The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #1)(39)

Raising her arms over her head, she went up on her tiptoes and did a slow pivot for him. She had no idea where the brazenness was coming from, but she didn’t waste any time trying to figure it out.

“Come here, female.” He held his arms out. “Let me be where I need to be?”

Nyx was nodding as she went back to him. Putting one foot on either side of his legs, she walked her way up the length of him and then knelt down.

He kissed her again, his tongue penetrating into her, his hands gentle even though she could tell by the twitching in his shoulders and the way he started to pant that he was starved for her. And then he dropped his arms and undid the laces at his fly. She had a quick impression of something very long and very thick, but then he was touching her between her thighs.

“You’re so ready,” he groaned as he stroked at her. “Dearest Virgin Scribe . . .”

She rode against his touch, her breasts tingling as her bare nipples rubbed against his rough shirt. How this all felt so natural she had no idea, but like her newfound confidence in her body, she just accepted the way it was. Accepted it . . . and needed things to go further.

As if he read her mind, his fingertips, now slick from her, disappeared and she felt something blunt and hot probing the hypersensitive flesh he had been stroking. She was the one who lowered herself down, and they both gasped as he slid inside, the friction, the stretching, the depth he went to lighting up all the receptors in her body.

Her head fell back again and she would have cried out if she’d been sure they were safe. She knew they weren’t, though.

And that was what made this all so much more urgent.

She started to move, her thighs doing the work of lifting her off him and impaling herself once again. And up . . . and back down . . . the penetration making her grind her teeth. Wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, she held on as he tightened his hold on her backside.

Nyx cried out as her release came fast, and he did not last long, either. As his hips jerked and then he locked her down on his erection, her eyes flew open wide and she focused on the rock ceiling above as he ejaculated, filling her up. Beneath her nails, his shirt wadded up, and she had to bite her lip to keep from making any more sounds other than desperate gasping.

“Female,” he said into her throat. “You undo me . . . ”

And then they started moving again.



She was everything he had hoped.

As the Jackal came so hard that he had to close his eyes or risk things popping out of his skull, he breathed through clenched teeth and relished the fact that he was inside Nyx’s sex, buried deep and ejaculating some more.

He was leaving his scent behind, marking her, so that all would know she was his—

Stop it, he told himself. There was no room for that.

Forcing his eyes open, he angled his head back and looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her mouth, that incredible mouth, was open. The tips of her fangs, white and sharp, were just barely showing, and he wanted them in his vein. He wanted her drinking of him as he fucked her.

Or the other way around, him drinking and her doing the fucking.

To choose this. To feel this. To be here . . . doing this . . . it was what he had needed, the bargain they had struck fulfilled on his side. And yet he found himself not wanting this to be the only time.

Moving his hands to her waist, he eased her up off his cock and back down, and up again, and back down. She was right there with him, falling into the rhythm. Looking between them, he watched as he penetrated her and came out glossy and thick. The sight of her thighs splayed wide and the sex happening kicked off another orgasm, and he fought to keep his lids open. He didn’t want to miss a thing, especially not about her body. Her breasts, full and pink tipped, swayed, and her head was thrown back, and her beautiful torso was so naked, so powerful, arched against his hands.

In the back of his mind, he thought . . . Fates, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

This was what he had been searching for from her.

This was exactly what he had needed.

She joined him in the next release, and he felt the rhythmic contractions all along his shaft. He just kept going. He never wanted to stop. She was the pleasure that cleansed him in a way the pool never could, the first time in so long when he could choose someone, and be with them honestly and purely.

Yet eventually, it had to end.

When he finally stilled, her eyes opened, and meeting her stare, he wished he could paint her, though he had no hand at all with a brush. He wanted to remember this for the rest of his life, though—and he would. Still, like all memories, she would fade after she left him behind down here, and that was why it all should be more permanent.

This was going to have to last way after she was gone. Forever, after she was gone.

And now, especially with this gift she had given him, he was going to have to make sure she made it out of here alive. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself otherwise.

How in the hell was he going to keep her safe.

How in the hell was he going to let her go.

“It’s all right,” she whispered.

A thousand deflections went through his mind. His reply was honest, however.

“No,” he croaked. “It’s not.”

The compassion in her face ruined him in ways he couldn’t have begun to guess at. And for one treacherous moment, he considered unburdening the whole truth to her. But no. That would just put her at risk.