. She wiggled her fingers into the supernatural void. A claw of frost grabbed her hand. She yelped. The frost closed over her and spread up her arms. Soon, her entire body felt blanketed by a sheet of ice.
There was a pulse, and then she passed out.
• • •
Cain and Kasdeja leaned against opposite walls in Tanis’ study. The room’s only sound came from their measured breaths. Nestaron took his customary seat in the far corner. The location, he’d said, afforded him an unobstructed view to whatever drama unfolded when The Eternal Order gathered. Tanis glanced at Nestaron and wondered if he’d ever imagined a day like this one.
He turned his attention to the man who was like a son to him. Jarrid sat on a leather chair, his silver eyes dulled by guilt and disbelief. He’d been this way since the team had rushed to his room and found him clutching Ionie’s naked body.
“She has Grace,” Jarrid had whispered, rocking her in his arms. Tanis had covered her with a sheet, although the team had seen her body shimmering with sweat. It didn’t take much to guess what had transpired.
He shook his head, hating what came next. As leader, it fell to him to uncover the details. He clenched his jaw. He’d never disliked his role more.
Two days had passed, and Ionie remained unconscious. They needed answers. He straightened his back, ignoring the pain in his wings. The only person capable of explaining any of this shit was Jarrid.
“How was she injured?” he asked.
Jarrid stared out a window. He hadn’t uttered a word after Ionie was settled into his bed. Kas had tried to reach into her mind, but gave up. He found nothing there to read.
Angel Bait (Angel Assassins #1) Page 13