Rapture Untamed (Feral Warriors #4)(37)

Jag stumbled back, doubled over with pain and laughter as she glared at him.

"You bastard. Why does everything have to be a fight with you?"

"I enjoy having you at my mercy, Sugar. I enjoy watching you beg me to take you."

She wrenched herself upright. "Goddess, but I hate this game."

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"Which is precisely why we play it."

"Then f**k me, Jag. Please oh please," she added tonelessly. "Just do it and get it over with."

He grinned at her and grabbed her again, flipping her onto her stomach, then he straddled her bare hips, pinning her down. "I'll do that, since you ask so nicely. But not yet."

She groaned with annoyance, and he chuckled and yanked her shirt up under her arms. She fought him, trying to keep him from pulling it off her. So he drew claws and shredded the stretchy material without leaving a scratch on her skin.

"Want to keep your bra?" he asked silkily.

"Yes, damn you."

"Then take it off."

She tried to rise, and he let her. With another grumble, she sat up, her back to him.

But as she moved as if to lift the bra, he prepared for an elbow to his jaw and almost got it. Grabbing her upper arms, he pushed her forward until she was off balance and unable to kick back.

"Take it off, Red, or I'm ripping it off."

"Bastard," she muttered, and yanked off the bra.

Jag pushed her face-first into the bed before she could strike back at him, then drank in the sight of her lovely, silken back.

He'd never thought himself a back man - legs, br**sts, ass, oh yeah. But backs? Who in the hell was a back man? But there was something incredibly sexy about Olivia's.

The way her shoulders curved, small and slender, yet somehow strong as steel. The way her back dimpled beneath her nape, the way it narrowed as it fell to the sweet swell of her hips. And that glorious, creamy expanse of lightly freckled skin.

Leaning forward, he gripped her forearms and pressed them to the bed, ensuring she didn't rear up and clock him in the nose a second time. Then he continued what he'd started the last time he had her at his mercy, what he'd been obsessed with doing since he first saw her standing in the living room of Feral House, talking to Lyon like some little flame-haired high-powered lawyer - taste every inch of her creamy skin.

His mouth dipped to her shoulder blade, his lips brushing her warm flesh as he inhaled her scent, a scent as rich and warm as her hair.Sugar and spice and everything nice. The ancient ditty ran through his head, and he decided it must have been written for her.

A shiver rippled through her even as she struggled against his hold. He loved that she fought him, loved that he could be rough with her and get a kick in the nose for his efforts.

His mouth trailed over the crown of her shoulder and down the top few inches of her arm, rewarded with her shiver.

"Jag, let me go." Her voice was low, husky, and filled more with anticipation than any dark emotion.

"Nope." Goddess, he enjoyed having her beneath him. The touch of her skin against his, the heat of her body between his thighs, the slender bones of her forearms safe in the cradle of his palms.

He inhaled her sweet fragrance and buried his nose in her bright hair. She was becoming an addiction, this one. After only a few days, he could barely stand not to be touching her.

But touching her wasn't enough. Not nearly enough.

He captured both wrists in one hand, then lifted off her enough to flip her onto her back.

She bucked, but he locked his thighs tight on hers and all she managed to do was brush his rock-hard balls with the sweet cream of her arousal.

He sucked in a hard breath. Her eyes tightened with need. Gray eyes locked on his. In their depths he saw no fury, and only a little anger. Frustration, yes. And heat.

Goddess, but heat sparkled and danced in those eyes until the gray shone as brightly as silver.

He slid his finger between her thighs, closed against him by the tight clamp of his own. His finger brushed the hard nub of her passion, and she gasped, sucking in a ragged breath. He flicked that sensitive spot over and over, feeling the muscles in her thighs quiver and jerk even as her hips fought to rise, to give him better access.

"You want me to f**k you, Red?"

"If I say no?" she gasped.

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"I'll torment you until you do."

"And if I say yes?"

He smiled, his smile deepening as she raised one imperious brow. "Then I'll torment you until I tire of the game."

"You're a bastard."

"I am indeed." He pressed his finger deeper between her thighs, encountering a slick wetness that eased his way. Finding the cave he sought, he pushed his finger deep inside her.

She arched up, her plump, perfect br**sts rising as if seeking his mouth, a soft groan escaping her throat. The sound drove his own need higher, tightening his balls as his c**k swelled impossibly thicker.

But he wasn't ready to end this. He wasn't nearly ready. Instead, he dipped his head and took one offered breast deep into his mouth, sucking the soft flesh until his body was so hard with need he feared he'd never be soft again. Two releases, three...no number would be enough.

He didn't want to feel this way, this need twisting inside him, demanding he touch her. Protect her. Possess her. She was his, dammit. His.