For the Love of Jazz

by Shiloh Walker

  Awkwardly, he opened his mouth to apologize but then the words froze when she took a single step toward him. And then another, and one more until she was close enough for him to see the wild pulse beating a tattoo under the thin skin of her neck. She pressed one finger to his lips, wrapped the arm around his neck, and leaned forward, pressing her mouth to the vee of skin bared by his simple, cotton button-down.

  His eyes closed and his hands came up to cup the back of her neck, holding her against him. Sweet Anne-Marie. God, I love you. He had dreamed of her over the years, dreamed of a woman who had been just a child when he had left. Dreams that had kept him company at night, even after he’d married Sheri. Guilty dreams that he had denied having, dreams that felt so real, waking from them was almost painful.

  Some people didn’t believe in love at first sight, but Jazz always had. He’d fallen for her as a boy and those feelings had only strengthened in their years apart. Now, she stood in his arms, pressing herself against him. Totally and completely willing—and eager. He could see an answering hunger in her eyes, feel it in the way she leaned into him when he touched her. It was every dream he had ever had, and every nightmare. Because finally he could have her, but only for a while.

  Jazz would never be able to hold her. He would never deserve her. But damned if he wouldn’t take whatever he could get before she walked away. He held her pressed tightly against him as she trailed a line of butterfly kisses up his neck.

  “Why shouldn’t we do this, Jazz?” she asked, reveling in his taste. He tasted hot, erotic, forbidden. Like whiskey and chocolate. Her hands itched to touch him until with a sigh, she gave in, running her hands down his arms, up his sides, learning the long, lean body by touch.

  She hadn’t come out here for this. Not intentionally.

  But Anne-Marie had fallen in love with Jazz McNeil the first time she laid eyes on him at the tender age of ten. And she had always known there would be no other for her. The one time she had tried to use another man to forget about Jazz had ended in miserable failure and she never once again tried.

  Nothing had changed that, not the sixteen years of separation, not the knowledge that he had been driving the night Alex had died. Jazz was it for her and he always had been.

  Rigidly, Jazz stood in her arms and tried to think of the reasons they shouldn’t do this. There were reasons. He just couldn’t, for the life of him, think of them as she pressed another kiss to his collarbone, going up on her toes and pressing another whisper-soft kiss to his jawbone. It was torture, the satin soft feel of her mouth on his skin. He wanted to cradle her head between his hands and kiss her again, taste her, hold her open while he gorged on her.

  Then he wanted to lean back and watch as she used that pretty rosebud mouth in other ways. Even the thought was enough to make him go cross-eyed with lust and when he lifted his hands to her waist, they were shaking.

  She’s so tiny, Jazz thought. Her waist was slender, so narrow he could nearly span it with his hands. Slender, almost delicate, like some kind of fairy princess and yet so strong. He could feel the strength in her hands as she clasped his shoulders, reaching up against him.

  “Take me inside,” she whispered, lifting her head so she could stare at him.

  “Anne-Marie…”

  “Don’t tell me we shouldn’t do this. Don’t tell me anything. Just take me inside, Jazz. This is what I want.”

  Hell. How could he argue with that? Especially not since it was something he’d been waiting half of his life for. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he boosted her up. She weighed less than nothing, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, hooking them over his hips. Through the layers of the clothes, he felt the heat of her sex and he groaned. Jazz made one last attempt at sanity, pressing his lips to her neck as he whispered, “Anne-Marie, this is not a good idea.”

  Brushing her lips against his, she replied, “I think it’s a great idea. And I’m always right, didn’t Alex tell you that?” Then she covered his mouth with her own, burying her hands in his hair so she could hold him close.

  His mind went blank and he couldn’t think. There were reasons why they shouldn’t do this, he knew there were. But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a single one. Thoughts of the betrayal he was committing fled his mind, chased out by the wonder of a dream come true.

  She was here, with him, wrapped around him. With quick, light hands she touched him. With a soft, sweet mouth, she tasted him. No. No, he couldn’t let her go, not tonight.

