Wild Revenge. Sandra Marton

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       CHAPTER SIX

      THERE WAS NO time to try and understand what was happening.

      This was magic, and only a fool would question it.

      Jake was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a fool. He was a man with a beautiful woman in his arms, her mouth warm against his.

      She whispered something against his lips. Was she asking him to stop?

      No.

      Thank God, no, because stopping the kiss would have killed him.

      If anything, he wanted more.

      And she gave it, her lips parting eagerly so he could taste her hot, honeyed sweetness.

      She slid her tongue against his. And moaned.

      The sound went straight through him.

      She went up on her toes, the flashlight tumbling to the ground.

      His arms tightened around her as she wound her arms around his neck.

      He could hear his blood roaring in his ears.

      On a low, rough groan, he tilted her head back and took the kiss deeper.

      She trembled, pressed her body more tightly to his.

      The kiss went on and on; the moon and the stars spun around them. They were the center of the universe, its source of light and heat—

      And the kiss wasn’t enough.

      Jake stumbled back against the truck and lifted Addison into him. She clung to him. He moved his hips against her and the sound she made when she felt his erection was raw with need.

      Everything within him responded.

      He was steel. He was granite. He was dangerously close to losing control.

      “Addison,” he said in a warning whisper, “Addison …”

      She sank her teeth delicately into the tender flesh of his bottom lip. Rocked against him. Said his name in a hoarse whisper, and whatever remained of his sanity fled.

      He hoisted her off the ground, one arm under her bottom, his free hand beneath her skirt. She wrapped her legs around him.

      He sought her heat, found it, found the wetness that was for him, only for him, and cupped her with his palm.

      She gave a sharp, keening cry.

      “Please,” she sobbed, “Jacob, Jacob, please …”

      Beyond thought, beyond everything rational, he wrapped his fingers around the small bit of silk that kept him from her and tore it away.

      She gasped.

      Now he could feel her against his fingers.

      Wet heat. Soft curls. The delicate petals of the flower that was her feminine heart.

      He stroked her. She screamed. The intensity of her response almost finished him.

      Quickly, he reached between them, unzipped, freed himself, lifted her higher …

      And drove into her.

      She clamped around him, a velvet vise.

      Hold on, he told himself, don’t let go, not yet, not yet, not—

      But she kissed him. Lifted herself. Came down on his aroused flesh. Once. Twice. Again …

      She screamed again. Convulsed around him.

      And the cosmos whirled them away in its star-studded embrace.

      His heartbeat slowed.

      He felt hers slowing, too.

      The sounds of the night settled around them.

      So did his ability to think.

      What in hell had just happened?

      He’d been with a lot of women. Until the last year and a half, more, perhaps, than most men.

      He’d always liked sex, liked the tastes, the textures of a woman’s body, and he was no stranger to sex as a sudden, exciting encounter.

      But this—

      This wasn’t like anything he’d ever known.

      Part of him said it was because he hadn’t had a woman in a long time.

      Liar, a voice inside him whispered.

      He’d gone without sex before, during long combat missions, even during self-imposed periods of celibacy before combat when instinct told him that self-imposed deprivation would make him stronger.

      There was no explanation for what had just happened. He’d lost his self-control.

      No finesse.

      No tenderness.

      And, sweet Jesus, no condom.

      Still, he wanted to take her again. Slowly. With time to do all the things he hadn’t done.

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