Emma felt herself melting. Jake, as a rule, wasn't gentle, but his kiss, just for a moment, felt like love before his passion, his lust, took over and he was in a feeding frenzy again, growing hotter and more wild. She opened her mouth under the demand of his tongue and let him take her away, let him carry her back into his carnal world of sin and sex. His arms were enormously strong, circling her, sweeping her into that vortex of mind-numbing pleasure.
He was so strong, his personality overwhelming. Everything about Jake was compelling and mesmerizing. Even his aura of danger drew something inside of her straight to him. His hands stroked her skin, soothing, tender--at first--but when a moan escaped and her breath began to come in ragged gasps, he took her to the next level, playing her body like the master he was. His fingers tugged at her nipples, twisting and pulling a little harder, his teeth scraping sensitive skin. His mouth found his marks on her breast and he lapped at them with his tongue so that it rasped over the sensitive nerve endings until she trembled anew.
She loved that roughness in him, that switch from tender to rough hunger, as if his need of her was so great he was on the edge of his control. And yet, even though she was so willing and wanting, there was a part of her that screamed: No. No. Stop what you're doing. You're jeopardizing everything you have.
Jake cupped her breasts in his hands. So firm. So tempting. How many times had he walked into the nursery and seen her breast-feeding Andraya? He didn't know about other men, but the sight always sent erotic pleasure streaking through him. He'd always wanted to drop to his knees and taste her. She was so beautiful, a sensual woman in her natural state.
He kissed her again, loving her mouth. He'd always loved her mouth, had dreamt of it so many times. She tasted even better than he'd imagined, all sweet and tangy and so Emma. He loved the heat of her body, the way she opened for him when his hands moved over her down to her thighs, already wet and needy and willing to accommodate him. Her body was his, even though she still wanted to deny it.
He watched her face as he applied pressure to the hard little point of her breast, saw her face flush as heat spread, watched the bite of pain blur with intense pleasure as he tugged. Her breath came in a ragged gasp and her eyes got that sexy glaze he loved. She was exquisite, even more so when aroused. He lowered his head and took one breast into his mouth. Licking, sucking, teeth tugging and nipping, he watched her every reaction, driving her higher and higher.
He moved down to lick at her abdomen, teasing her intriguing belly button, lapping up the drops from her fiery curls. Her breath came out in a long hiss as he flicked his tongue across her mound. He lowered his body, sliding down her, spreading her thighs, still watching her, loving the way her eyes lost focus and turned wholly emerald, nearly glowing at him with slumberous lust.
He took a long, slow, deliberate lick, his tongue swirling around her tight bud, and then flicked back and forth over it until she was gasping, fighting and writhing under him. Her nerve endings, already so sensitive, sizzled and burned. He made love to her in the only way he knew how--raw, sensual, driving her past all preconceived limits. Taking her as high as she thought she could go and then more, sucking, licking, stroking, using teeth, tongue and fingers. She might not think he was loving her, but it was the only expression of emotion he could give her. This was who he was. He took his time, kissing, paying attention to her slightest reaction before his mouth hungrily latched on to her hot, wet sheath to tip her over the edge.
She screamed, lifting her hips as he pushed his tongue into her with a slow, hard stroke. Her body was an inferno, so hot, so wet, a raging fire threatening to consume her. She sobbed for release. Jake sucked her clit into his mouth, flicking the tight bud with his tongue, raking with his teeth against it. She stiffened, sobbed again, her nails digging in his shoulders, and then her body melted, turned to liquid as the earth-shattering orgasm overtook her.
When she quieted, he was back standing above her, offering his pulsing shaft. She opened her thighs to accept him, but he reached down and urged her up to her knees, shaking his head, although he was desperate to be inside of her. "No," he said softly, his voice firm, demanding even. "Not this time. I need your mouth on me again, Emma. I need to see you wanting me, everything that I am." Because she had given him everything but what he needed and he was taking everything from her. She was his. And he was going to make her know it, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Withhold her love from him? She thought it wasn't love?
