Emma felt the broad, flared head pushing against her tight entrance and she moaned, bringing her heels onto the sheets and pulling her knees up to give him better access. She was panting now, her body undulating under his, desperate for him to fill her.
His mouth left hers and licked the corner of her lips, her chin, sucked on her neck just below her ear and then bit her earlobe, his hot breath sending another shudder through her body. He marked her throat, licking at the wounds still evident there, leaving his marks covering them. He kissed and sucked his way down her throat to the swell of her breasts as he brought one hand up to cup one creamy mound. He rolled the nipple between his finger and thumb as his mouth nuzzled her other breast and then settled there, his teeth and tongue wickedly nipping and lapping.
Emma cried out, her hands going to his head, yanking him closer by his hair, holding him to her while he bit and sucked and she moaned and writhed under him, arching her body to push her heated flesh into his mouth. All the while his fingers were busy at her other breast, tormenting her nipple, teasing and tugging, even pinching until she was nearly sobbing, wild for him to take her. She spread her thighs wider, pushed with her hips, bucking to force the broad head of his shaft into her hot, moist entrance.
Emma had never felt so aroused, so desperate for him as his teeth scraped at her breasts, sharp, stinging bites that only enflamed her more. She could feel the warm liquid pooling inside her, gushing to engulf the head of his shaft in enticement. She squeezed her inner muscles, making every effort to drag him inside, to force him to fill her and relieve her of the terrible ache that just built and built and yet never eased.
“Please, Jake. Please.” She felt frantic, afraid she couldn’t wait a moment longer. She was stretched over a rack of desire, of hunger, that seemed insatiable. Building, always building, with no relief. “Jake.” His name came out in a sob, a plea.
He reared up on his knees and flipped her over onto her stomach in one lightning-fast move. His arm hooked under her hips and yanked her onto her knees, slamming his shaft deep into her without mercy. She was hot and slick and so tight his breath hissed out between his teeth. Pleasure washed over and through him, her tight muscles strangling him with fire, a scorching inferno that felt like a silken fist clamping around him. He drove through her sheath, not waiting for her to adjust to his size, burying himself deep, withdrawing, listening to her ragged breathing as he poised both of them on the edge of absolute ecstasy. So close. He slammed home again, deeper this time, dragging her hips back to him as he thrust forward.
Emma screamed. He was too big for her this way, in spite of her slickness, burning and stinging as he drove through her tight folds. “I can’t take all of you,” she protested, head down, panting, although even now she was helplessly pushing back against him, desperate for him. “You’re too big.” He was. He really was. But she couldn’t stop her body from following his as he withdrew and hammered himself deep again.
Her breath rushed out in a ragged cry. “Jake. It’s too much.” Flames seemed to engulf her from the inside out. Every part of her body was aroused beyond imagining.
He pulled back, giving her a moment of relief and then slammed inside her again, harder and deeper than the first time. “This is . . .” He pulled back and drove home again, her cries of pain turning to sobs of pleasure. He clenched his teeth and tightened his fingers on her hips. “What we . . .” He pulled her to him as he slammed forward. “Need.”
He was right. Every single nerve ending in her body was on fire, the pleasure agonizing, taking her outside herself to another realm. He showed no mercy, pounding into her, driving her higher so that her body clamped down on his, and every breath in her was poised, waiting—waiting, but she couldn’t go over the edge. It just wouldn’t happen. It was agony, her climax hovering just out of her reach.
“Jake, I can’t. I can’t.” She was sobbing now. “I can’t get there and my body’s on fire. What’s wrong with me? I wanted this so much, I thought and I feel like I’m going insane. I can’t . . .”
He loosened his tight grip on her hips and pulled out. Emma cried in protest, but he flipped her back over and dragged her thighs apart, lifting her legs over his arms and slamming deep, harder than ever. He filled her completely, more than filled her, so hot and thick, so deep she swore he was part of her body. But even though he set a merciless pace, each stroke sending streaks of fire through her, she only wound tighter.
“I can’t,” she said again.
Jake reached for her hands, joined their fingers together and pulled her arms over her head. “Look at me, honey. Open your eyes and look at me.”
She whipped her head back and forth on the sheets, her fingers clinging to his, her hips feeling his body as he moved in and out of her, desperate for release.
“Emma, honey, open your eyes and look at me. See me.” His voice slid over her like a soothing balm, caressing her sensitive skin with strokes of velvet—with tenderness. “We left something out and you need it. I need it.”
“I’m going crazy, Jake. I am. She’s driving me insane.” She wailed it, pushing her hips tight into him, grinding, trying to get release when her body refused to give it to her.
“Emma,” Jake said softly. “Love me. I want you to love me.” His voice was husky and tender. “You think you’re separate from your cat because she did something you found abhorrent, but she saved our child. She saved me. She’s you, Emma. And you love me. Every time you touch me, you love me. Look at me and let me see you loving me.”
Hot tears burned her eyes, but she forced her lashes up and looked at Jake. There was love etched into every line of his face. It was there in his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her trembling mouth, his fingers pressing her wrists into the sheets. “I love you, Emma. And thank God you love me.”
