Rapture Untamed (Feral Warriors #4)(36)

For now, she was staying with Jag.

Hungry in a draden-kissed way, the hunger prickling along the surface of her skin, she sat up and opened herself to a slow, gentle feed.

Almost at once, Jag bolted upright with a growl, fangs erupting in his mouth, claws sprouting from his fingertips to rake holes in the sheets at his side.

Olivia jerked, startled, and slammed down the feeding as she instinctively reached for a knife. He swung his head at her, part man, part ferocious cat, staring at her as if ready to attack.

At least she knew he wouldn't sleep through her feeding.

Slowly, his fangs and claws retracted. "What thef*ck ?"

She lifted an eyebrow, her heart pounding, but the bulk of her fear receded with his fangs and claws. "Time to get up."

He blinked, then impossibly, he began to laugh, that same wonderful rolling laugh that had pleased her senses so thoroughly when she'd found him with the puppy. A laugh that tugged and coaxed a smile of her own.

"A shit-ass way to wake up, Red. You're a woman after my own heart." In his eyes, she saw genuine amusement and a respect that surprised her.

In that moment, as they smiled at one another, she felt something unlatch inside her, opening. Reaching.

Her breath caught, her heart swelling in a strange and awkward way.

Even as Jag's smile began to fade, his gaze held her captive. He rose with the sinuous grace of a jungle cat and climbed onto the bed with her, his knee beside her hip. For one throbbing moment, he stared at her, his gaze dropping to her mouth, and she thought he was going to kiss her lips. Instead, his head dipped and he pressed a warm, damp kiss into the curve of her shoulder.

In an instant, the hunger that had pricked at her skin was obliterated by a hunger of an entirely different kind. Need thrummed through her body, lighting a million tiny fires.

Jag's tongue stroked the sensitive skin beneath her ear, sending delicious chills rippling through her body.

"I love to taste you," he said huskily.

She reached for him, her fingers sliding into his thick, soft hair, holding on against the wave upon wave of desire that tugged at her, threatening to pull her loose from her moorings.

His hand snagged her wrists and he pulled her hands away from him, wrenching her arms above her head none too gently. As he lifted his head and looked at her, she saw the hardness sliding back into his eyes.

"You touch me only if I say you can touch me. Slave." A smile hovered at the edges of his mouth, but no kindness.

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"Jag..." Disappointment cut her off, clamping her mouth shut. That thread of warmth that had briefly run between them had felt so real that she'd almost forgotten who he was. Or who he thought he was. And, she suspected, so had he.

Now he was determined to set them both straight.

She didn't fight him when he grabbed her ankles in one hand and pulled her legs, straightening her body and pressing her back onto the bed. He wouldn't hurt her. He might use her and pleasure her, but he wouldn't hurt her. She was sure of that now.

But that didn't mean she'd simply lie here and give in. Hell no. He wanted a fight. And she fully intended to give him one.

While one hand held her wrists above her head, his other pushed up her shirt and her sports bra, baring one breast, exposing it to the air and his heated gaze. He dipped his head and took the needy flesh into his warm, damp mouth. As his tongue slid across her nipple, she arched into his touch with a groan of pure pleasure, her body heating and ready.

Even as her body loved the feel of him, she hated what he did to her. He made her want so much more than he was capable of giving. True closeness, warmth. Caring.

Why? Why would Jag, of all people, instill this soft need in her? It wasn't just the attraction. Goddess knew she was too old to believe a little physical attraction had anything to do with affection, or even love. Attraction was a response of the body, nothing more. Yet he stirred this odd ache inside her, right in the middle of her heart.

As if reading her thoughts, he released her breast and lifted his head, meeting her gaze with a confusion that matched her own. For a second, she saw behind the mask, glimpsing a bitter turmoil, sensing pain and a loneliness as deep as those that tormented her.

He shared her need to connect on a level beyond the physical. Beyond sex. To hold and be held. To be kissed and stroked. And understood.

A moment later that glimpse of softness was gone, his smile taking on a sharp edge as if he were determined to remind them both why no one liked him.

"Scream for me, Sugar." He shoved his hand between her legs.

As heat flooded her core, and her body betrayed her, racing hard toward orgasm, she swung her leg high and fast, kicking Jag solidly in the nose with her heel as she came.

They yelled in unison.

"Bitch!"

"Damn you, Jag!"

Their gazes locked. The battle had engaged.

Chapter Eleven

Jag's nose hurt like a son of a bitch, but he growled with pure satisfaction as he swiped at the blood on his face, then yanked off Olivia's pants as she fought him.

Goddess, he loved a woman who didn't take his shit. He had to be careful with most women. Oh, he tormented them in his own charming way, but he'd never liked tears. If they couldn't take what he dished out, he went elsewhere.

Olivia not only took it, she slammed it right back in his face. Literally.

She fought him now as he ripped her panties from her, kicking him in the chest and landing a good painful kick to his gut.