He did need her mouth, so hot and sexy, more than he could ever express or explain to her. She hadn't surrendered. Did she think he couldn't feel the conflict in her? Her body was his, but not her heart or mind, and he wouldn't settle for less than everything--total surrender. She had to know who she belonged to, who she'd been born for.
The leopard growled and paced, raked with claws, kept a relentless assault on his mind. Take her. Take her. She belongs to me. She has to know she is mine. The need thundered in his heart, in his body, a roar of absolute supremacy. The cat was wild, furious that she wouldn't submit totally to him.
"Emma." He said her name, no more. But it was a demand--a command--and Emma dropped her gaze to his pulsing erection.
She sucked in her breath, so aroused she would have done anything for him, so hungry for his body she needed him filling her mouth almost more than he did. She wanted the taste of him, the feel of him, scorching hot in the inferno of her mouth. It seemed so personal, the ultimate intimacy, a man's woman caressing him and worshiping him, bringing him exquisite pleasure. And there was his face, harsh with lust, eyes brooding, as if . . . as if he needed something from her, something only she could give him.
Mesmerized, she leaned forward and flicked her tongue over the broad, dripping head. His entire body shuddered. His growl was sheer animal, a guttural, harsh sound that sent another orgasm rocketing through her. "Son of a bitch, Emma, fucking do it before I explode."
He gripped her hair and yanked her head toward him. When she went to grip the base with her hand, to circle his shaft, he shook his head. "Put your hands on my hips and keep them there."
Her heart jumped. She looked up at him. His golden eyes had changed to cat's eyes, glowing with power, with lust, with need beyond anything she'd ever experienced. She felt the wildness in him and something in her leapt to meet it. She couldn't help licking at the drops of pearls before he gripped her hair tighter and pushed his shaft, steel-hard and scorching hot, into the haven of her mouth.
His hips jerked, he gasped, his jaw tightening and his growl growing harsher. Her tongue curled around him in a lazy slide that set his every nerve ending on fire. The feel of her wet, velvet mouth suckling him was shockingly erotic. He had taken her twice and he still was as hard as a rock, thrusting into her mouth, trying to be gentle, knowing she was exhausted. She started to lift her hands and he growled a warning, keeping the control, heightening his pleasure even more.
Her sharp nails dug into his thighs, but she didn't move her hands, didn't move away from him. He felt the pads of her fingers tracing his scars, sliding over them, rubbing, caressing, sending hot arousal straight to his cock. Her mouth was eager, her small little moans vibrating around him, driving him crazy until his lungs burned for air and his breath came in harsh, ragged gasps. Everything in him tightened, burned. Every muscle, every cell, every nerve ending. Heat boiled, fire scorched, burned as he neared his explosive orgasm.
The cat wanted his scent all over her, in her, wanted every man that came near her to know she belonged to him and only him. And God help him, Jake wanted the same thing. It was as if he was so merged with the beast he couldn't separate himself. He couldn't stop the dominating thrusts, forcing her to take him deeper, the thrill and elation, the sheer pleasure rising like a tide at the sight of her--his woman. His. He had to mark her as such, there was no other way. Mark her with his scent, with his teeth, with his seed. His.
He forced himself to give up the haven of her mouth, dragging his cock free so that he coul
d mark her, cover her with his scent and seed. "You're mine, Emma. Only mine." His harsh growl was one of brutal satisfaction as the hot spray pulsed all over her.
12
ABSOLUTE primal fury burned in Emma's eyes when she looked up at him. For a moment Jake thought she might rake her nails down his thighs. They stared at each other, her green eyes glittering like two jewels, nearly all emerald, the irises almost gone. Shame crept into her expression. Color swept up her throat. She moved her hand to cover the bite on her shoulder as if it might be hurting. She stared at him a moment longer, refusing to bow her head, refusing to look away while satisfaction thrummed through his body.
Emma couldn't sustain the anger as the rush of hormones and adrenaline faded from her body, leaving her feeling exhausted, humiliated and sore. Tears burned in her eyes as she pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the hand he held out to her.
"Emma."
