The Dare Collection April 2019. Nicola Marsh

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СКАЧАТЬ tight in my chest, something I hadn’t realised was there, suddenly eased. Like a heavy stone being lifted away.

      I could cry. I could scream. I could ask too many questions. Be too restless. Talk too much. Do whatever I wanted.

      I could be myself and it wouldn’t matter.

      Because Ajax didn’t care and that meant I didn’t need to either.

       There is no way you can fail, not here, not with him.

      A tear slid down my cheek without my conscious control. Then another and another and, for the first time in years, I didn’t try to repress them or swallow them back, or talk to distract myself from the ache in my heart.

      I let them fall.

      There was no judgement in Ajax’s face, that I’d seen so often in Dad’s. None of the distaste or the active contempt. He simply...watched, expressionless, giving me some time and a quiet space to cry.

      Then, after a while, his grip on my chin tightened and he bent down over me and kissed me.

      I tasted the salt of my tears and that rich, dark flavour that was all him, and I was suddenly hungry. Hungrier than I’d ever been in my entire life.

      Opening my mouth, I let him in, reaching out to pull him to me. But he was already pushing me back onto the bed and following me down onto it. His body was heavy, solid with muscle and so hot it felt like I was lying directly under a furnace.

      He felt so good.

      I arched up, pressing myself against him, spreading my thighs so he could lie between them and curling my arms around his neck. I kissed him harder, deeper; kissed him like there was no tomorrow and no yesterday, only now. Salt and Ajax in my mouth, the taste of him imprinting on me so I’d never get it out of my head and never want to.

      He kissed me back, demanding, pushing his tongue deep into my mouth. Nipping my lower lip, sucking on it. Licking and taking, conquering. And I let myself be conquered.

      Our kisses became more desperate, the sound of our breathing ragged.

      Abruptly, he pushed himself off me, going up on his knees, straddling my hips, and he reached for the hem of his T-shirt, dragging it up and over his head. The movement was sexy and when his T-shirt came off I nearly gasped.

      He was a work of art. Not only was every muscle from his pecs to his abs cut and sharply defined, they were highlighted by the most incredible tattoos I’d ever seen. Thick black abstract lines running all over his torso, trailing down over the broad plane of his chest and curling around his lean hips, outlining every dip and hollow, every flex and contraction.

      I pushed myself up, my breath already short and getting shorter, reaching for him, my palms landing on his stomach. He was smooth and hot, the muscle beneath rock-hard. And I could feel the tightening of his abs beneath my fingertips, the merest hint of the power contained in his magnificent body.

      Desperate to touch as much of him as I could, I ran my palms up from his stomach to his pecs, the prickle of hair an added excitement. God, he felt incredible. I leaned in, nuzzling against his abdomen, loving his heat and the woody, spicy scent of him. Then I licked him, tasting salt.

      He shuddered, his reaction firing my desire even higher. I tried licking him again, but he caught me underneath my arms and pushed me back down onto the mattress. And then I couldn’t do anything but lie there as he virtually ripped my clothes off.

      In the hundreds of romance novels I’d read, I’d always thought that the ripping of the clothes was figurative. Apparently not with Ajax King.

      He tore my T-shirt clean down the middle and got rid of the fabric, pulling apart my lacy white bra with the same ease. Then he jerked away my yoga pants and knickers along with them, so I lay naked in the middle of the bed.

      He paused a moment, his gaze electric, scorching me every place it touched. And it touched everywhere.

      If I’d thought about it I might have been embarrassed. No one had seen my naked body since I was a child. But it didn’t even occur to me. All I wanted was him, naked as I was, his skin against mine.

      ‘Ajax,’ I said hoarsely. ‘Please.’

      He said nothing, watching me with those intense, unfathomable eyes. Then his hands slowly moved to the buttons of his jeans.

      Too slowly.

      I sat up and reached for them myself, but he knocked my hands away.

      ‘Lie down.’ His voice was full of authority and darkness. ‘Lie down and wait patiently, and you’ll get what you want.’

      A frustrated sound escaped me, but I did what I was told.

      I didn’t like to stay still for long and lying there, my breathing fast and hard, the need inside me like an animal tearing at me in its hunger, felt like the most difficult thing I’d ever done.

      Slowly, achingly slowly, Ajax undid the buttons of his jeans and pulled down the zip, spreading the fabric. I could see the long, hard length that pressed against the material of his black boxers...

      My pulse began to accelerate, my mouth was watering, my breath catching hard in my chest.

      Holy crap. He was huge.

      I began to push myself up again, wanting to touch him and unable to keep still for much longer, but he got off the bed suddenly, jerking down his jeans and getting rid of the rest of his clothes.

      I blinked, staring at him, utterly mesmerised by the sheer masculine beauty of him. All that muscle and power. All that strength.

      And his cock too, big and thick and hard, curving up towards his flat stomach. I wanted to touch it, wanted to see what it felt like and whether it would be as hard as it looked, or as smooth.

      But I didn’t get a chance to touch because he was back on the bed, sliding his arms beneath me and gathering me up before covering me with his body, pressing me back down onto the mattress.

      The slide of his bare skin over mine made me shiver and the weight of him... I didn’t feel crushed or suffocated. I felt anchored. Safe.

      I put my arms around him, smoothing my palms over his broad back, feeling his muscles flex as I stroked down his spine, glorying in the feel of him. His hips were positioned between my thighs, his cock lying against my throbbing sex.

      So. Good.

      His mouth found mine and he was kissing me again, deeply, hungrily. I tried to kiss him back but he’d moved on, kissing a path along my jaw and down my throat, licking and nipping at me like I was his favourite ice-cream and he was making a meal out of me.

      I panted as he found my breasts, teasing my nipples with his tongue then sucking hard on each one, making me groan and arch up into him. His mouth was so hot and the graze of his teeth on my skin made me moan.

      His big hands glided over my hips, scorching, then over my thighs and between them, pushing them apart with an irresistible strength that I found shockingly erotic. And then his breath moved over my stomach, his mouth brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.

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