A Very Gothic Christmas

by Christine Feehan

  Brenda looked harassed for a moment, then rushed after her.

  chapter

  11

  “JESS, BABY, CAN YOU hear me now? Do you know who I am?” Dillon used his voice shamelessly, a velvet blend of heat and smoke. He didn’t make the mistake of trying to approach her, knowing he could become part of her frightening world. Instead, he flicked on the light, bathing the room in a soft glow. He hunkered down across from her, his movements slow and graceful. “Honey, come back to me now. You don’t need to be in that place, you don’t belong there.”

  She was staring, focused on something beyond his shoulder. There was so much terror and horror in her eyes that he actually turned his head, expecting to see something. It was icy cold in the room. The window behind her was fully open, the curtains fluttering like twin white flags. It made him uneasy. She was pressed up against the wall, her hands restlessly searching the surface, seeking a place of refuge. His breath hitched in his throat when her fingers skimmed the windowsill and she inched toward it.

  “Jess, it’s Dillon. See me, baby, know I’m here with you.” He slowly straightened, shifted to the balls of his feet. His heart was hammering out his own fright. Her screams had stopped but she was staring at something he couldn’t see, couldn’t fight.

  With a small moan of terror, Jessica flung herself at the open window, crawling out as quickly as she could pull herself through. Dillon was on top of her in an instant, his hands wrapping securely around her waist, dragging her backward into the room. She fought like a wild thing, tearing at the windowsill, the curtains, her fingernails digging into wood as she desperately tried to make her escape.

  “You’re two stories up, Jess,” Dillon said, twisting to avoid her scissoring legs. He managed to wrestle her to the floor without hurting her, holding her down, straddling her, pinning her there so she couldn’t harm herself. “Wake up. Look at me.”

  Her gaze persisted in going beyond him, caught in a web he couldn’t break through. When she stopped fighting, he pulled her onto his lap, his arms still holding her tightly there on the floor, and he sang softly to her. It had been her favorite song as long as he could remember. His voice filled the room with a warmth, a soothing comfort, a promise of love and commitment. He had written it in the days of hope and belief, when he believed in love and miracles. When he believed in himself.

  Jessica blinked, looked around her, focused on Dillon’s angel’s face. It took a few moments to realize she was on his lap, his arms binding her tightly to him. She turned her head to search for the twins. The room was empty. She shivered, relaxed completely into Dillon, allowing his voice to drive away the remnants of terror.

  “Are you back, baby?” His voice was a wealth of tenderness. “Look at me.” He brought both of her hands to his mouth, kissed her fingers. “Tell me you know who I am. I swear I won’t let anything happen to you.” With Jessica on his lap, only thin cloth separated them, and the knowledge was awakening his body. Her breasts were spilling out of her thin top giving him a generous view of soft skin. The temptation to lean down and taste her was strong.

  A small smile managed to find its way to her trembling mouth. “I know that, Dillon. I’ve always known that. Did I frighten Tara and Trevor?”

  “Tara and Trevor?” he echoed, astonished. “You frightened me.” He brought her palm to his bare chest, straight over his pounding heart. “I can’t take much more of this. I really can’t.” He traced her trembling lips with a scarred fingertip. The raised whorls rasped sensually over her soft mouth. “What in the hell am I supposed to do with you? If I had a heart left, I’d have to tell you, you’re breaking it.” He had been so afraid for her that he had left his room with his body uncovered. He had turned on the light to help dispel her dream world, not thinking what it would reveal of him. He held her in his lap, his scarred body exposed to her gaze when it was the last thing he ever intended.

  “I’m sorry, Dillon.” Tears shimmered in her vivid green eyes, threatened to spill over onto her long lashes. Her lips were still trembling, tearing at his heart even more. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t know it would be like this.”

  He groaned, a sound of surrender. The last thing he wanted was for her to be sorry. He helped her from his lap, rose and hauled her up beside him, his arm curling around her waist, clamping her to his side. “Don’t cry, Jess, I swear to God if you cry you’ll destroy me.”

