Bayon/Jean-Baptiste (Bayou Heat) (18 page)

“I know.”

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right—”

“What are you doing, Miss Burel?” he said, placing his fork on his plate.

She shook her head, her eyes uneasy, taken aback by his gruff response. “What do you mean? I’m just talking—”

“Do you want me to go out and find a human? Really?”

She started chewing her lip. “I don’t understand what you’re—”

“Yes, you do. “ He leaned forward, his meal completely forgotten now. “Acting naive is almost as grating as believing you’ve been seduced.” His eyes narrowed on her gorgeous face and his voice lowered almost conspiratorially. “Tell me, Miss Burel. Can you continue to sit here, across from me and pretend there’s nothing going on? Nothing between us? Eat and drink and talk about our families and our history when all we want to do is answer the real questions on our minds?

She looked startled, and her cheeks flushed.

“What does she taste like?” he continued. “How would his arms feel around me? Would she like it slow and deep, or completely and totally out of control?”

“Oh my god,” she uttered hoarsely.

“I don’t think I can pretend, Miss Burel.” He stood up. “Never been any good at it.”

“Sit down and eat. Please.”

“No.”

“It’s getting cold.”

“I’m not hungry,” he growled.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment and whispered, “Neither am I.”

“Then what the fuck are we doing?” With a roar of lust-fueled ire, Jean-Baptiste swiped at the food on the table, sending it crashing to the ground. He heard Genevieve gasp, but all he wanted to do was get to her. He jumped onto the table, then leapt down on her side. His puma pacing inside his chest, he had her in his arms before she even had time to fully register what had happened.

“What
are
we doing?” she uttered, panic-stricken.

“Exactly what we both want.”

“I can’t…”

“You already are,” he returned, lifting her up, placing her on the table.

“I should go to bed,” she whimpered. “And we should forget this ever happened.”

“What you’re going to do, is keep your eyes open and brace yourself. After I take your mouth for a good long while, I'll be working my way down to all the bits and pieces you keep so tantalizingly and irritatingly covered."

Her eyes widened, but she whispered the only word that mattered to him in that moment. “Okay.”

“Don’t be afraid, Miss Burel. This won’t hurt a bit.” He ran his teeth over his lower lip, tugging at the silver hoops. “Unless you want it to.”

Chapter 5

Heat, tension and anticipation barreled though Genevieve as Jean-Baptiste tugged her to the very edge of the marble table, then splayed her legs with one of his powerful thighs. The table that had once held their dinner, she thought inanely— the dinner which was now somewhere on the floor. Maybe on the walls, too.

But did she care?

No, she did not.

He took up residence in the empty space between her legs, so big, so imposing, his hands plunging into her hair, and his gaze roaming over her with such predatory hunger she broke out in goose bumps. Clearly, this male was accustomed to taking what he wanted—no questions, no invitations—and Genevieve was stunned to realize just how sexy and irresistible she found that.

His nostrils flared as he breathed her in, and his fingers pressed into her scalp. He looked on the verge of attacking, and for one brief second, Genevieve swore she saw his puma push through his skin, saw his canines drop and his eyes flash gold.

But then his mouth covered hers, his body pressed against hers, and she forgot everything.

He feasted upon her like a starving male, his tongue plunging into her mouth, demanding a groan, a moan, a cry of his name, and she gave him all three. It was the most perfect, lusty, mind-blowing, sensual kiss she’d ever experienced, and she wanted more. So much more. Everything above and below her waist ran hot and suddenly frantic, and she curled her arms around his neck and clung to him as he took her mouth in kiss after kiss of perfect ocean waves; wet and pliant and drugging. She could feel the smooth metal of his lip piercings pressing into her skin, and it made her crazy with desire. She dropped her head back, forcing him to release her, just enough so she could run her tongue across the cool silver.

A sexual growl escaped Jean-Baptiste’s throat, and he tried to nip at her, lap at her tongue. But she wouldn’t allow it. She grinned wickedly, hungrily, and drove her fingers up into his dark hair, cupping his scalp. God, she felt out of her mind. Irrational. Uncaring about anything except this, him, her. Is this what lust was? The desperate need for another? Wanting him, needing him, as badly as you needed air or sunlight? Because truly, Genevieve had never wanted anything or anyone more in her life.

His eyes locked on her then, but her focus was entirely on those hoops. She’d thought about them so many times since they’d met. Now she was going to know.

Slowly, gently, she let her tongue probe inside the first ring. Then, just a hair inside the second. She heard him curse under his breath, felt his arms leave her hair and grip her hips. He yanked her closer, and she felt his cock pulse against the apex of her thighs. Her breathing turned ragged, and her mind went blank except for one thing, the one impulse she knew she couldn’t shake.

She curled her tongue around the silver rings and tugged.

It was as if she’d unleashed a wild animal. With that one simple movement, Jean-Baptiste’s face went from a sensual hunger to a mask of fierce, feline possessiveness. He glared at her. Snarled at her. Sweat broke on his brow, his eyes flashed burnt gold and he looked ready to attack.

Maybe she should’ve been scared. Or at least, cautious. But when she eased her tongue from the rings, she grinned.

“Lie back,” he growled at her. “Now.”

Her heart slamming against her ribs in a rhythm of total thrill and desire, she let him guide her; one arm under her shoulder blades, one pressing at her hip, until she was completely stretched out on the black marble dining table. The room was lit by soft electric lights, and the pale gold walls etched in black created an intimate, opulent, feel.

“Knees up, Miss Burel,” he commanded, his voice a rough snarl of desire.

