Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers, #4)(94)

I’m just following the little fantasy in your head.

Hell. He didn’t know he could fantasize that well. His imagination could never have taken him over the way her mouth was doing. She did little figure eights back up his rigid shaft and suddenly engulfed him, suckling, drawing the ragged breath from his body. Her mouth tightened again, sucked and tormented, this time sliding slowly down him almost to her throat. Electricity sizzled along his thickening cock. He was so hard he thought he might explode, but he didn’t—couldn’t—stop her.

It was more than the sensations her mouth created, it was her enjoyment, the obvious pleasure she took in loving him. He felt it in her—there was no faking it, and Briony was definitely enjoying herself. More than enjoying herself, she was getting hot and wet, her hips moving in an automatic rhythm to the glide of her mouth.

Her tongue lashed him with heat, circled, and probed, and then she was suckling again, and he couldn’t stop the streaks of lightning racing through his body, or the need to take control. His hands fisted in her hair, pulling her head back to just the perfect angle so he could watch as he thrust deeper into her mouth, so he could take over the direction and pace.

She hesitated, and he tasted the fear in her mind at the loss of control over the situation. That’s so good, baby, so good. Relax for me, you can do this. He pulled back, groaning as the erotic sensations rocketed through his body. He thrust deeper, holding her in place, the sight of his cock disappearing into the velvet heat of her mouth nearly driving him over the edge. Harder. That’s it, baby. Harder. She was killing him and he couldn’t stop, couldn’t be gentle with her with his balls tightening and thunder roaring in his ears. He was going to explode down her throat.

He wanted to savor this moment, keep it in his memory for all time, but it was far too late, she was stroking his sac, gripping the base of his shaft as he thrust deep, and he felt the fire race up his spine and spread, spread hot and searing through him, until he was exploding, yelling hoarsely, as his shaft erupted in hot, spurting jets. Even then he couldn’t let her go, holding her to him, so that he honestly didn’t know if she was suckling him dry or he was forcing her to accept him.

Briony choked and then swallowed, her gaze holding nothing but longing, shy sensuality, a lingering doubt that she hadn’t pleased him. Acceptance of who he was. His peculiar need to dominate and control every situation. There was no distaste, or repugnance, not even a shadow lurking in her mind—only her wanting to give him pleasure.

Anger at himself, despair, shot through him. I’m such a f*cking bastard. You’re an innocent, and you hand me something incredible and special, and I take it instead of allowing you to give it. Even now, he was holding fistfuls of hair in his hands as the streaks of lightning raced through his body with her hot moist mouth surrounding him. He let go of her, fingers sliding with reluctance from her hair. Jack threw one arm over his eyes, ashamed of his nature and his own lack of the ability to control it. He had too many demons forever haunting him, and he couldn’t let go like that, couldn’t give in to his baser nature. She didn’t deserve that.

Briony moved, sliding out of the bed, away from him. He heard her in the bathroom, the running water, the pad of her bare feet as she returned and stood by the window, drinking slowly. “You’re so silly, Jack. You’re not supposed to have control when you have sex; isn’t that the point? I wanted to drive you wild, feel you crazy for me, for the sensations I can bring you. That was the idea. I’m not fragile. I have the same tremendous drive that you do, the same pheromones, the same terrible hunger for you. For me, it was wonderful and exciting and very, very sexy. The feel of your hands on me, holding me to you, knowing I’d taken you over the edge, it was perfect.”

His arm dropped down and he looked at her, eyes glittering silver in the moonlight. “Do you have any idea the things I want to do to you?” His voice was rough, already thickening with lust. “Whitney’s potent brew, my feelings for you, and my need for constant control are a bad combination.”

“Maybe they’re a great combination—did you ever think of that?” She sat on the window ledge and sipped at the glass of water. “Maybe you’re just afraid because the pull is so powerful. Maybe you need to control everyone and everything in your environment because you’re afraid to lose them, afraid of being hurt. Guess what, tough guy, everyone loses people, everyone gets hurt—its part of life.”

“Afraid?” He sat up, eyes narrowed and dangerous. His erection was back, and it was as heavy and as painful as before—as if the combined scent of them was a drug that filled him with a raw, aching hunger that couldn’t be assuaged. “Look at me. Do you think this is normal for me? I’m shaking I want you so damned much.”

“And that’s a bad thing? Jack.” Her voice caressed him, whispered over his skin until he swore he felt her mouth on him again, her breath. “You think I’m not feeling the same way? Empty and unfulfilled? So wet I can feel cream dripping along my thigh.”

Jack raked both hands through his hair, a groan escaping at her words. “Damn it, don’t say things like that. I want to be buried balls deep in you, and if you tempt me… ”

“Am I supposed to never have anything or anyone for myself because of a little fear? I’ve lived with fear my entire life. You just deal with it, Jack, you don’t let it conquer you.”