Hidden Embers (6 page)

Strangely parched, she darted her tongue out to lick her suddenly dry lips. As she did, he took advantage and slipped the lime partially into her mouth, while at the same time taking one last, leisurely lick down her arm.

Then he grabbed his shot of Patrón. Slammed it back. She watched his strong throat work as he swallowed, right before he leaned forward and closed his mouth over hers.

He bit down hard on the lime she still had clenched in her teeth and Jasmine gasped as its sour-sweet juice shot straight into her mouth. That gasp was all he needed. With a couple quick flicks of his hand, he had the lime peel out of her mouth and into his discarded shot glass—right before his mouth slanted over hers for a second time.

Nothing in her life had ever felt quite so right—or so dangerous.

She told herself to pull back even as she pressed her body to his.

Told herself that they were in the middle of a bar filled with people even as her fingers tangled in all that long, silky hair.

Told herself that she didn’t engage in public displays of affection even as she slid off her barstool and pressed herself between his legs.

Told herself…nothing as he sucked her lower lip between his teeth and bit down softly. She simply imploded.

Her hands tightened in his hair and her mouth came alive beneath his. She opened herself fully to him, gasping when his tongue darted inside her. For long moments, it tangled with her own—teasing, taunting, titillating—but then he stroked deeper. Ran his tongue over the roof of her mouth, down her cheek, between her upper lip and her teeth, where he played with her frenulum until she was utterly boneless. Utterly his.

How could she have made it through four years of medical school, and six as a doctor—thirty-two as a woman—and not know how sensitive that small bit of skin could be, she wondered. And then she ceased to think at all as he slid a hand up her cheek and around to the back of her head, pulling her closer. Pulling her under.

It was a long time before she surfaced.

CHAPTER FIVE

T
he second Quinn tasted Jazz, he was lost. Lust rose within him, sharp and terrible and all-consuming. It raked its talons through his belly, its heat down his dick. Got in his head and demanded that he take her. That he fuck her, again and again, until she couldn’t remember her own name. Until he couldn’t remember the laundry list of misery that had sent him here.

For a second—just a second—common sense tried to intrude. He slapped it back, ignored it. There would be time for everything else later—time for his anger and his pain. Time for his worry and his desperation. Right now all he wanted to think about—all he could think about—was
her.

She nipped at him, her teeth almost drawing blood. And still he kissed her, reveling in the pain. Unwilling to give up her lips, to break the strange connection between them when the beast inside of him roared, knowing she was his for the taking.

She burrowed deeper against him, and it sent him over the edge, had him doing wild, crazy things to her mouth as he savored every gasp and moan that escaped her mouth into his.

Her fingers clamped onto his shoulders, her nails digging into his upper back. The small, sharp pain took him higher—even as it cleared his head for a moment, let him think. That moment was all it took for him to remember that they were all but eating each other alive in the middle of a crowded bar. And while the animal in him was more than willing to take her right there, in front of everyone—to claim her for all to see—the man was more cautious.

And more determined that no one see her naked but him.

Wrenching his mouth from hers, Quinn yanked out his wallet. He dropped a couple of hundred dollar bills on the counter before reaching into the well for the bottle of Patrón the bartender had parked there.

The bartender didn’t even try to stop him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he growled, low in his throat.

Jazz nodded mutely, and he grabbed her left hand with his empty one and started cutting a path through the bodies to the front door. It only took a second, as most of the people in the place took one look at his face and got the hell out of his way. He wasn’t surprised. He was so frenzied with need that he figured everyone could see it.

He didn’t give a damn, would even admit to basking in the knowledge, because it told every man in the bar that she was his. That she belonged to him and that he’d kill anyone who tried to take her from him.

The last thought came from his beast, and it brought him up short. What the hell was going on? Neither he nor the dragon had ever been possessive of a would-be lover before, but as he glanced back and looked at Jazz—with her swollen lips and bright eyes, her messed-up hair and rosy cheeks—both of them wanted to rip apart every man who saw her and wanted her.