She stood on shaky legs, and when he stepped toward her, she stopped him with an imperious hand. "Don't you say anything to me. I think you said it all. I understand exactly how you feel about me, Jake."
"What the hell does that mean?" She tried to push past him, heading for the bathroom in the office suite. Jake calmly caught her arm. She was trembling. He brushed the pad of his thumb up and down her skin with stroking caresses, trying to soothe her.
She jerked herself away, her face stiff with pride. "It means go to hell." She stalked around him, slammed the bathroom door and locked it. Let him find another shower. She hated him. He had told her that another woman had blown him a couple of times and then he fucked her. Well, she felt well and truly fucked. He had called that woman a slut and then he'd deliberately made Emma feel like one. Damn him. Damn her for giving in to her own raging needs. Damn her for loving Jake so much she couldn't resist temptation. Just damn everything.
There wasn't a place on her body, inside or out, that wasn't sore. Her heart ached. Her soul wept. She'd given him everything and he'd totally humiliated her and had the gall to look satisfied. No wonder he thought the women he'd been with were sluts. He made them that way. She'd been that way--ready to do anything he wanted, anything to please him. She'd wanted desperately to please him.
She was sobbing as the hot water poured over her, great sobs that shook her entire body. She'd ruined her life. Ruined Andraya's and Kyle's lives. She had to leave, had to take her baby girl and leave Kyle behind. The adoption wasn't final yet. She had no rights to him. She couldn't believe how stupid, how selfish, she'd been, not thinking of her children, letting her hormones drive her. What kind of a mother was she?
Jake was so absolutely self-assured. The sheer power of his personality was hypnotizing, mesmerizing, and she had been far more susceptible than she'd realized. She slid down the wall of the shower, curling into a small ball, letting the hot water pour over her sore body. She was definitely leaving. She wouldn't be humiliated like that ever again. How could she face him now? She'd seen the contempt on his face, heard it in his voice, when he spoke to women on the phone, heard them begging and pleading to see him. She would not become another one of his cast-offs. And if she stayed, she would never be able to resist his seduction. Her body throbbed just thinking about him, and she was furious with him. What had she done? How stupid.
She wanted to scream at herself. She'd always acted rationally. She was rarely even attracted to men, and certainly didn't feel the obsessive cravings she'd developed for Jake. When had that even started? He wasn't her kind of man. Greg Patterson was. Andrew. Her beloved Andrew, with his sweet smile, and gentle touch, asking permission before he even kissed her.
How had she gotten trapped in Jake's sexual web? She'd even watched out for it. She'd felt his allure, the deep pull of magnetism, but she'd warned herself from the beginning to see him as he really was, to not fall under his spell. Here she was, lying on the shower floor, with his seed in her and on her and her life crumbling around her.
Emma let herself cry until there were no tears left and she knew she had to face what she'd done. She sat up and slowly began to soap her body, feeling his possession with every movement, trying to wash him away, to wash her obsession with him away. She had to think carefully. Jake was different from other men. She saw the scars on his body--his thighs, his back, even his arms and belly. He trusted no one. He had a particular dislike of women getting close to him. He never spoke to his parents or allowed them near the children. The one time she'd met his mother had been a nightmarish experience.
She loved Jake, but not in the same way she'd loved Andrew. If she was truthful with herself, Andrew had been her first love, a child's love, sweet and pure and perfect. Jake had never been a child. He didn't know what love or trust was. She had come to love Jake over the past two years, watching him struggle to learn to be a father. Watching him provide for the broken souls around him. Her feelings for him were not all just sexual, and that made it even harder to accept his lack of emotion toward her--but she'd known what he was like. He struggled with gentler emotions. She let herself become attached because he treated her differently than he did others, but she'd never given him power over her. His control over her had always been an illusion--at least, she'd thought it had been. Maybe she'd been the one seeing the illusion all along.
She'd known she was letting him take over her life when she'd made the move to Texas and settled into his home. She even knew he was counting on her to love Kyle. Jake seemed hard as a rock to everyone around him, but to her he felt vulnerable. In need. And she responded to his need. In some ways she let him down just as much as she'd let the children and herself down by letting her hormones rule her head.