He continued to thrust hard, pounding deep, yanking her legs to him and drawing up her hips to the angle he wanted, his gaze holding hers so she couldn’t fail to see the love there.
Her eyes went wide, glazed over as her orgasm ripped through her, destroying everything she was, shattering her with exquisite pleasure, making her wholly his. She cried as every bone in her body seemed to melt into him, as they shared the same skin, the same body, the same soul.
Jake emptied himself into her, pleasure ripping through his body beyond anything he’d ever known. He collapsed, holding her tight as her body rippled and rocked around his. He buried his face, hot with his own tears, against her throat, which was marked with wounds gotten from defending their son. She stroked his thigh, her fingers running caresses over each scar.
“I love you, Emma. I can’t live without you and I don’t want to. We can’t separate love from sex. You taught me that. No matter if we’re feeling like the cats, rough and hard, or more like my Emma, tender and gentle—we’re making love. We’re showing each other love. It’s the same. You saved our lives with your courage. And you gave me the courage to love you.”
He lifted his head, framing her face with his hands, his voice filled with emotion. “Do you have any idea what you’ve given me? I love my son and my daughter because of you. I feel love for them. I have friends. Most of all, I have you. I love how you love me, Emma. You take everything I give you and make it into something special. That’s what I want to do for you.”
He wiped at her tears with his fingertips. “Emma, I’ll never be easy. I won’t. I’m not going to pretend your life will be a bed of roses, but I can tell you that no man will ever need you more, want you more, or love you more than I will.”
She stared up at his beloved face through the tears swimming in her eyes. “We just seem so crazy sometimes, Jake. It isn’t normal.”
“Why do we have to be normal, honey? This is normal for us. The children are happy. I swear I’ll make you happy. You certainly make me that way. Let this be our normal.”
She squeezed her eyes closed tight. “She killed that man. I tasted his blood.” She began to cry all over again, this time burying h
er face in his neck. “There’s nothing normal about that.”
He held her tightly, reaching down with one hand to press her hips tighter against his. “Honey, my cat—me—I killed him. Without you there to protect me, I would have been dead. If not me, Joshua or Conner. You did what you had to do by stopping him. We don’t have to like harming others or ending life, but we had no choice if we wanted to survive.”
“I didn’t know that was a part of me, that I could be like that.” She lifted her head and looked at him. “It is a part of me, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And I’m grateful. I saw it in you the day Cathy came to try to take Kyle. I know you can protect the children if you have to. And I know you love me enough to do something that abhorrent to you. No one has ever loved me, Emma. No one. Believe me, more than any other person on the face of this earth, I know what a gift that is. Spend the rest of your life loving me, Emma and I swear you’ll never be sorry.”
“I said yes.”
“Say it again and say we can arrange it immediately.”
“You’re so relentless when you want your way.”
His white teeth gleamed at her and his golden eyes went molten as his hips began to move again in hers. “Always,” he agreed, unrepentant.
Emma laughed and rose up to meet him. “Yes, a million times over.”
Turn the page for a sneak peek at
HIDDEN CURRENTS
the next novel in the Drake Sisters series by Christine Feehan
Available in July 2009 from Jove Books!
“HAVING fun, Sheena?” Stavros Gratsos rubbed his palms up and down Elle Drake’s bare arms to warm her as he stood behind her at the railing of his large yacht.
All around them the sound of laughter and snatches of conversation drifted past her out to the shimmering Mediterranean Sea.
Sheena MacKenzie, Elle’s undercover name—and her alter ego. Sheena could sit at any dinner table and rule, her polish and sophistication and air of mystery guaranteeing she’d get attention. Devoid of makeup and with her hair in a ponytail, Elle Drake could slide into the shadows and disappear. They made a nearly unbeatable combination, and Sheena had done exactly what Elle needed her to do—she’d lured Stavros and kept him interested long enough for Elle to poke around in his glamorous life and see what she could turn up, which so far was . . . nothing.
Elle couldn’t read Stavros’s thoughts and emotions the way she did others when they touched her, and that amazed her. Elle’s psychic ability to read thoughts was disturbing most of the time, but there were a very few who seemed to have natural barriers, and she had to purposely “invade” if she wanted to see what they were thinking. Elle rarely intruded, even when she was using her undercover persona, Sheena MacKenzie. But she would have made an exception in Stavros’s case. She had been investigating him for months and had found nothing either to clear him or to point toward his guilt.
She glanced over her shoulder at Stavros. “It’s been wonderful. Amazing. But I think everything you do is like this and you know it.” Stavros always put on the best parties and his yacht was bigger than most people’s homes. He served the best food, had the best music, surrounded himself with intelligent, fun people.
In all the months she’d been watching him, she had yet to discover even a hint of criminal activity. Stavros had been kind and generous, giving millions to charities, supporting art and working out deals with his employees in a hands-on discussion that avoided laying off an entire group of workers. She had come to respect the man in spite of earlier suspicions, and she was ready to go back to Dane Phelps, her boss, and write a very strongly worded report that the rumors concerning Stavros were wrong—except that his aura indicated danger and a strong penchant for violence. Of course, some of the men her sisters had chosen as their mates had that same vivid color swirling around them.
