by Jenna Black
It was humbling, to say the least, to have Jamaal trust me enough to give up control. It was up to me to figure out how to handle that without screwing anything up.
Eyes locked with his, I brushed my fingertips over the scars I could reach without moving my hand. Jamaal tensed again, but he made no attempt to stop me or pull away. Nor did Sita make a sudden and unexpected appearance, which was the surest way to spoil a mood, as we’d found out before.
Once again, Jamaal’s tension eased, his body accepting my touch. How long had it been since a woman had touched him like this? He’d been Liberi for more than a century. I liked to think that there had been other women before me to ease his loneliness and isolation, but I wondered if he’d ever been able to let down his guard.
Watching carefully for any signs of distress, I allowed my hand to roam, slowly stroking the length of his sternum. There were so many ridges and valleys that if I hadn’t known what I was touching, I’d never have been able to figure it out. Jamaal broke eye contact so he could watch the progress of my hand.
“It doesn’t disgust you?” he asked in a hoarse voice that hardly sounded like his. “Touching them like this?”
I rejected the facile denial that first leapt to my mind and allowed myself to think a moment before answering. “It disgusts me to think someone did this to you,” I said. “But I’m not touching the scars—I’m touching you.”
Jamaal shuddered and closed his eyes, but not before I glimpsed the shimmer of tears. Abruptly, he turned over onto his side, facing away from me. I knew it wasn’t a rejection, that he was simply trying to hide his emotions. He liked to pretend anger was the only emotion he was capable of.
I knew better.
Instead of letting him retreat, I carefully brushed his beaded braids out of the way and lay down behind him, my arm around his chest, my face nestled against the back of his neck. I could almost feel him fighting his urge to pull away, to reject the intimacy I offered, but instead he held still. I closed my eyes and inhaled the scent of him, reveled in the warmth of his body.
When I’d first met Jamaal, he had been broken, a man with nothing to live for but his endless rage. The death magic was eating him alive from the inside out, and he had for all intents and purposes given up. Only an idiot would have fallen for him under those circumstances, but from the very beginning, I had seen in him a reflection of myself. He was what I would have become if the Glasses hadn’t been willing to accept an angry, rebellious eleven-year-old hellion into their home, hadn’t loved me and tamed me and given me a sense of self-worth after my birth mother abandoned me.
He wasn’t exactly all about unicorns and rainbows now, but he was in a vastly different place than he had been a few months ago. He had hope, even if he was sometimes reluctant to admit it, and I no longer felt like I needed to justify my feelings for him. I wasn’t ready to officially stamp the L word on those feelings—never mind my Freudian slip when I’d made peace with Sita—but the combination of warmth and yearning that flooded me as I spooned Jamaal—and he let me—came pretty damn close.
When Jamaal’s breathing slowed and evened out into the rhythm of sleep, I knew that tonight’s had been his biggest breakthrough so far.
Apparently, I fell asleep. The next time I opened my eyes, it was to see the bedside clock flashing 4:35. I blinked, momentarily disoriented and not sure what woke me up. That was when I heard the gentle clatter of Jamaal’s braids and noticed him crouching by his suitcase. He’d changed out of his jeans and put on a pair of plaid pajama bottoms and was now staring indecisively at an undershirt. I smiled when he shoved it back into the suitcase.
When he stood up, he took a quick glance over at me, then cursed under his breath.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
I yawned and sat up. “No problem,” I said. “If I slept in these jeans any longer, I’d have permanent seam marks by morning.” I tugged at the waistband and winced when I felt the angry divot the button had dug in my abdomen while I slept. And let’s not even talk about what the hardware in my bra had done to me.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and hesitated. Jamaal was obviously fine now, so there was no reason not to go back to my own room and my own bed. Except that I didn’t want to. Jamaal had had an obvious breakthrough, but I didn’t want to jeopardize that by being too pushy. I wished there were more light so I’d have a better chance of reading his face and body language.