Which was absurd, especially since he was the one who had deliberately brought her to such a state in a public place.

He held her hand more tightly, pulling her closer to his body as he shoved open the front door. The cool night air hit him like a freight train, need ripping through him until his human side took a backseat to the dragon that had been aching to get out from the moment it first scented her.

Quinn tried to hold on, tried to tell himself that it was dangerous to take her without reining in the dragon first, but he was too far out of control to care. His body wasn’t concerned with who was in the driver’s seat—all that mattered was getting inside her as quickly as he possibly could.

He glanced around wildly, wondering where her car was, and if the shadows of the parking lot would provide them with enough privacy for him to do all the things he wanted to do to her. Or he could drag her around to the back of the bar, yank her pants down and take her up against the wall. He was about to go with option number two when his eyes fell on a motel, a couple of hundred yards across the parking lot. He pulled her toward it.

“Wait!” she said, breathlessly, trying to dig her feet into the ground. “My car.”

“It’ll be safe here until morning.” The words came out deep and dangerous, so distorted that they barely sounded human. The dragon was even more firmly in control than he’d thought.

“It has a flat tire, remember? I’m waiting for the tow truck to show up.”

Quinn nearly roared in frustration. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this—couldn’t remember if he’d
ever
felt like this—and she didn’t seem anywhere near as affected as he was. He could barely remember his own name, and she was worried about a stupid tow truck.

His dragon sliced at him with its razored claws, telling him to hurry. Warning him that he didn’t have much time before he lost the human side of himself altogether. Already, he was so frenzied he could feel the change beginning to take hold, the familiar burn that was the precursor to the shift. And wouldn’t that put a crimp in his plans? Changing into a dragon right now was definitely not the way to go—unless of course he wanted to scare the hell out of her instead of fuck her near to death.

No, scaring her was definitely not on the agenda.

But how could he convince her not to worry about the tow truck?

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally growled, tugging at her arm until she started walking again. “I’ll change your tire tomorrow morning.” Had the damn motel always been this far away?

“You’re just saying that,” she answered breathlessly, as he propelled her across the parking lot so quickly that her feet barely touched the ground.

He shot her a look loaded with heat, which filled him to over-flowing. “I’d say just about anything to get inside you right now, but I swear, I’ll change the damn tire. After.”

That seemed to be all the reassurance she needed because suddenly their frenetic dash across the parking lot was more about her pulling him than the other way around.

“Hurry,” she gasped, waving him toward the front office as they finally made it to the motel. Then she rested her back against the closest wall as if it were the only thing keeping her standing.

The dragon and the man both seethed with excitement. She looked so damn hot leaning there, hair mussed, lips swollen, nipples tight and hard against the fabric of her little cotton tank that he almost said to hell with the hotel room—and common decency—and took her right there.

His dragon flooded him with approval at the thought.
Yes,
it seemed to say as it had back at the bar.
Take her here, now, in front of anyone who walks by, so they know she’s yours.
He’d actually taken a step toward her before he could get his head back in the game, and even then it took every ounce of self-control he had to turn around and walk toward the office, away from her.

His beast didn’t want to go. It snarled and clawed and snapped at him more and more frantically the farther he got from her. He tried to ignore it, but it wasn’t easy—not when his hands were shaking like a junkie in desperate need of a fix.

Shocked at himself—at his behavior and his need—Quinn tried to regain a little control. But he couldn’t—there was a red haze in front of his eyes and all he could think or feel or smell or taste was
her
.

Ripping out his wallet, he slapped a credit card down on the counter and growled, “I need a room. Now.”

Perhaps it was Quinn’s urgent tone—or maybe the clerk was just used to people coming over from the bar in a hell of a hurry—because he didn’t say a word, didn’t bother asking any questions. Just took the platinum card, ran it, and handed Quinn a key.

