Her pert little nose twitched in irritation as her brown-and-blue-flecked green eyes, darker than his own, glared back at him.
“You’re pissing me off.”
He laughed at that. The sting of accusation was absent, but instead, he heard that hint of fondness he needed to hear. “How am I pissing you off? Because I want to surround you in pleasure, but I can’t tolerate a bed? Then, yeah, I have to concede defeat there. I guess I’m probably going to have to keep pissing you off.”
Her lips almost twitched. He caught the betraying tug at the corners of those luscious curves before she firmly steadied them.
“Why can’t you tolerate a bed?” she finally asked softly. “You want all my secrets Cam, but you’re giving me so little to hold on to you with.”
“I’m giving you everything I can right now,” he said. “And that, Jaci, is more than I’ve ever been able to give anyone else in my life.”
Could she go a step at a time? Could she accept being pulled closer to him, while he remained forever distant, and still keep her soul from being scarred?
The sound of a knock at the door caused her head to jerk up.
“It’s Chase,” he said, his fingers touching her hair.
“We don’t need Chase,” she whispered. “Why is he here, Cam?”
A second later the door opened and Chase stepped inside the room, his gaze instantly finding them, his expression sober, concerned, as he stared back at Jaci.
Whatever the reason why, it wasn’t the first time, and it was a need, at least for Cam. She stared up at him once again, feeling his fingers caress her jawline as his gaze darkened painfully.
It wasn’t something he just wanted. He wouldn’t take her without it. She could see it in his face, in his eyes, and she needed him. She needed him until she couldn’t breathe because of the need. And she couldn’t deny the heat Chase stoked in her as well.
Cam watched as she lowered her head, and her lips pressed against his chest. There, where the bullet had entered his body, her soft lips burning his flesh and sending hard, driving spikes of pure heated lust straight to his already tight testicles.
He stared down at her bent head, feeling her lips on his skin, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself so deep inside her that he would become lost in her. And for a heartbeat, one pain-filled second, he wished he hadn’t called Chase. He could feel Chase in the room now, his worry competing with his own arousal. Cam pushed back the need for possessiveness. He could’t afford it now. Cam could have done without knowing his brother worried for him, about him, or the needs that whipped around them at the moment. But Cam couldn’t do without the balance, not now. The knowledge that as long as he shared her, she wasn’t totally his. And if she wasn’t totally his, then she could never be taken totally away from him. He had to have that, just for now.
He couldn’t force his hands to stay on the arms of the chair, no matter how hard he clenched his fingers into them.
He had to touch her hair. Had to bury his fingers into that heated mass and make certain she didn’t stop, because those sweet lips were washing away the torment from those scars, that were caused by the memories of the night they had been inflicted.
She was touching him without coercion, without seduction. Loving him with her lips and her soft breath. And he realized in a single moment of insight that he knew he couldn’t have survived much longer without her.
7
His flesh beneath her lips was like satin stretched over iron. His chest was hard, muscled, flexing beneath her lips as she felt his hands bury themselves into her hair.
And, oh! He tasted so delicious. Like the sun, heat pouring into her, the fresh masculine scent overwhelming her. She couldn’t stop tasting. Like an addict, she couldn’t force her lips back from her drug of choice. She needed more.
And Cam was in complete agreement with her need to dine on him, if the feel of his hands in her hair and the hard rise and fall of his chest was any indication. He was offering himself as her banquet, and was evidently quite pleased with each bite she took of his hard muscles.
Her hands pressed against his lower chest, her lips ran over each and every scar, and when she reached the most wicked of those thick, silvery lines, she had to taste him.
Her tongue peeked from her lips and she licked him. And she couldn’t stop licking him. The taste of his flesh against her tongue was even richer, hotter than it had been against her lips.
His fingers tightened in her hair. A burning pleasure to add to the burning pleasure of his taste. His hard body flexed, one hand left her hair to lift her closer, the other forced her head back, and his lips swallowed her protesting moan, until the taste of his kiss sank into her senses. The feel of it washed through her mind. His lips were like rough velvet, heated and exciting. They rasped over hers, caressed and sent shards of hunger spiking inside her.
When she thought she could stand the gentle rubbing of his lips against hers no longer, that she would die from the need for more, deeper and harder, he gave it to her.
His hand clasped the back of her head as he pulled her to his lap, lifted her into his embrace, and devoured her. With lips, teeth, and tongue, he nipped, licked, then slanted his lips over hers and buried his kiss into her.
Sensations—pleasure, hunger, and need—whipped through her system, attacked nerve endings, drawing them too close to the skin, making them too sensitive. She could feel every breath of air against her flesh, every touch of his hands, every separate sensation of his kiss. His tongue stroking her, his lips moving over hers, his groan meeting the mewling whisper of desire that fell from her lips.
Her hands were in his hair, fisted in it, holding him to her. If she could just keep his lips on hers, hold back reality for just a little longer, then she could find a way to be strong again.
Because she was definitely weak right now. Lost in his touch, melting against his chest and arching closer to him. Nothing mattered but this. His kiss feeding the hunger inside her.