Raw Power Page 22

  “Make me,” she said aloud, purely for the hell of it.

  The dense green of his eyes gleamed and without a word, he reached over the side of the bed and grabbed his T-shirt. Then before she could move, he’d wound the fabric around her ankles and pulled it tight, tying them firmly together.

  This time the deep, electric thrill of it pulsed the entire length of her body.

  He watched her, again obviously gauging her reaction.

  “I thought you were going to hurt me.” She felt drawn tight as a telephone wire, little trembles shaking her. “So far hair pulling and a rough blow job isn’t really cutting it.”

  His mouth twisted and she thought it might have been a smile, but then all thought went completely out of her head as he moved closer, straddling her before putting his hands on either side of her head and leaning over her.

  Her breathing began to slide out of control as those hot green eyes burned into her, mere inches from her own. The heat of his body was astonishing, the scent of him driving her half out of her mind. He wasn’t touching her anywhere but she could feel him against her skin and it made the fact that her hands were bound beyond frustrating.

  “Untie me,” she demanded. “I want to touch you.”

  Again, he didn’t reply, merely leaning down and giving her another hard kiss. Then he sunk his teeth into her bottom lip, delivering a sharp pain that made her jerk and gasp, and her hips lift. As if he’d touched her clit directly.

  She opened her mouth, lifting her head to try to kiss him back, but he was already moving away, his teeth scraping the delicate tendons of her neck, tearing a gasp from her, before his lips settled at her throat.

  His kiss burned like an ember pressed directly against her skin and she shuddered, her back arching, wanting more. The ache between her thighs was relentless and she was desperate to spread her legs, relieve it somehow, but since he’d tied her ankles together, she couldn’t. And the restriction made the ache even worse.

  She shuddered as his hot mouth moved down from her throat, then gasped once more as his lips brushed over one exquisitely sensitive nipple. He did it again, softly, lulling her with gentleness before taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking hard.

  A strangled cry tore from her, the suction almost on the edge of pain. Then he nipped her and it became pain, bright and sharp and yet somehow delivering a pulse of the most intense pleasure deep in her pussy.

  “Jack,” she whispered, shuddering all over and unable to stop as he repeated the nip, delivering yet more pain before soothing it with his tongue, then sucking hard again. The contrasting sensations made her pant, made her writhe, made her shift her hips, desperate for something to relieve the relentless pressure.

  He merely moved his mouth to her other breast, torturing her, teasing her, inching her close to the edge of orgasm yet not touching her where she wanted it most. Perhaps he was trying to make her beg, and if so, he was going about it the right way, because she would. If that’s what he required, she would.

  “Please . . . Jack . . .” She couldn’t stop the words that slipped out, her voice sounding husky and desperate. “Please . . .”

  He lifted his head from his torture of her breast, his gaze burning. “Is this hurting you, Princess? Are you in pain now?”

  Bastard. Was that what he was doing? Making her hurt with pleasure? Making her so desperate to come that it was almost pain?

  Good. He could try that. But if he thought she couldn’t take it, if he thought this would scare her, he could think again.

  “I can handle it,” she said hoarsely, staring at him, daring him to do his worst. “I can handle you.”

  He gave her another of those scorching glances before he moved, shifting down her body, his hands coming down on her hips, the heat of his palms on her bare skin making her gasp for breath. Then he gripped her, holding her still as he shifted his body until he was lying over her bound legs, his weight pressing her down into the mattress. His head lowered and she felt his breath against her stomach, so close to her aching sex that she nearly whimpered. He moved again, nuzzling gently against her curls and she tried to lift her hips, desperately seeking pressure or friction, anything that would relieve the need that was driving her insane.

  But he held her down with that incredible strength, making it so she couldn’t move. Then before she’d had time to even gasp, he put his mouth directly over her pussy.

  The sensation was electric, like she’d been struck by lightning, and she bucked against him as his tongue teased her clit, an orgasm crashing over her without warning, tearing a scream from her throat.

