Mercury Striking (The Scorpius Syndrome #1)(24)

The sound of the streets echoed in his tone, the tenor somehow intriguing and full of warning.

Masculinity could be both beautiful and devastating in its brutality. She hadn’t realized that before. Even after months of fighting and months of hiding, she hadn’t seen the elemental nature of man at such a level. “I want you,” she whispered.

He shed his jeans and reached down, with surprisingly gentle movements, to remove hers. She gasped at his fully erect, glistening cock. “Uh—”

“We’ve established you haven’t been abused, and you’re not exactly afraid of me right now, but I need to know, how long has it been?” he asked, dropping one knee onto the bed and sliding up her.

Her mouth opened and closed. He nearly enclosed her, pinning her to the bed, all heated male and lust-filled intent. Heated flesh slid against her, and she fought the urge to let her eyes roll back in her head. “How are you talking rationally right now?” she gasped.

He reached for his jeans on the floor and drew out a condom. “Losing control isn’t an option. I asked you a question.”

Yeah, but command filled every word. She slid her fingers through his thick hair and clenched. Her body burned, and her clit actually pounded for release. “Have you always been like this?”

“No.” His grin transformed the harsh lines of his face into something almost sweet. “Believe me, I had a temper to tame. But now survival dictates we think before acting, and I’m sussing out the facts here. How long has it been?”

She amused herself by sliding her hands through his rough hair. “A year, I guess. Before getting infected.”

“Good.” He lay over her, elbows holding his weight, and lowered his head to kiss her deep. Question and intent filled his kiss, winding through her mouth and down to hit all the important spots on the way.

She widened her legs, gasping when his cock jumped against her clit. “Any chance you could get lost in the moment?”

He grinned against her mouth and leaned back, brown gaze warm. “Green Eyes, if I got lost in the moment, you’d be bent over the bed, face in the pillows, begging to come with every fiber of your being. I’d make you promise everything.”

Heat flared in her abdomen, and a shudder slid down her back.

He chuckled. “Don’t tempt me.” Before she could think again, doubt the moment, he reached down and slid his thumb across her clitoris.

Electricity sparked through her sex. She arched into his hand, and the sound she made would’ve embarrassed her had her mind not blanked. The feelings, so good, so natural, nearly threw her into an early orgasm. “Jax,” she moaned.

“Enough talking.” He shifted to the side and rolled a condom into place. Then he levered his body over hers, both hands capturing her face to hold firm. “Decide now. You want slow and building, or do you want fast and explosive? Want me to take you away?”

Heat rose from her chest to her face, burning in its intensity. She was already wet and primed for him. “Not slow.”

His chin lifted, his gaze intense. “Say it. Tell me what you want.”

She blinked, her body rubbing against his. Pride didn’t mean a damn thing in the face of oblivion. Add in pleasure, and she truly didn’t give a damn what she needed to say to reach temporary bliss. “Fast and wild. Make me forget.”

“Forget what?” His biceps strained as if he held himself back with great effort.

“Everything,” she whispered, spreading her legs wider.

“Fair enough.” Raising up to plant one hand by the side of her head, he reached between them, positioned himself, and shoved deep enough to stop her breath.

Pain flared inside her, and she arched up against him, her breath catching in her lungs. One hand slapped against his chest, as if trying to ward him off. Feelings, raw and real, ripped through her. Pain hinting at an edge of pleasure.

He grabbed one of her thighs and pushed up, opening her further. “You’re tight, sweetheart,” he murmured, dropping his wet forehead to hers.

That simple act, one of intimacy, warmed her throughout. “I know.”

He positioned the other thigh, opening her fully to him and whatever he wanted to do to her. The moment should’ve whispered for caution, but instead, her desire clawed higher. She couldn’t move. Her internal walls relaxed around him, and her breath picked up.

“Hold on, Lynne Harmony,” he said, dropping his face to the crook of her neck.

She slid both hands over his shoulders, feeling scars and bunched muscle. At her most vulnerable, with him inside her, holding her where he wanted her, a small part of her wanted to seek reassurance. To find in him something safe, something to cling to in the midst of hell. Instead, she shook her head back on the pillow and dug her nails into his flesh, taking what she could.

He growled low and slid out only to shove back inside again. Hard.

“Oh God,” she moaned.

At the sound, at the acceptance, his hand clamped onto her hip, and he started to thrust. Hard, with precision, with determination, he pounded into her. The metal headboard slammed against the wall, but Lynne didn’t care who heard.

Each hard thrust, each impact of his body inside hers, forced her to climb higher. Bliss, jagged in its reality, hovered just out of reach. More. God, she needed so much more.

She clawed into his back, her thighs trembling as he held them apart. The immobility, the forced vulnerability, spiraled her into an orgasm so wild she could only hold on and gasp. Her body contracted around his, holding tight, the waves burning through her. Her mouth hit his shoulder, and she clamped down, needing to find an anchor.