“I held this party in your honor, Sheena,” Stavros admitted. “My elusive butterfly.” He tugged on her arm to turn her around so that her back was against the rail and she was caged in by his body. “I want you to come to my island with me, to see my private home.”
Her heart jumped. According to rumor, Stavros never took any woman to his island. He had homes all over the world, but the island was his private retreat. Any undercover operative would have relished the opportunity to enter Stavros’s private sanctum, but her boss had been adamant that she not go if the opportunity presented itself. There was no way to communicate from that island.
Stavros took her hand and carried her knuckles to his mouth. “Come with me, Sheena.”
She tried not to wince. Sheena. She was such a fraud. This was the man she should fall in love with, not the worm—he who could never be named, who had broken her heart. Here was Stavros, handsome, intelligent, wealthy; a man who solved problems and seemed to care for many of the same causes she did. Why couldn’t he be the man she fell madly in love with?
“I can’t,” she said gently. “Really, Stavros. I want to, but I can’t.”
His eyes darkened, became stormy. Stavros liked his way and was definitely used to getting it. “You mean you won’t.”
“I mean I can’t. You want things from me I can’t give you. I told you from the beginning we could be friends—not lovers.”
“You’re not married.”
“You know I’m not.” But she should have been. She should have been settled in her family home with the man destiny had provided for her, but he had rejected her. Her stomach churned at the thought. She’d put an ocean between them and still he tried to reach her, his voice a faint buzz in her head, trying to persuade her to return—to what? To a man who didn’t want children, or a legacy of magic. He didn’t understand that was who she was—what she was. In rejecting her legacy, he rejected her. And she needed a man who would help her, who would understand how difficult it was for her to face her future. She needed someone to lean on, not someone she had to coax or take care of.
“Come home with me,” he repeated.
Elle shook her head. “I can’t, Stavros. You know what would happen if I did and we can’t go there.”
His white teeth flashed at her. “So at least you’ve thought about it.”
Elle tipped her head back and looked up at him. “You know how charming you are. What woman wouldn’t be tempted by you?” And she was. It would be so easy. He was so sweet to her, always attentive, wanting to give her the world. She reached up and touched his face regretfully. “You’re a good man, Stavros.”
She was ashamed she’d suspected him of the heinous things she had—human trafficking among the worst. Yes, he’d started out smuggling guns in his freighters, years earlier when he had nothing. But he seemed to have more than made up for all of his mistakes, and as far as she could ascertain, he was truly legitimate. At least she could clear his name with Interpol and the other agencies around the world where his file kept coming up. That would make her feel better about spending these last months working to befriend him and earn his trust.
“I’m hearing a ‘but’ in there, Sheena,” Stavros said.
Elle spread her arms wide, taking in the yacht and the shimmering sea. “All this. This is your world and I can step into it occasionally, but I could never live in it comfortably. I’ve looked at your track record, Stavros, and you don’t believe in permanency. And no, I’m not holding out for marriage with you. I just know myself. I get attached to people, and breaking up is terribly painful.”
“Who says we have to break up?” Stavros said. “Come home with me.” His voice was soft, persuasive, and for a moment she wanted to give in, wanted to take what he was offering. He made her feel like a beautiful, desirable woman when no one else had. But in the end she wasn’t glamorous, sophisticated Sheena; she was really Elle Drake, and she carried her baggage with her everywhere she went.
“I can’t tell you how much I want to go with you, Stavros,” she said sincerely, “but I really can’t.”
Swift impatience crossed his handsome face and he blinked, his d
ark eyes growing a little frosty. “The boats are beginning to take some of our guests back to shore. I need to speak with a few of them. Stay here and wait for me.”
Elle nodded. Where was the harm in that? After tonight, Sheena MacKenzie was going to disappear and Stavros would never see her again. Maybe he already knew she was saying good-bye. She couldn’t blame him for being upset. She’d tried to stay within boundaries and not lead him on, yet gain his trust enough to get into his inner circles. She’d attended his charities and his parties, and never once had she heard the whisper of illegal activity. If he was the criminal her boss suspected, he was amazingly adept at hiding it, and she no longer believed it was possible.
So why couldn’t she fall in love with him? What was wrong with her? Certainly the worm—he who could not be named ever again—was not worth holding out hope for. Was she stupid enough to do that? Hope that he would come after her? That would never happen. He didn’t want her. He didn’t want her legacy, or her name, or her house—and he certainly didn’t want the seven daughters that would come along with her.
No, she had stopped hoping Jackson Deveau would ever come to love or even want her.
Now she just had to stop hurting.
Elle used to envision a life of laughter and happiness with her soul mate. That was before she’d met him. He was a morose, silent, brooding, very dominant male. She knew he could bring stillness and peace to her, or turn her veins to liquid fire with one smoldering look. But he refused to accept who she was—refused to love her as she was. And if he didn’t, she feared no other man ever would—or could. Not the real Elle Drake, at least.
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