“It’s number twenty-seven. At the top of the staircase to your left.”

“Thanks.”

Then he was outside, his entire body stretched as taut as a violin string. His dick ached from being locked inside his jeans—from being so incredibly aroused for so long—and all he could think about was the relief of plunging into Jazz’s warm, willing body.

“Come on,” he snapped, bent on hustling her up the stairs. But she was way ahead of him, her long legs taking the steps two at a time. He followed her, the tequila bottle still clutched in his hand, and imagined what she would taste like drenched in the spicy alcohol.

As he fumbled the key into the lock, he made a promise to himself that he would find out. Later.

After what seemed like an eternity, the lock turned and he shoved the door open. He kicked it closed with his foot, started to reach for her. But she was already on him, her arms wrapping around his neck as her mouth slammed down on his.

Jasmine was on fire, her entire body a conflagration of need and want and give-me-more as she launched herself at Quinn. He caught her—as she’d somehow known he would—and started backing her across the room while his mouth raced frantically over her face.

Over her forehead, down her cheeks, across her jaw before his lips finally found hers. When they did…when they did, her knees buckled and she had to twist her fingers in the soft cotton of his T-shirt to keep from falling. He was so intent on devouring her that she doubted he’d even noticed.

“I need to be inside you,” he growled against her mouth, his hands slipping beneath her tank top to cup her breasts. They were full, aching, her nipples so tight it was a physical pain, and when his thumb brushed against them she didn’t know whether to scream in frustration or whimper with delight.

She did both, letting out a little squeal that was as foreign to her as one-night stands in ratty motel rooms. The sound seemed to push him over the edge because suddenly her pants were around her knees and he had two long fingers buried inside her.

She did scream then, the sensation of being full with him almost more than she could bear.

“I’m sorry,” he snarled, as he spun her around so that her ass rested against his upper thighs. “I can’t go slow. I’ll make it up to you next time.”

“Just do it,” she whimpered, fumbling for her purse. Whipping out a condom, she all but threw it at him before steadying her hands on the dresser and bending at the waist in open invitation.

There was one long second of silence, one long moment of agony, while he sheathed himself and then he was there, between her legs. Blunt and hard and so big and thick that her eyes nearly crossed as he probed gently at the opening of her sex.

She expected him to be rough, hurried, expected it to even hurt a little at first, and braced herself for it. It had been a long time since her last lover, after all. But now that he was so close, he didn’t rush. Instead, he leaned forward until his lips were right next to her ear and whispered, “You’re so beautiful. So goddamn beautiful.” He ran his hand down her cheek.

The words, combined with the feel of his cock right against the heart of her, ratcheted Jasmine’s need to a fever pitch. “Please,” she begged. “I need—I need—”

“What?” he demanded, thrusting forward just a little, until he was buried about halfway inside her.

It wasn’t enough.

“I need
you
!” she wailed, thrusting back against him in utter desperation.

He broke. She didn’t know if it was her words or the feel of her pushing against him, but Quinn’s control snapped like a fragile spring twig.

He slammed into her, so hard that he rocketed her up onto her toes. She was wet and hot and more than ready for him, so there was no pain—only pleasure so intense that she climaxed right there, with the first stroke of his cock deep inside her.

“Fuck!” he growled, his fingers digging into her hips as he held her in place. Again, she expected him to pound into her, was even anticipating it, but he held her—and himself—still. As if he were absorbing every clench and contraction of her body on his.

As if he were somehow absorbing her very pleasure into himself.

And then he began to move, slow, long, powerful strokes that had her clutching at the dresser as the fire reignited deep inside her. Soon—too soon—she was on the brink of coming again. But she didn’t want to go over alone this time, didn’t want to lose herself in the ecstasy without him.

Tightening her inner muscles in a long, slow caress, she tried to take him as high as he had taken her. He groaned, thrusting harder, so she did it again. And again. And again.