  With a groan, he fisted a hand in her hair and tugged her head back, covering her mouth completely. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, seeking out her sweet, addictive taste. She met him without hesitation, kissing him as deeply as he kissed her.

  He started up the stairs to the front door, taking them by memory as he lost himself in her. She tasted of home, of cool nights, of long lazy summer days, of innocence and youth.

  The bedroom up the stairs was too far away, too many steps. Instead, he wheeled to the right and took her to the couch, sitting on the couch with her in his lap. Molding the back of her skull in his hands, Jazz tore his mouth from hers, angling her head back, exposing her neck, pressing his lips to the pulse beating wildly there. The scent of her rose to haunt him as he lifted his head to stare at her. She smelled like honeysuckle. Jazz found himself craving a deeper taste. He wanted to press his lips to her skin and seek out the pulse points, find out if that teasing scent was stronger there. Perfume? Or was it just her?

  His hands were shaking as he pulled her shirt from the waistband of her shorts. Slowly, he pulled the top off of her. She shook her hair back as he threw the shirt across the room. The lacy confection under the simple top made him smile. The white lace was so sheer, he could see her nipples through it. He stroked one and watched it stiffen under the lace. “I knew you weren’t as practical as you always pretended to be,” he whispered, running a finger along the edge of her bra. The smooth flesh roughed with goosebumps and her nipples strained against the lace.

  Hands resting on the tops of her thighs, staring at him out of calm eyes, Anne-Marie smiled and let her head fall back as he cupped her breast in his hand. Delicate, soft, smooth. The rose of her nipples pushed against the lace of her bra and with a groan, he lowered his head and nipped gently at her through the webbing.

  She shuddered, her hands reaching up to curve over his shoulders while his raced over her. He settled them on the couch, shifting Anne-Marie around so that he could undress her without completely letting go. In under a minute, she was sprawled across his lap wearing nothing more than a lacy bikini that matched the bra he had tossed over the back of the couch.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, rubbing his knuckles against the underside of her breast.

  Smiling up at him, Anne-Marie murmured, “Thank you.” Running a hand through his heavy black hair, as she had always wanted to do, she told him, “You’re not too bad yourself.” Her head fell back, a tiny hum of pleasure inside her throat as his hands cupped her breasts.

  “Anne-Marie…”

  Through slitted eyes, she watched as the hesitancy once again entered his eyes. Slowly, she shifted until she was able to stand. And just as slowly, she rose to her feet, her hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, mouth swollen. Her tongue darted out to lick at her lips as she knelt in front of him.

  “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to be with you, in some way.” She reached for the button of his fly, smiling as his belly jumped under the light brush of her hands. “I didn’t come here for this. But I know that I would have, sooner or later.” With her head tipped back, she looked at him and traced the length of him through his boxer-style briefs. “I don’t believe in wasting time.”

  His breath whistling between his teeth, Jazz let his head fall back as her small, quick hands raced over him. He jolted when she pressed her lips to his belly and damn near vaulted off the couch when she slid her hands into the back of his jeans. She tugged his jeans and boxers
down as far as she could and then she bent over him.

  Jazz swore as Anne-Marie took him in her mouth. His field of vision narrowed down as she slid her mouth down and then back up, lifting up just enough to lick the head of his cock. Then she closed her lips back over him and Jazz almost whimpered at the sight as she started to take him in and out of her mouth, smooth, shallow strokes that sent him hurdling towards the edge. She wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, holding him steady. Her mouth, red and swollen, stretched around his flesh and she took him deeper and deeper until the head of his cock nudged the back of her throat.

  She hummed a little and the vibration of it had him jerking in reaction. She lifted up just a little and Jazz sagged back against the cushions, trying to catch his breath. Before he had a chance, though, she slid back down and when his cock bumped the back of her throat again—she swallowed.

  He arched up with a shout, fisting his hands in her hair. He shuddered, sweat forming on his body and the urge to come burning down his spine and settling in his balls with a heated fury. “Stop, Annie,” he groaned when she lifted up and started that same slow glide all over again.