  She buried her face against his chest, against the scars of his past life. She didn’t wince, she didn’t even stare in utter disgust. His Jessica. His one light in the darkness. He could feel her tears wet against his skin. With an oath he lifted her, cradled her slight weight to him. There was only one place to take her, the only place she belonged. He took the stairs fast, climbing to the third story, his refuge, his sanctuary, the lair of the wounded beast. He kicked the door closed behind him.

  “Are you afraid of me, Jess?” he asked softly. “Tell me if you’re afraid of how I look.” He strode to the large bed and laid her down on his sheets. “Tell me if you’re afraid I went back into that house and did what most people think I did.”

  She rested her head on the pillow, met the hypnotic blue of his eyes, was lost instantly, drowning in the deep turbulent sea. “I’ve never been afraid of you, Dillon,” she answered honestly. “You know I don’t believe you shot anyone that night. I’ve never believed it. Knowing you went back into the house before the gun was fired doesn’t change what I know about you.” She reached up, framed his face with one hand while the other skimmed lightly over his chest. How could he ever think his scars would repulse her? He had gone into a burning inferno to save his children. The scars were as much a part of him now as his angel’s face. Her fingertips traced a whorl of ridged flesh. His badge of courage, of love—she could never think of his scars any other way. “And you’ve always been beautiful to me. Always. You were the one who kept me away from you. I tried so many times to see you in the burn center and you wouldn’t give your consent.” There was hurt in her voice, pain in her eyes. “You cut yourself off from me and you left me struggling on my own. For so long I couldn’t breathe without you. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t know how to go on.”

  “You deserve something better than this, Jess,” he said grimly.

  “What’s better, Dillon? Being without you? The pain doesn’t go away. Neither does the loneliness, not for me or the children.”

  “I always knew exactly what I was doing, what I was worth.” Confusion slipped across his face. “My music was my measure of who I was, what I could offer. Now I don’t know what I can give you. But you have to be certain being with me is what you really want. I can’t have you and then lose you. I have to know it means the same thing to you as it does to me.”

  Jessica smiled at him as she stood up. Deliberately she moved in front of the large sliding glass door leading to the balcony. She wanted what light there was to fall on her, so there would be no mistake. For her answer, she simply caught the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head.

  Standing there, facing him with the glass framing her, she looked like an exotic beauty, ethereal, out of reach. Her skin gleamed at him, a satin sheen, beckoning his touch. Her breasts were full, firm, jutting toward him, so perfect he felt his heart slam hard in his chest and his mouth go dry. His body tightened painfully, his need so urgent his body was straining against the fabric of his jeans.

  He reached out to the offering, his palm skimming along her soft skin. She felt exactly as she looked and the texture was mesmerizing. Jessica’s breath hitched in her throat, her body trembled as he cupped her breasts in his hands. His thumbs found taut buds and stroked as he leaned into her to settle his mouth over hers.

  Jessica was aware of so many sensations. Her breasts achingly alive, wanting his touch, his thumbs sending bolts of lightning whipping through her bloodstream until her lower body was heavy and needy. Every nerve ending was alive, so that his silken hair brushing her skin sent tiny darts o
f pleasure coursing through her. His mouth was hard and dominant, moving over and into hers with male expertise and hot, silken passion.

  Outside the wind began to moan, shifting back from the sea, rattling at the glass doors as if seeking entrance. Dillon’s mouth left hers to follow the line of her shoulder, the hollow of her throat, to close, hot and hungry, around her breast. Jessica’s body jerked with reaction, her arms coming up to cradle his head. His mouth was fiery hot, suckling strongly, a starving man let loose on a feast. His hands skimmed her narrow rib cage, tugged impatiently at the drawstring of her pajamas.

  Her body wound tighter and tighter, a spiral of heat she couldn’t hope to control. The pajama bottoms dropped to the floor and she kicked them aside, reveling in the way his hands glided possessively over her.

  “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he breathed the words against her satin skin, moving to her other breast, his fingers stroking the curve of her bottom, finding every intriguing indentation, every shadow. “I can’t believe you’re really here with me.”