Sometimes there’s no better way to get an answer to your questions than to abandon subtlety and ask.
“Do you want me to stay?” I blurted out.
Jamaal froze, his body nothing but a silhouette against the light that shone through the open bedroom door. “Only if you want to.” There was an edge of uncertainty in his voice, like he was worried he might be imposing on me in some way.
I laughed softly. “Good to know you’re not planning to tie me to the bed to keep me here against my will.”
He made a grunting sound that may have been an indication of amusement. “You know what I mean. If you’d be more comfortable in your own bed . . .” He let his voice trail off.
I stood up. “I’m going to assume that because you haven’t thrown me out on my ass, it means you’d like me to stay, even if you won’t come out and say it. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”
I didn’t wait for an answer, instead pulling back the rumpled covers. I wasn’t sure enough of Jamaal’s state of mind to get naked, but I quickly shed my jeans and socks. A few awkward contortions allowed me to get my bra off while still mostly covered by my sweatshirt. I still couldn’t see Jamaal’s expression thanks to the backlighting, but he wasn’t telling me to stop. I’d have loved to dump the sweatshirt, too, but took a cue from the fact that he was wearing jammies and slipped into bed without further stripping.
Jamaal closed the bedroom door, and in the darkness I heard rather than saw him pad around to the other side of the bed. He pulled back the covers, the sound not quite covering the nervous deep breath he took. And then the bed shifted under his weight as he got in. I was pleasantly surprised when instead of keeping shyly to his side of the king-sized bed, he slid over to me, slipped an arm around my waist, and pulled me up against him, my back to his chest.
Let me tell you: when you’re five two and your guy is six three, it’s a lot cozier to be the spoonee than the spooner. The feeling of him wrapped around me like that was almost good enough to make me forget that our mission here in Memphis had been a total failure. My head was tucked under the curve of his chin, my body tight against his. It felt great, but I wished we had more skin against skin.
Don’t get greedy, Nikki, I told myself. This was already more progress than I could have hoped for, and I should be fully satisfied with it. I wondered how long it had been since Jamaal had cuddled up to a woman in bed. Hell, with his past, I wondered if he’d ever done it before.
He pulled me a little more tightly against him, and I had the feeling he was enjoying the contact as much as I was. His hand began idly stroking the skin of my arm, where the sleeve of my sweatshirt had been pushed up. As erogenous zones go, it wasn’t much, but my whole body prickled with awareness anyway. I’d been feeling sleepy not that long ago, but just that tiniest caress made sleep the last thing on my mind.
I wriggled my hips so I could fit more perfectly in the curve of his body, and the sudden hardening against my butt told me Jamaal enjoyed that small motion. He was still in his jammies, and I was still in my underwear, but the material was thin enough that I could feel the steady rise in temperature as his blood rushed downward.
I held my breath, wondering if this was some kind of spell that would quickly dissipate, but Jamaal was still pressed against me, and with his chest against my back I could feel the renewed pounding of his heart. The erection I felt against my butt told me that this time, his tension rose from a completely different source.
Jamaal’s hand wandered, finding its way to my breast. I oblig
ingly moved my arm out of the way so he could have free access. Which it turns out isn’t all that great when you’re wearing a sweatshirt. I could feel his hand all right, but the touch was unsatisfying. To us both, apparently. He quickly lowered his hand so he could snake it up under the sweatshirt, and I let out a quiet groan when his hand closed over my breast.
His fingers caressed my nipple, which was already pebbled, and his sensuous lips brushed the place where my neck and shoulder joined. I arched my neck to give him better access, then groaned again when he gently pressed his teeth against my skin in an inflammatory nip.
I wanted to turn around, look him in the eye, but he held me still, and I didn’t have the will to protest. With him, I’d take whatever he could give me, whenever he could give it. His hips had begun a subtle bump and grind, which I encouraged as best I could. His hand continued working my breast, teasing mercilessly while I struggled to find my breath. Never had I wanted out of a piece of clothing as much as I wanted out of that sweatshirt. His lips felt divine on the skin of my shoulder and throat, but I wanted them elsewhere, wanted them all over my body.