  Anne-Marie lifted her head up and smiled at him. Voice husky, she murmured, “No.”

  This was power. Anne-Marie might not have taken any other lovers since her failed attempt in college, but that didn’t mean she was a scared, shy near-virgin. Near-virgin, maybe, but there was no way she would let fear or shyness intrude, not here, not with Jazz. The length of his sex throbbed. Under her hands and mouth, he felt both hard and silky smooth. Iron covered with silk. She scraped her teeth over the tip of his penis and then took him back into her mouth, taking him deeper and deeper. When she lifted back up, her eyes were watering, her mouth felt bruised, and she was riding high on the fact that she was making him shake.

  “Witch,” he muttered as he looked at her, his eyes dazed. She grinned at him and he growled. He reached for her and Annie didn’t pull away fast enough. He growled against her mouth and the sound of it echoed through her entire body. With a pivot, he tumbled her down on the couch, slid his hand inside the waist of her panties and jerked. If she hadn’t already been shaking with hunger, that desperate, greedy gesture would have done it.

  “Why waste time, you little witch?” Jazz muttered against her mouth. Witch—definitely a witch, Jazz decided as she stared up at him, a sexy, confident smile on her swollen lips and her eyes hot and wild. Looping his hands under her head, he held her still as he covered her mouth with his, as he pinned her hips against the cushion with his own.

  Her thighs parted and she shifted slightly under him, staring up at him with a sly little smile. As he pressed slowly against her, her eyes drifted closed and she moaned softly in the back of her throat. The wet warmth enveloped him tightly, snugly as he eased forward.

  Snug. Too snug. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered.

  She lifted her hips up, taking him deeper as he tried to pull back. “Been a while,” she whispered. Then she smiled. “Waiting for you.”

  Even if she didn’t mean that, it was humbling to hear her say it. “Damnation, Annie,” he muttered. “Annie, you, oh, hell…” His words trailed off into a groan as she rolled her hips under his. “Would you slow down?”

  Lids rising slowly, Anne-Marie stared up at him, her wicked, green eyes glinting up at him. “Why should I slow down? I’ve been waiting for this for half my life, Jazz. Don’t make me wait any more.”

  She smiled up at him, a sexy invitation of a smile, as she reached up and cupped his face, urging him to meet her eyes. That confident female smile had every nerve in his body humming; his nerves broke into a chorus when she trailed her fingers up his sides, then slid her hands down, gripped his hips, lifted hers to meet him.

  “Jazz,” she whispered, her husky, soft voice caressing his ears like silk. “Make love to me. I’ve been wanting this for as long as I can remember.”

  With a groan, he lowered his head, buried his face in the smooth, softly scented skin of her neck and thrust deep, planting his length within her body.

  Distantly, Anne-Marie realized there was a little more pain than she’d expected. It had definitely been a while but the pain of taking him inside was well worth it and she was in too much wonder to dwell on it. Having him inside her felt like coming home.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him back to her when he withdrew, rising to meet his hips with every thrust. “Annie…” When he breathed her name against her skin, goosebumps went rushing down her body. How many times? she wondered. How many times had she imagined this?

  As vivid as her imagination was, it could never compare to the reality of having him next to her, having him buried inside her, whispering her name while he rained kisses over her face. His length throbbed inside, rubbed against nerve endings so sensitive, that each stroke was an exquisite pain. Blood pounded in her ears and the sound of it almost drowned out Jazz’s rumbling groan. Lights flashed behind her closed lids when he slid a hand between them and circled his fingers around her clit.

  The first mini-climax hit her hard and fast and her head was still spinning a minute later when he started to move inside her once more. Thunder and lightning, Anne-Marie thought, just a little dazed. A lot dazed.

  Jazz propped himself on his elbows, dragging air into his lungs. Her flesh, soft, slick and tight, caressed the length of him, pulsing around his cock with every beat of her heart. They fit together perfectly, he realized with some wonder. Slowly, he pulled out and eased back into her. The scent of her filled his head, honeysuckle-scented flesh and sweet, hungry woman. Innocent and seductress combined.