  “I can’t believe it either,” she admitted, closing her eyes, throwing back her head to arch more fully into his greedy mouth. She felt a wildness rising in him, skating the edge of his control. It gave her a sense of power that she might not have had otherwise. He wanted her with the same force of need as she did him which allowed her a boldness she might never have managed. Her hands found the waistband of his jeans. She deliberately rubbed her palm over his bulging hardness, just as she’d done in the woods. She felt the breath slam out of his lungs. He lifted his head, his blue gaze burning into her like a brand.

  Jessica smiled at him as she unfastened his jeans. “I’ve wanted to do this,” she confided as he burst free. Thick and long and ready for her, pulsing with heat and life. Her fingers wrapped around the length of him, a proprietary gesture. Her thumb stroked the velvet head until he groaned aloud.

  Very gently he exerted pressure on her, forcing her back toward the bed. “I don’t want to wait any longer, I don’t think I can.”

  Jessica knelt on the bed, still stroking him, leaning forward to kiss his sculpted mouth, loving the hunger in his gaze. He was more intimidating than she had expected so she took her time getting used to the feel and size of him. She fed on his mouth, trailed kisses over his scarred chest, experimentally swirled her tongue over the head of his shaft. He jumped beneath her ministrations, sucked in his breath audibly.

  “Not yet, baby, I’ll explode if you do that. Lie back for me.” His hands were already assisting her, pushing her into the mattress so she lay naked and waiting for his touch. His hand stroked a caress down her body, over her breast, lingering for a moment until she shivered, over her belly, down to the thatch of curls, glided to her thighs.

  He sat up, his blue eyes moving over every inch of her. She was so beautiful, moving restlessly on the bed beneath him. Wanting him. Needing him. Hungry for him alone. He loved the way the muted light skimmed lovingly over her body, touching her here and there along the curves and shadows he was familiarizing himself with.

  “Dillon,” it was a soft protest, that he had stopped when she was burning for him, her body heavy and throbbing with need.

  “I love to look at you, Jess.” His hands parted her thighs just a little wider, his fingers stroking a long caress in the damp folds between her legs. She jumped when he touched her, pushed forward against his palm, a small cry of pleasure escaping her. Dillon smiled at her, leaned down to swirl his tongue around her intriguing belly button. Those little tops she wore that didn’t quite cover her flat belly were enough to drive him mad. His hair brushed her sensitive skin and he pushed his finger slowly, deep inside her tight, hot sheath. At once her muscles clenched around him, velvet soft, firm, moist, and hot. His own body throbbed and swelled in response.

  Her hips pushed forward wantonly. Jessica had no inhibitions with Dillon. She wanted his body, wanted every single erotic dance with him. She had no intention of holding back; she was determined to get every last gasp of pleasure she could. She had learned the hard way that life is precarious and she wasn’t going to let an opportunity slip by because of modesty, pride, or shyness. Jessica lifted her hips to meet the thrusting of his finger, the friction triggering a rippling effect deep in her hottest core.

  Dillon nipped her flat belly with a string of teasing kisses, distracting her while he stretched her a little more, sinking two fingers into her soft, hot body. More than anything else, her pleasure mattered to him. He was large and thick and he could tell she was small. Her velvet folds pulsed for him, wanting, and he fed that hunger, pushing deep, retreating, entering again so that her hips followed his lead. “That’s what I want, honey, just like that. I want you ready for me.”

  “I am ready for you,” she pleaded softly, her fingers tangling in his hair.

  “Not yet, you’re not,” he answered. His breath was warm against the curve of her hip. She felt his tongue stroke a caress in the crease along her thigh. His mouth found the triangle of fiery curls at the junction of her legs. Her breath hissed out of her as his tongue tasted her moist heat. His name was a whispered plea. He lifted his head to look at her face. Very slowly he withdrew his fingers to bring them to his mouth. She shivered, her gaze fascinated as he licked her juices from his hand. “Open your thighs wider, baby.” It was a whispered enticement. “Give yourself to me.”