Every inch of Genevieve was shaking. From fear, from the delicious unknown, from unbearable anticipation, from overwhelming need. Jean-Baptiste’s hands found the edges of her skirt and not so slowly, or so gently, pushed the fabric up all the way to her waist. Liquid heat pooled into Genevieve’s sex and trickled down her thigh. She knew he could see it, but she didn’t care. She felt no shame. Only a desire to move, to demonstrate how badly she wanted this—wanted him.

His eyes flashing gold, Jean-Baptiste found the waistband of her underwear and curled his fingers around it. Genevieve bit her lip and groaned.
Do it
, she urged him, arching her back, canting her hips.
Do it now before I lose my mind. Or my will
. But instead of pulling down the damp, pale blue silk, he grabbed hold of it with his teeth, and ripped them right off of her.

“Now this is what I was hungry for, Miss Burel.”

He eased her thighs even farther apart, then shouldered his way between them.

“So pretty,” he whispered. “So wet. I can see your clit pulsing, Miss Burel. It calls to me, begs me to take it in my mouth and suckle.”

The muscles inside Genevieve’s pussy clenched, and her nipples tightened beneath the soft fabric of her bra.

Jean-Baptiste dropped his head and strung kisses across her hipbones; slow, hot kisses, the silver hoops gently scraping against her flesh. Genevieve stilled, her breath little pants interspersed with swallows of saliva. She’d never been kissed there before, but she’d fantasized about it too many times to count. A male’s head between her legs, his fingers gripping her inner thighs almost to the point of pain as he slid his hot tongue through her wet folds.

“So pink and swollen,” Jean-Baptiste whispered, his fingers easing her lips apart, one brushing over the sensitive bud of her clit. “As your sex cries, rains down, down, into a true river of pleasure.”

“Oh, god,” she uttered, wanting to drag herself up, see what he was doing—watch him. But she just felt too dizzy, too heavy.

His breath…it was close…so close and warm against her pussy as he circled her clit gently with his finger.

“Please,” she moaned, begged, her hips lifting, straining for more, for everything.

“Soon, Miss Burel,” he whispered, his mouth so close now she could feel the cool edges of his lip piercing against her opening. “I just want to see how tight you are before I eat you.”

And with that, he drove his tongue up, so deep inside her pussy Genevieve cried out. Her hands tensed and her nails scratched against the marble at her back. She couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t slow herself. She writhed and pumped, the feeling so shockingly perfect, she believed in that moment that she might go mad if she didn’t have this—him—twenty-four hours a day for the rest of her life.

He eased out, lifted his head and locked eyes with her. “You, Miss Burel, are the sweetest, most tempting thing I’ve ever had on my tongue.”

She stared at him, panting, her entire body on fire, her hips thrust up in a silent plea. “Please don’t stop,” she whimpered.

He chuckled wickedly, his eyes so gold they looked on fire. “Oh, Miss Burel. I’m just getting started. It’s a feast I plan to savor.”

His head dropped then, and his tongue made one long sweep from her pussy straight up to her clit. Crying out softly, Genevieve closed her eyes, and gave up everything from her past and everything in her future to accept this incredible, perfect, pleasure-filled moment.

Her thighs trembled uncontrollably as he licked her, as he made slow circles around her tight, hot bud. She made sounds from somewhere otherworldly, deep in her chest, her throat. And when his lips closed around her clit, when he started to suckle, his head lifting and lowering rhythmically, stunningly, she came apart.

“Jean-Baptiste!” she called out, her head thrashing from side to side against the cool, hard marble. “Yes! Please, yes!”

A fearsome growl escaped his throat, and he forced her legs even wider apart, burying himself even deeper as he started flicking her clit with his tongue. Over and over, back and forth, so fast, she felt tears behind her eyes. She bit down on her lip to halt them, her head pounding, her heart slamming so hard inside her ribs she was sure they were getting bruised.

Everything inside of her, every pain, every hope, every secret burst like an emotional and physical dam, and she was nothing but raw lust and unapologetic need. As his tongue worked her, and his growls and groans intensified, Genevieve came. She came so hard she couldn’t breathe, pressing her mound against his mouth and rough chin as she writhed and convulsed, circling her hips, squeezing her muscles as she took wave after wave of orgasm.

Before she was even replete, before the breath held inside her lungs had a chance to escape, Jean-Baptiste lifted her boneless frame into his arms and stood. “I’m taking you to bed, Miss Burel.”

“Wait,” she said breathlessly, clinging to him.

“What is it?” His tone was rough and impatient and fierce. “I don’t think I have it in me to discuss or flirt. If I don’t fuck you this very instant, my cat will destroy my insides and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I’m not Miss Burel,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Not right now,” she said, her drowsy eyes opening to meet his blistering amber gaze. “Not tonight. Not when you’re inside of me. Do you understand?”

His nostrils flared and he nodded. “Genevieve,” he snarled hungrily as he headed for his bedroom. “Beautiful, provocative Genny.”

* * *

Jean-Baptiste stalked down the hall, removing as many pieces of clothing as he could. His. Hers. Fuck if he knew or cared. He just wanted them skin to skin as quickly as possible. He’d never felt this frantic, this desperate to connect, to feel, to know a female.

And it scared the shit out of him.

The lights were out in the bedroom, but the moon shone bride-white and brilliant through the open balcony windows. Enough for him to see her incredible face, her hungry eyes. And when his thighs hit the edge of the bed, when he gathered up the comforter, tossed it to the floor and laid her out on her back, her golden skin against stark white sheets, her exquisite body.