Rapture Untamed (Feral Warriors #4)(58)

She trembled from the uncertainty as much as from the need he lifted inside her.

Every time they'd made love, it had ended badly.

But never before had they connected as they had today.

He'd held her as she cried, as the emotions tore her apart. He'd opened himself for her, giving her comfort and tenderness when she'd needed them so desperately. A tenderness that made her want to cry all over again.

His lips trailed down her body unhurriedly, pleasing her. Loving her. And when they'd finished their return path, she opened her arms to him, and her thighs, uncertain if he'd finally make love to her face-to-face or flip her onto her knees as he had before.

His gaze held hers as he lowered himself into the cradle of her body and sunk deep inside her, the move unhurried. Slow and sensual and infinitely erotic, he made love to her gently, the antithesis of the violence that had come before.

Tears burned her eyes as she cupped her hands behind his neck and held his gaze as his body melded with hers, over and over, sliding in and out, driving her up on a gentle ride of such tenderness, her heart opened like a starving flower in a warm, soft rain.

Loneliness washed away after so very many years.

Deep within his eyes, she saw an understanding, a sharing of that bone-deep need for a completion of the heart. The soul. But rising with that need, she saw pain in his eyes.

And dark wisps of resistance.

The sensual tension rose slowly, steadily, until they were both gasping, both driving for the release that broke over them as one. Not until they were cresting together did Jag break eye contact with her. He kissed her, the kiss only fueling that exquisite release.

Never had Olivia known such perfection in joining with another. Never had she opened herself so completely. And when Jag pulled out of her, then rolled to his side, pulling her deep in the cradle of his arms, she ached with a fragile joy.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered sleepily against her hair. "I don't deserve this."

The depth of pain in his words brought tears to her eyes, and she wrapped her arms tight around him and held on.

"You do, Jag. You're a good man. A strong, courageous, honorable, and good man."

She felt him stiffen and stroked his back, feeling an overwhelming need to ease him, to free him from the past that had him so firmly in its claws. A past filled with a horrible guilt somehow centered around his mother.

"Tell me about Cordelia, Jag. Tell me what happened to her. Please?"

He jerked, a small flinch, but he didn't roll away from her in anger, as she half expected. Little by little, the tension drained from his limbs, and he began to talk, his words tight and emotionless.

"I discovered sex when I was fourteen. With human girls. My mother had a fit when she found out, of course, forbidding me to go to the village. And being the good son that I wasn't, I ignored her and continued to sneak out. This went on for a couple of years. When I was sixteen, she'd finally had enough. One day, she followed me, bursting into the barn where I was in the middle of a hot little tryst. She ordered me off the girl, and I ignored her, of course. I was young and crazed with lust, and I don't think I could have pulled out if I'd tried. But I didn't try.

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"Cordelia was...demanding. Not just with me, but with everyone. And it infuriated her when I didn't do her bidding, which of course just made me ignore her more. That day, she grabbed me and tried to pull me off the girl. I was still a kid, but I was already strong. I pushed her away and she fell against the wall. I don't know what she hit - I wasn't paying attention to much except getting off. But a moment later, I heard the angry shout of a man, figured I was about to get caught by the girl's father, and pulled out. But when I stood up, I realized the situation had changed. Four men had rushed into the barn, drawn by Cordelia's yelling, no doubt. But they weren't staring at the girl or me. They were staring at Cordelia, their faces turning pale as I watched.

"It was then I realized Cordelia had blood running down her cheek, dripping from her chin. And no cut, of course. It had already healed. They'd watched it heal.

"This was 1677 and witch phobia was running rampant among the humans. One of the men ordered the others to grab her, and though she struggled, they overpowered her. My traitorous little lover yelled that I was her son, that maybe I was a witch, too. I denied it."

He went silent, a shudder tearing through his warrior's body. "I denied she was my mother." His voice came close to cracking.

Olivia brushed her cheek against his chest, holding him tighter. She doubted he was even aware that his own arms had tightened, that his hands had begun to shake.

"They dragged her out of the barn and to the square, where they bound her to the stake with iron manacles and set her on fire. I ran. I didn't return to the enclave until almost nightfall and by then it was too late for anyone to go to her. If the fire hadn't already destroyed her, the draden would. The men of the enclave retrieved her body the next morning just before sunrise."

Jag's body went rigid. In a single move, he pulled away from her and stood up as if seeking escape.

"Enough of my happy childhood." He strode into the bathroom and closed the door, and she heard him turn on the shower.

Olivia hugged his pillow to her, aching with grief over his pain, and with guilt for drawing it all to the surface again. He blamed himself, in some ways rightly. Yet he'd only been a kid, and it had all happened so long ago.