  It stunned her, overwhelmed her, and all she could do was lie there and shake as the aftershocks pulsed through her. But clearly Jack wasn’t finished, because he didn’t move away. He kept teasing her clit with his tongue, then licking through her slick folds. She groaned, overloaded with pleasure and struggling a little to get away. He didn’t let her go. Instead he used his fingers to spread her open as much as he could, adjusting the angle of his mouth and sliding his tongue inside her pussy.

  Callie shuddered and twisted, because it was almost too much, and yet he was holding her down, making her take it. Driving the pleasure from too much to not enough. She panted, writhing, because the feel of his fingers on her slick flesh and his tongue pushing inside her was making her insane. And for some reason the fact that her legs were tied together only made it worse.

  She knew she was saying stuff, hoarse, desperate words pouring out of her mouth, but she couldn’t stop them. His mouth was systematically destroying her piece by piece and she seemed to have completely lost control.

  Maybe it should have frightened her, but she hadn’t been frightened by anything he’d done so far and she wasn’t frightened now. It felt like she was riding a giant wave that kept building and building, or a roller coaster that was climbing higher and higher. And she couldn’t get off. All she could do was hold on tight as the wave began to peak and the roller coaster began its descent, crashing down, speeding so fast, yet another orgasm rolling through her, making her arch up into his mouth and strain against the fabric binding her. The pleasure was astonishing and it seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of it echoing through her, drawing hoarse cries from her throat.

  Mercifully, he pulled away from her after that and she lay there staring up at the ceiling, her heartbeat like a symphony in her head, like something from Beethoven or Wagner, so loud she couldn’t hear anything but that. Her cheeks felt wet and her throat was hoarse, and she didn’t think she could move if she tried.

  Okay, maybe he’d broken her. But if this was what it felt like to be broken, then she didn’t care. He could break her anytime, that was for damn fucking sure.

  She lifted her head at the same time as he gripped her hips again and flipped her over onto her stomach. Turning her head against the musty smelling quilt, she tried to twist to see what he was doing, because if it was wringing another orgasm out of her, she didn’t think she could do it.

  But then he pulled her up onto her knees and she heard the rustle of foil. And she began to pant, her whole body drawing tight in delicious anticipation. Then she felt heat against the backs of her thighs, the head of his cock pressing against her pussy. She groaned as he slid inside her, her tender flesh stretching, making room for him. He hissed, his fingers digging into her hips, gripping her tight. Then he shifted his hips, his cock sliding out of her, then slamming back in again.

  So good. She didn’t think she could do this again, but it looked like she was wrong. She could do this again. She wanted to.

  He thrust again, deeper, his palm coming down on her left butt cheek at the same time, the sound of flesh hitting flesh resounding through the room. She jerked, the pain sharp and hot, yet twining with the pleasure, with the feel of him inside her and making it somehow brighter, more complex, more intense.

  An intricate rhythm, a fascinating melody. Building her up, making her strong.

  She shoved her hips
back against him, moving with him, and he must have taken that as a go-ahead, because his palm came down again. And again. Timing it with each thrust, pushing her higher and higher.

  “You want to be mine, Princess?” he demanded roughly at last, harsh and dark, just like his soul. “Because this is what it means. I’ll take everything you have and then some.”

  Her thighs were shaking and she was trembling, another orgasm just out of reach. And quite frankly, right in this moment, she couldn’t think of anything better than being his. “I don’t care,” she gasped. “You can have it. You can have everything.”

  And as soon as the words came out of her mouth, he suddenly hooked one arm around her waist, hauling her back against him and angling her hips so he could drive deeper. Then she felt his fingers push between her thighs, finding her clit, stroking her and stroking her as he continued to fuck her. Slamming himself into her over and over.

  She came screaming into the quilt, barely conscious as his rhythm suddenly got faster, wilder, harder. Until the arm around her waist tightened and she was held hard against him, his hips bucking, a low guttural sound breaking from him as he found his own release.

