Rapture Untamed (Feral Warriors #4)(27)

Anger sparked in her eyes, but it was a fury banked by resignation. He had her up against the wall, and she knew it. Her life now sat firmly in his hands.

Slowly, her eyes blazing into his the entire way, she knelt on the ground, then bent over onto all fours as he'd ordered.

Jag sank to his knees beside her, unable to keep his hands off her a moment longer. As his fingers slid over the creamy skin of her back, then curved around, cupping one round breast, his own hands began to shake.

Never had he needed to touch a woman this badly. Olivia might be on her knees before him. But he was beginning to wonder which of them was truly the one enslaved.

The ground was rough beneath Olivia's palms and knees - pine needles and dead leaves scratching at her skin. The night air breezed coolly over her bare flesh, but the shiver that tore over her had nothing to do with cold.

Inside, she quaked.

Everything she'd built, everything she'd fought for now lay in the hands of a man she couldn't trust.

Her pride railed, hating him for forcing her to her knees. The sex itself was of little import. She was Therian. For goddess's sake, they had sex all the time. All the time.

She'd taken every man in her ranks into her body at least once and most dozens, even hundreds of times. But never because she'd had to. Never because she'd had no choice.

Never because her life hung in the balance.

Jag said he wouldn't rape her, and she believed him. She'd felt that hand of his and knew all he had to do was touch her, and she'd be wet and open and ready for him.

No, it wasn't the fact that he intended to have sex with her that she couldn't forgive. It was the fact that she had no choice.

She tried to ignore the large, warm hand covering her breast, but she was far from immune to him, no matter how badly she wanted to be. An attraction existed between them more explosive than anything she'd known for as far back as she could remember.

He stroked her back with one hand, his fingers warm and surprisingly gentle as if he enjoyed the feel of her skin. With his other hand, he kneaded her breast, his touch firm and hot.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and found him watching her with a rapt intensity that sent fire racing through her blood. His hand moved down her spine and back up again, then back down and lower, sliding over her panties and down her thigh, avoiding her moist center. Over and over, he touched her with gentle strokes as if he were a blind man memorizing every inch of her body. His fingers curled around her shoulders, stroked the back of her neck, then slowly slid back down her spine while his other hand played with her breast, gripping, rolling her nipple between his finger and thumb, tugging gently.

Though he touched her, he never once pressed his palm against her, shooting that unnatural pleasure into her. No, the pleasure he gave her was all too real.

High on her shoulder blade, she felt the brush of whiskers and the soft press of his mouth. A shiver went through her as she realized he was tracing the Daemon's claw marks. He was kissing her healed wounds, creating a sweet ache inside her that was not of the flesh but the spirit.

Inexplicably, tears sprang to her eyes. She found herself beginning to relax beneath his caresses, her body moving sensuously with each stroke of his hand.

Dammit, she didn't want to be moved by his gentleness. She didn't want to enjoy his domination.

"Jag..."

"Getting impatient, Sugar?" His finger slid between her legs, a single soft stroke that touched her sensitive flesh, eliciting a moan she couldn't bite back. His fingers slid beneath the back elastic of her panties and down, cupping one cheek.

She tensed for the onslaught of pleasure she was sure he'd attack her with, but he did nothing but rub her bare flesh. Even so, the pleasure came, hot and real. He released her breast and with both hands, pushed her panties down her hips to her thighs. Both hands caressed her bu**ocks, kneading her, parting her. With a single finger, he traced the line between, from the base of her spine down over her anus, sliding to where she was hot and wet and open, then back up, trailing the moisture.

"Do you want me to take you, Red?"

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"No. Never." Her words were breathless, her body at once delighting in the feel of his hands, and tense.

His finger stroked the swollen, weeping opening of her vagina. "Wrong answer, Sugar."

"Go to hell."

But he continued to play with her, sliding his finger around the edges until her body ached with a white-hot need, and she had to clamp her jaw shut to keep from moaning.

"Your body tells a different story," he said huskily. And then he was behind her, and she prepared for him to mount her with a combination of dread and rich, hot anticipation.

She felt his thick, hard c**k between her legs, but instead of pushing inside her, he ran it along the same path his finger had taken moments before, touching her but not penetrating. Then he shoved the length of it between her legs and rubbed it against her hot, swollen, aching flesh.

She struggled to keep from pressing against him to increase the delicious pressure.

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"You want me." Jag's voice sounded as tight and strained as her body felt.

"No."

"Liar. Beg me to f**k you, Red, and take us both out of our misery."

"No. I'll never beg you. Never want you."

"A challenge, eh?" His voice turned hard and rough. But his touch remained gentle as his hands framed her bare hips. His palms pressed against her, and, suddenly, heat rushed into her hips, into her rear and thighs and deep within the hot center of her, making her swell with a need that turned almost painful.