She needed time. If she went to her room, she knew Jake would come and want to talk. She didn't have answers, and his personality--his pain--would overshadow all good sense. She needed time alone. He could deal with the children for once. She was going for a long drive, would maybe get a hotel room somewhere. She'd leave him a note and let him know she'd be back by the afternoon. She wasn't changing all their lives without first thinking long and hard about it.
JAKE laid his palm on the bathroom door, measuring Em-ma's height, dread filling him. He'd let the leopard control him and he'd pushed her too far. She may as well have been a virgin for all the experience she had, and the kind of sex he'd introduced her to had been too intense, too rough, too animalistic. Damn it. The last thing he'd wanted to do was destroy the trust he'd so carefully built up with her. Sometimes he'd even believed he'd changed enough to deserve her. But deep down, the beast always lurked, always snarled and demanded.
He smashed his fist into the door and stalked out, heading for the bathroom in his suite. He knew Emma, and he had to outthink her, had to figure out her next move and be one step ahead of her. She'd think about running. He saw the humiliation and self-loathing in her eyes. It hadn't been directed at him; she'd already excused his behavior. It was her own she took responsibility for. She wouldn't want to face him. She'd want to run.
He turned on the water as hot as he could stand it and stood under the scorching heat, wishing it would melt his skin off and burn the leopard, would let him feel what it was to hurt someone it--He caught himself abruptly. He didn't know how to love. Love wasn't even real. It was a word people used to trap one another. Emma thought love was important, but he knew better. Loyalty--that was what counted. He cared for Emma in his way. His body wanted hers, even needed hers. Sex was raw and elemental; sex was real. That was an emotion. He could give her loyalty and he could keep her body sated and happy. He had to find a way to convince her that the things that really mattered, like protection and devotion, he could do better than other men.
She didn't trust him. A part of him was furious that she didn't and the other part understood. She couldn't know that, thanks to his leopard, his body hurt every minute of the day, hard and desperate for relief. She couldn't know how so many women threw themselves at him. He'd never gone after a woman. Not ever, not before Emma. And he'd never taken an innocent.
The women he'd been with had all wanted something other than his body--his money. They had no interest in his world or his children, only in the money and the pleasure his body could provide.
"Emma." He whispered her name aloud, craving her, the way she smiled, her scent, the sound of her voice, the laughter that always included him.
She had come to be his home. He actually looked forward to opening the kitchen door and finding his food carefully prepared. She paid attention to what his favorite dishes were. She arranged the house to suit him and helped him relate better to the children, and she did it all quietly, smoothly.
He hadn't even noticed the differences at first, but he remembered the moment it struck him, the total silence when he'd come home to a vacant house. The house was enormous, a mansion, a showpiece, as cold as hell and just as empty. He had never bothered to hire a cook because he didn't trust anyone. And then along came Emma, with her laughter and joy, and the house with filled with music and scents and the patter of feet.
The babies hugged him, their faces lighting up when he returned home--because of her. Emma. She taught them by her example. Where he was taking care of her, she was caring for him and teaching the children to do the same. Her face lit up when she saw him. There was that soft, welcoming note in her voice he'd come to rely on. When he was moody and edgy and being a complete bastard, instead of getting angry with him, she would smile at him and tell him she'd take the children upstairs so he could have some peace. Or she'd tease him, or rub his shoulders. But she never blamed him. Sometimes she'd even tease him and order him out, and he loved those times best. They made him feel part of something--loved.
Her bedroom was his favorite place. Her scent was all over it, and when he lay on her bed and buried his face in her pillow, he could take her deep into his lungs. Before she had come, he'd spent most nights pacing off excess energy, both sexual and emotional. He had too many memories and he couldn't seem to shut them out in the night. But now he could lie in the dark with her body warm and soft beside him, talking for long hours into the night, and feel at peace. He'd never had that before, and if she left him, he would never have it again. He'd risked everything by being too primitive and forgetting her inexperience.
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