  And she was lost in the music of it.

  CHAPTER 14

  Jack could barely keep himself upright, the orgasm still humming through his veins like a steady current of electricity. Callie was panting, her bound wrists outstretched in front of her, her face turned against the quilt. She had her eyes shut, her delicious mouth slightly open. Sweat gleamed along her forehead and on her upper lip.

  Beautiful, so fucking beautiful.

  Pulling himself together, he withdrew from her tight little pussy, got rid of the condom in a nearby wastebasket, then he lay down on the bed on his side, and gathered her in close. She fit him perfectly, her round ass against his groin, her elegant spine pressed to his chest. He shifted his hands to cup the softness of her tits, her skin warm against his palms, and she made a small sound.

  Yours.

  Possessiveness growled inside him, making him turn his face into her neck and bite her gently, because yes, she was his. He knew it. He’d known it from the moment he’d spotted her in the club.

  Except that making her his hadn’t been his intention when he’d kissed her. When he’d forced her onto her knees and shoved his cock in her mouth. Or when he’d bound her wrists and her feet, making her completely helpless to him.

  Sick fuck. That’s what you are.

  Maybe he was. Maybe that’s exactly what he was. What else could you say about a man with the kind of violence in his background, who got off on a woman’s complete surrender? Who got hard at the sight of her lying bound and helpless, and completely at his mercy?

  Yeah, sick. That was the only explanation he could come up with. And doubly sick that he’d taken it out on a woman like Callie. Who’d grown up with the same kind of violence in her life that he had.

  So let her go.

  He should. He really should. But he didn’t. The dark territorial part of him wouldn’t let him. He’d been demanding and rough and still she’d taken it. And more, she’d loved it. He’d seen it in the wild blue of her eyes.

  That made her his if nothing else did.

  Jack closed his eyes and nuzzled the back of her neck, inhaling that sweet, sugary scent, along with the lingering musk of feminine arousal.

  He’d been trying not to touch her. That’s why he’d walked out in the first place. Or at least, he would have if she hadn’t stood in his way, challenging him in the way she did, especially half naked and so goddamn fucking beautiful she made his chest hurt.

  He’d wanted to protect her, not come at her like a fucking animal. But she’d stood there so innocently, demanding he tell her why she had to be protected from him, obviously intending not to take “no” for an answer and he’d simply lost it. If she wanted to see the possessive monster he was, then he’d fucking show her once and for all. He wouldn’t hold back, he’d maybe frighten her, but sometimes fear was useful. Fear kept you safe. And maybe, next time, she’d think twice about goading him like she did.

  Except she hadn’t been afraid. Not in the slightest.

  She’d been so wet and the sounds she’d made . . .

  His cock hardened against the softness of her ass and he couldn’t stop himself from flexing his hips, pressing himself against her.

  She gave a delicious shiver, gasping again as he pinched her nipples gently. “Jack,” she murmured on a groan, as he did it again. “I might need five minutes.”

  Shit, of course. He’d been rough, demanding, and not a little violent. But then that’s what he was all about, wasn’t he?

  He bared his teeth against her neck, biting down. Not hard, but enough to remind her of who she was dealing with. “If you can’t handle it, Princess, then you can leave.”

  “Of course I can handle it. And if a couple of pinches and slaps on the ass is all you got, then I still have no idea why you think I need to be protected from you.”

  Frustration twisted inside him, along with that hot thread of anger that never really went away. He didn’t want to have to explain this to her. He’d been hoping that the rough sex would have explained everything, would have frightened her off. But of course it hadn’t, because Callie was beautiful and brave and so fucking strong.

  Which meant he had to tell her. And maybe once she knew the truth, she’d understand.

  He slid his hands from her breasts and settled them down on her stomach, tightening his arms around her instinctively. He should probably untie her, but he wanted her bound and helpless just a bit longer. Because once he’d told her why she should be afraid of him, the added feeling of vulnerability would make his lesson really sink in.