“Please,” I whispered. “I’ve got to get this damn sweatshirt off.”
His breath was warm on my skin as he chuckled at my urgency. “What’s the rush? If we’re going to do this, shouldn’t we do it right?”
Do this? Do what? Did that mean he intended to follow through on the promise of these kisses and caresses? Was he going to get out of those jammies and stop being afraid? Or was he going to put the brakes on the moment things became too intense for him?
I was overthinking things, but then what else was new for me?
I let out the breath I was holding and tried to let go of all expectations. Jamaal’s touch was worth encouraging, and that meant I shouldn’t let any complaints pass my lips.
His small sound of approval made me smile. Then he pinched my nipple between his thumb and index finger, the slight tweak of almost-pain instantly soothed by a caress. I hummed my approval and arched my back, trying to obtain a firmer touch.
“You’re really impatient, aren’t you?” Jamaal whispered in my ear. He nipped my earlobe, and I practically saw stars.
If I was getting this turned on by the foreplay, I wasn’t sure how I was going to survive the main event. Assuming we managed to get to the main event. Every time things seemed to be rolling between us in the past, something had intervened, and though I hoped it wouldn’t happen again this time, I couldn’t be sure.
“Have you ever seen any sign that I’m full of patience?” I quipped.
“Compared to me?”
Okay, that was a fair point. “I want you,” I said simply. “I want to make sure you know that.”
“I want you, too,” he replied, proving his point with a thrust of his hips. “And I’m tired of denying myself what I want.”
But was he really? We had come so close that time when Sita had appeared on the bed beside us. As hot and bothered as Jamaal sounded now, I couldn’t help wondering if his inhibitions were going to come rushing back—and if I was going to react badly if they did.
“Can we please get me out of this sweatshirt?” I asked. “It’s not a question of patience, it’s a question of comfort. It’s lumpy to lie on.”
Which was true, as far as it went, but I don’t think either one of us believed that was why I was so desperate to take it off. I hoped Jamaal wasn’t keeping it on me because he was still worried about contact with his scars.
“All right, fine,” he said as if conceding a major victory. “Sit up and I’ll get it off you.”
I did as I was told, lifting my arms above my head so that Jamaal could pull the sweatshirt off. He tossed it aside, then cupped both my breasts and pulled my back up against him once more. I could feel the ridges of scar tissue, and I knew from the tension in his body that he knew it, but he didn’t move away, and after a few seconds, the tension eased out.
His hands roved up and down my body while his lips caressed my jaw. I turned my head so his lips could meet mine, and he obliged, his tongue darting in for a taste as his hands molded my breasts and his breath grew shorter and shorter.
As much as Jamaal had lobbied for patience, it was he who finally decided it was time to get serious and maneuvered me onto my back.
Our eyes had adjusted to the dark, and Jamaal spent a long moment sitting over me, drinking me in with his eyes. I could feel his gaze almost like a caress, sweeping over my body. I took similar advantage, admiring his shape and muscle tone while trying not to think about the scars and about how he’d gotten them. Even with them, he was beautiful to look at, and the tent that had formed in his pajama bottoms was tantalizing.
After he’d looked his fill, Jamaal lay down on top of me, kissing me into a frenzy, then kissing his way down my throat as one hand teased my nipples again.
His braids brushed over my skin with every movement, and though I was prone to being ticklish, I had no urge to laugh this time. I was caught up in the pleasure, and before I knew I was going to do it, I’d put my arms around him, my hands each landing on a mass of scar tissue on his back.
We both tensed, waiting to see if he would freak out, but when he didn’t pull away immediately, I knew I had won.
Jamaal paused only for a second or two before he resumed kissing me, and when his lips found my nipple, I reflexively dug my nails in and made an incoherent sound of pleasure.