  Her inner muscles clenched around him and he gritted his teeth against the urge to take her, mark her and brand her as his own. By God, this may be the only night he ever had.

  He would make it last.

  He pulled back, resting his weight on his knees. Sliding his hands up the sides of her legs, he cupped the firm flesh of her bottom in his hands and pulled her against him. The shudder that rippled through her drew him deeper inside. “Look at me, Anne-Marie,” he demanded, pulling her harder against him.

  Her eyes opened, dazed and smoky with need. Every breath she took burned, every pulse of her heart sent fire coursing through her veins. Her skin, super sensitive, felt hot and tight, as though her body was trying to turn inside out on her. An explosion was building within her and when it finally broke free, it was going to make that little, mini-orgasm seem like raindrops in the ocean.

  She couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t focus or think. His cock throbbed inside her and instinct had her tensing her inner muscles, tightening around him. That made the ache inside all that much worse. But she couldn’t stop herself from doing it again and again. His hands came up, stroking up her thighs and capturing her knees. He pushed them up against her chest and his eyes burned into hers as he rolled his hips against her.

  He was so deep inside her she hurt. The way he watched her had her flushing consciously and then he touched her, rubbing his thumb around and around her clit until she bucked and cried out his name. She tried to rub herself against him, but he kept her pinned down so that she couldn’t. The loss of control was terrifyingly erotic and Anne-Marie wasn’t sure what was going to win out, the terror or the hunger.

  “Jazz, please,” she gasped out, her torso twisting, arching off the couch. He fell forward, pinning her body to the couch, his shoulders wedged between her knees.

  Her muscles were squeezing him tight, clamping around him, holding him. Staring blindly up at him, her face flushed, lips red and swollen, hands seeking. “Come with me, Annie,” he whispered. He watched her face as he drove deep within her.

  She shook her head, trying to pull away from the storm that was brewing within her. “Yes,” he demanded gutturally. “Yes.” He surged forward, burying himself in her body over and over, lifting her to him. “Yes.”

  At his words, she plummeted, falling headfirst inside a seething volcano. There was mor
e lightning—more thunder, more of everything. She felt caught in a maelstrom of pleasure, with heat suffusing her body in waves, washing against her, within her. The pleasure seemed to batter her, going on and on. His cock jerked inside her and she felt the heat of it as he came inside her.

  A choked cry tore from her lips and she strained up against him, everything within reach. He pulled out, drove deep within her one more time. She fell apart underneath him, shattered into a million tiny pieces.

  And when he pressed a soothing kiss to her temple, he put the pieces back together again. The low moan that rumbled through his chest vibrated throughout her body and she held him close. She smiled slightly, knowing that she had been right about him all along. He made her whole.

  With his heart pounding against hers, she slept.

  “What did you end up doing with yourself, Jazz?” Anne asked softly, later that night. Her hand traced an absent pattern on his chest, her head tucked against his shoulder. “You never told me what happened after you left here. What you’ve been doing.”

  “Whatever I could, for the longest time. I had to delay going into the Marines until I healed up but I ended up only serving a year.” A faint, bitter grin tugged at his lips. “Training op went bad and my leg was messed up six different ways to Sunday.”

  With a frown, Anne pushed up onto her elbow so she could look at his leg. “Damn,” she whispered as she studied the jagged, twisted scar. His kneecap looked a little off center and judging by the numerous neat surgical scars, he’d gone under the knife for corrective surgery a time or two. “Does it bother you?”

  He shook his head, not even glancing down. He held a lock of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “No. Aches some if it gets too cold, but other than that?” He just shrugged.

  “So you had to leave the Marines?”

  “Yeah. But I’m fine with that.” Finally, a real smile appeared as he glanced up and said, “I was told I had issues with authority.”

  Anne-Marie widened her eyes. “Really. You don’t say,” she said, her voice deadpan. Lying back down beside him, she curled up against him with her hand on his chest. “So after that, where did you end up? Where have you been living all this time?” she asked.