  “You okay?” he asked gruffly, just to be sure. “Hands and feet numb?”

  “No. But you know, I wouldn’t mind being untied at some point.”

  “Not yet.” He stared at the mass of golden hair that covered her shoulders and spread across the quilt, glossy and gleaming. Because that was a better sight than the memories he was going to dredge up. But it needed to be done. For both their sakes.

  “I had a little sister,” he said at last, having to force the words out. “Five years younger than me. She was called Molly. We lived in a shitty apartment in a shitty part of LA, and my mom worked as a cocktail waitress in a crappy bar. My dad was . . .” He stopped, hating to even mention the bastard, but he’d started this and so he’d finish it. “My dad was in the movie business. Rich fucker with a house in the Valley. He didn’t live with us because he was married already. Mom was the waitress he had an affair with and me and Molly were the result. He paid Mom’s rent sometimes and sometimes he’d watch us when she had to go to work. He drank a lot. I once asked why he continued to see Mom when it was obvious he hated us, and he told me it was because she was his. That we were his too. His to do what he liked with.”

  Callie had gone very quiet and very still, but he didn’t let her go. He couldn’t. There was a kernel of ice in his heart, ice that had been there since Molly’s death. It had never melted and probably wouldn’t ever, but her warmth felt good and so he held on.

  “He used to knock Mom around. He’d never touched me or Molly, but I knew it was only a matter of time. I used to tell Mom that I was scared, that I didn’t like how he hurt her and I was worried for Molly. I told her we should leave and go somewhere else where Daddy couldn’t find us.” His breathing had gotten ragged, the ice spilling through his veins. “But she didn’t listen. He paid her rent, she told me. He gave her money to feed us. And besides, things were complicated and since I was only eight, I didn’t understand.”

  Callie made a soft sound, but then fell silent. He could feel her muscles tighten. She knew there was no good ending to this story, and of course she would. She knew how this sort of shit played out, didn’t she?

  “Mom was out at work one night and Dad was watching us. Me and Molly slept in the bedroom—there was only one, Mom took the couch�
�and Molly didn’t want to go to sleep. She kept acting up and Dad was getting impatient. He’d had a lot to drink so there was lots of shouting. Eventually though, Molly went to sleep and so did I.” There was a hand around his throat, choking him. He hadn’t told anyone this before and he didn’t want to now, but he had to. He had to. “I woke up in the middle of the night, don’t know why, and Dad was standing over Molly’s bed and he was holding a pillow over her face. Her feet were kicking and I remember thinking that was weird, so I asked him what he was doing. He took the pillow away and told me everything was fine. That I should go back to sleep.” The hand around his throat squeezed tighter, making it harder and harder to get a breath. “But it wasn’t fine. I woke up the next morning and Molly was—”

  “Jack.” Callie’s voice thick, a raw sound. “You don’t have to say it.”

  The way she knew exactly what he was going to say was a relief. That he wouldn’t have to say the terrible words.

  “We took her to the hospital,” he went on, knowing he sounded cold but it was the only way he could go on. “But she’d been deprived of oxygen too long. There was nothing they could do. I was so angry with Mom after that. If she’d gone, if she’d left, then Molly would have lived. But she didn’t. She stayed. And afterward . . . Fuck, she wouldn’t press charges against him. And he must have had contacts somewhere, because the police didn’t charge him either. He got away with it.” Even now, even after he’d righted the balance, it still had the power to enrage him. To make him blind with fury at the unfairness of it.

  “Oh Jack . . .” Callie murmured thickly.

  “You think that’s it?” His jaw was so tight it ached. “It’s not the end of the story.” He closed his eyes, pressing his face into the silkiness of her hair, inhaling all that sweet scent. “Eventually he lost interest in Mom and me. But I never forgave him and I never forgave her. I joined the Marines as soon as I could, because it was either that or I spent my life in a gang or as a meth addict. I couldn’t. I wanted to do something good. Protect people in the way I hadn’t protected Molly.”