  She was lost in the pulsing hunger; the fire was racing through her body. She opened her legs wider to him, a clear invitation. She was hot and wet and slick with her passion. Dillon pressed his palm once against her heated entrance, so that she shivered in anticipation. Then he slowly lowered his head once more.

  She nearly screamed, drowning in the sensation of pure pleasure. His tongue caressed, probed deep, stabbed into hot folds, swirled and teased and sucked at her until she was mindlessly sobbing his name, writhing beneath him, her hips thrusting helplessly for the relief only he could bring her. He took her up the path several times, pushing higher each time so that her body shuddered and rippled with pleasure over and over. Until he knew she was hot and slick and needed him enough to accept him buried deep within her body.

  Dillon knelt between her legs, and watched his body probe desperately for the slick entrance to hers. He wanted to see them come together, in a miracle of passion. His engorged head pushed into her. At once he felt her sheath, tight and hot, grip him, close around him. The sensation shook him so that he had to hang on to his control. “Jess,” her name burst from between his teeth. He slid in another inch, pushing his way through the tight folds. If it was possible, she grew even hotter. His hands tightened on her hips. “Tell me you’re okay, baby.”

  “Yes, more,” she gasped. He was invading her body, a thick, hard fullness, stretching her immeasurably, but at the same time, the craving for him grew and grew.

  His hands tightened and he surged forward, past her barrier, and buried himself deeper. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He had never felt such a sensation of pure ecstasy. It was difficult to keep from plunging his body madly into hers. “Tell me what it feels like.” He bit the words out huskily, and lowered his head to flick his tongue over her taut nipple. The action tightened her body even more around his.

  “It’s everything, Dillon. You’re big and you’re stretching me so it burns a little, but at the same time, I want more, I want all of you deep inside me,” she answered honestly. “More than anything, that’s what I want right now.”

  “Me, too,” he admitted and surged forward. The sensation shook him. Her muscles were slick and hot and velvet soft, so tight he could barely stand it. He buried himself deep, withdrew, and thrust hard again. He watched her face carefully for signs of discomfort, but her body was flushed, her eyes glazed, her breath coming in little needy pants.

  Satisfied that she was feeling the same pleasure he was feeling, Dillon began to move in a gentle rhythm. Long and slow, gliding in and out of her, stretching, pushing deeper with each stroke. He tilted her hips, held
her body so he could thrust even deeper, wanting her to accept every last inch of him, almost as if her body could accept his, she would see who he really was and love him anyway. He buried himself to the hilt, sliding so deep he felt her womb, felt her contractions beginning, a spiraling that began to increase in strength. “Jess, I’ve never felt like this. Never.” He wanted her to know what she meant, how much a part of him she was.

  His rhythm became faster, harder, his hips surging forward into her, his body beyond any pretense of control. Jessica cried out softly as her body fragmented, as the room rocked and the earth simply melted away. Dillon could feel how strong her muscles were, milking him, gripping him in the strength of her orgasm, taking him with her right over the edge. He pumped into her frantically, helplessly, unable to control the wildness in him, the explosion ripping through his body from his toes up to the top of his head.

  Dillon didn’t have enough energy to roll over, so he lay on top of her, his body still locked to hers. His heart was beating hard. He buried his face against her breast, tears burning at the back of his eyes and throat. He had never been so emotional in the old days. He had never felt like this, sated and at peace. He had never thought it possible.

  Jessica wrapped her arms around Dillon, holding him close, feeling the emotions swirling so deeply in him. She knew he was struggling. Part of him wanted to remain a recluse, hidden from the past and the future, and part of him desperately wanted what she was holding out to him. It was all tied up in his music. In his perception that he had failed everyone he loved. He wanted her to love him as he saw himself, a man without anything to offer. She didn’t see him that way and never could. She could only offer him what she had, her honesty, her belief in him, her trust.

  She felt his tongue flick her nipple, a lazy back and forth swirl that sent shock waves through her body. Her muscles rippled with the aftershock and gripped his. He exhaled, his breath warm against her skin.