Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers, #4)(28)

“I’ve never felt like this, Briony.” He couldn’t wait, couldn’t make love to her as he wanted, and it was frustrating to him. He needed a bed and about twenty-four hours instead of a practice room where someone might attempt to come in at any time.

He pressed a finger into her tight channel. She made a soft sound of need, her slick cream making it easy to stretch her a bit with two fingers. He couldn’t wait. Her scent was teasing him, his body swelling to painful proportions. She was hot and wet and so tempting—looking part sexy temptress and part innocent.

He caught her hips and held her to him, pressing into her slick, welcoming entrance. She was too tight, too hot, too everything, the feeling so intense his body shook with the need to slam into her and bury himself to the hilt. Her dark eyes widened and she shook her head. Before she could protest, he pushed deeper. “Relax, let me do the work, baby. It’s uncomfortable the first time, but once we’re past that, I’ll make it good for you.”

Briony couldn’t touch him. She needed to hold on to him, but there wasn’t a place on his body without cuts. The urgent need to have him inside her was slipping away, to be replaced by fear. He was too big. It was that simple. Her body couldn’t possibly be designed for a man his size. Briony moistened her lips and edged backward away from the stretched, burning feeling.

Jack tightened his grip on her. “You have to relax, Briony. You’re tensing up on me.” He leaned forward, a little frantic, unable to prevent himself from kissing her, again and again, coaxing her passion, cupping one breast and teasing her nipple until she was flooding him with her need and gasping for breath.

He slipped farther in, pushing through her tight folds until he felt her resistance. “Look at me, baby. Look only at me.” He wasn’t a man to be with a virgin. He was rough and dominant and didn’t know the first thing about innocents. Hell, he couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had been innocent.

Jack reached deep to find gentleness, to be patient. He wanted her first time to be something more than a man sweating and heaving, taking her fast and without care. He wanted to hold her close and make her feel the beautiful, extraordinary woman she was. “Tell me this is what you want, Briony. Tell me you want me.” She had to want him. He wasn’t certain he was enough of a man to pull back if she was too afraid, but he’d try—for her—he’d try. Sweat beaded his brow. Her scent drove him insane. Her body, so hot and tight, a perfect haven for him, tested the limits of his control. “Son of a bitch, baby, I’m not going to be able to hold back much longer. Tell me. Say it so I know I’m not a complete bastard and you want this too.”

Her fingers slid in a caress over his face. “I want you more than anything, Jack. I’m absolutely sure.”

In spite of the fact that there was fear in her eyes, and in her mind, he caught her hands, tipping her back, as he leaned over her, his fingers tight around hers to give her an anchor, pressing her wrists into the wood by her head. One hard thrust and he was through the barrier, burying his rock-hard flesh deep into her. She gave a strangled cry, and he made the supreme effort to stop moving, to let her adjust to his size. It was difficult when his body wanted to rage out of control. He gritted his teeth, feeling his pulse pound and his cock jerk with the strain of waiting.

Briony caught her breath. He still felt too big, stretching her to a burning point, but somehow the feeling faded and the urgent need to feel him moving deep inside took over. Careful of his torn body, she couldn’t participate other than to lift her hips to meet his thrust, but she wanted to touch his skin, to take him in through her pores, to hold him close to her. He thrust deeper and lightning zigzagged through her body, sizzling and crackling and spreading heat to every cell.

A single sound escaped her throat. He held her down, his hands on her wrists like shackles, holding her in place while his body began a pulse-pounding rhythm. Restraint. Restraint. Restraint. The chant was a desperate refrain in his head. She was so tight it was nearly painful, and her scent was ripe, calling to the male in him, thundering in his head and heart and hammering in his groin until he could barely think with wanting to bury himself deeper and deeper, harder and harder.

He breathed deep to maintain control, when he felt like a man long starved for this one woman, this perfect body, a perfect fit. The taste of her—the feel of her—was almost more than he could bear. In his wildest, most erotic fantasy, he had never had a partner he wanted the way he wanted Briony—and she had to be a virgin.

There wasn’t a square inch of his skin that wasn’t sliced to pieces; he couldn’t hold her against him, couldn’t make contact the way he wanted. He needed to hold her close, crush her body beneath his, yet he breathed. Restraint. Restraint. Restraint. He was not going to scare her by demanding too much, by taking too much. So okay, there was something deep and primitive and satisfying about knowing he was the only man who had ever touched her this way. He was a selfish bastard—a groan escaped, his mind hazing over. He couldn’t think anymore, the pleasure wiping out every coherent thought.

Piercing pleasure washed over Briony, rushing through her body with far more force than she’d ever imagined. Every stroke sent streaks of lightning racing over her skin, sizzling through her veins, and contracting her womb. Her muscles tightened and tightened, an unrelenting pressure that continued to build past any expectation she’d ever had. It was frightening to be held down, to look up at his face, the savage lines cut deep, the intensity in his turbulent eyes, yet at the same time it heightened her sexual pleasure, pushing her beyond any limits she might have had.