I’m usually a big fan of foreplay and a slow buildup, but tonight I felt like my body was on fire and only Jamaal could quench it. I reached down and found the drawstring on his pajamas and ruthlessly tugged it open. My hand snaked in and found the hot, hard length of him, and we both groaned in unison.
“I can’t wait,” I told him.
Jamaal raised his head from my breast, and for a fleeting moment I thought I saw a hint of panic in his eyes. But the expression quickly passed, his eyes narrowing in pleasure as I stroked him.
He would have to climb off me to get my panties off, but apparently he didn’t have the patience for the effort. He hooked his fingers into them and with a swift and easy pull tore the flimsy material out of his way. I’d have protested the loss of an expensive pair of undies, but I had other things on my mind. I spread my legs, pressing the inside of my knees to his hips.
“It’s been a while for me,” he gasped as he lowered himself into position. “Don’t know how long I can last.”
“Don’t care,” I muttered, rising up so I could kiss the words from his mouth. I figured if the first time went too fast, we could always try, try again, but my mind was too fuzzy to form the words to tell him so.
I could tell that Jamaal was still trying to restrain himself, still trying to slow down, but he was having a gratifyingly hard time of it. He pressed gently against my entrance for a moment, his whole body quivering with need. I arched my body up to him and squeezed him tightly between my thighs as I thrust my tongue into his mouth.
His control shattered, and Jamaal entered me in a shockingly hard thrust that might have been painful if I weren’t so out of my mind with desire. I was glad we were in a suite and didn’t have to worry that someone next door would hear the banging as he started to thrust, hard and desperate. I probably made some obscene sounds of pleasure, but I don’t remember. All I remember was that it was glorious, and that as Jamaal warned, it didn’t last nearly long enough. Within minutes, his thrusts reached a crescendo and he let out a long, low moan of pleasure.
I shared in his ecstasy, drinking in the look on his face even though I was still a long way off from reaching my own climax. It was enough for me to know that he’d finally broken through his barriers, that he was no longer bound and determined to keep me at arm’s length. An orgasm was a fleeting thing, but this change in our relationship was not. Arousal still screaming for release, I wrapped my arms and legs around him and held on tightly as he sucked in air and the sweat cooled on his skin.
He raised his head and met my eyes, brushing away a str
and of hair that had gotten stuck at the corner of my mouth. There was no wariness on his face, no fear in his eyes, and I couldn’t remember ever seeing him like this before, so open and relaxed.
“Sorry I was so quick,” he said with a rueful smile. “Take it as a compliment.”
I returned the smile and tried not to squirm with my own unfulfilled need. It was a battle I lost, and though the movement was slight, the flare in Jamaal’s eyes said he felt it.
“The good news,” he said in a hot whisper, “is that I’m more than hungry enough for seconds.” Sure enough, I felt him hardening again, still inside me. “And this time I’m going to be old-fashioned and say, ‘ladies first.’ ”
I shivered pleasurably at the promise in his voice. He kissed me then, his lips deliciously soft and warm, his tongue teasing and urging me on, stoking the fire that hadn’t been banked yet. I dug my fingers into his coarse braids, holding him to me. Good Lord, but could that man kiss when he put his mind to it.
To my intense disappointment, he ended the kiss, raising his head to look deeply into my eyes once more. He was still hardening within me, his eyes dark with desire, but there was something else shadowing his expression, something not so pleasant. I reached up and stroked my fingers down the side of his face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, pushing my own frustrated needs aside. That we’d already had a major breakthrough was clear, but it was unrealistic to expect the shadow of his past to completely disappear at the drop of a hat.
“I’d like to exorcise one more demon, if I can,” he said.
“How can I help?” My body still cried out for release, wanting the pleasure he’d been promising me for so long, but I wanted to heal his psyche and chase that shadow from his eyes.
“The woman . . . The one who liked my scars . . .”
“The bitch owner who abused you, you mean.”