The Australian (Crime Royalty Romance Book 2) (19 page)

Was
need
a manifestation of vulnerability, or strength? I could not be sure.

I didn’t say a word. Instead, I let him kiss my mouth softly, tenderly, tasting. He pulled back, rubbing the back of my neck, rocking us a little on the spot, resting his forehead on mine.

“Why don’t you let me show you how much you need me?” He kissed me again, softly, joining our tongues, holding them together before releasing me.

I inhaled deeply, his man scent, his taste, and tried not to let my clitoris engorge, because I did not
want
to need him—not if I couldn’t have him. And I couldn’t have him because I needed to protect him.

But maybe . . . His hands roamed down my back and ventured under my dress, cupping my bare bottom, squeezing gently, his eyelashes brushing my cheeks. Maybe I could have him for just one more night. Besides, my clitoris was already swollen, throbbing, and I involuntarily pressed my chest against his, seeking stimulation of my tight nipples.

“Mmm,” he murmured, lifting my dress up and over my head. I let him. He helped me step out of my thong.

Slowly, he trailed his rough hands all over my naked body like he was smoothing clay . . . my breasts, my shoulders . . . he kneeled, molding my stomach, my legs. He tugged me toward him as he sat down on the low lounge chair, hands running everywhere, high above him to grasp my heavy breasts. “You see,” he murmured, hot on my mons. He licked the outside top, and I shuddered as he ran a finger over my clitoris.

He brought his other hand down and pulled me right onto his face. My legs were spread; I was straddling his mouth and I gasped as his tongue licked my clitoris, sending an illicit spray of pleasure up my vagina, spreading across my pelvic area, and into my spine, which arched.

Without a shred of shyness or hesitation, I rubbed my clitoris on his tongue as he held my hips on his face. He was saying things . . . “taste” and “lick you” and “juicy” between fast flicks and licks, which I could barely hear. I could barely see. I could barely stand. I was moaning softly, my voice mingling into the sounds of the rainforest, as I rubbed myself all over his mouth, and I wondered whether nature had intended a woman to mate quite like this, and decided no, vaguely, in a mist of erotic bliss, shivering with the knowledge, feeling,
experiencing
, just how base and needy and hungry a sexual animal man is—

My clitoris peaked, and I shook on the spot, lost in the sparkly bright lights shooting all around my body, tensing at the titillation of every single, last nerve ending.

It was too short. And I whimpered in agonized bliss.

Glancing down, I caught my breath. He was staring up me, rubbing his penis through his jeans, talking about how fast I came and wondering did I need more. The expression on his face was one I made a note to remember, always. He stood up slowly, and kissed me quick and hard like a thief, while he unzipped his pants. I backed up, not sure why—instinct, fear?—and he followed me, unblinking, stepping out of his pants, and grabbed me quickly, spinning me around, and forcefully bending me over. In a flash his face was down there again, and I pulled away, protesting, at having his face and nose squished up in my buttocks, but he manhandled me back, forcing his tongue back in and up, and back in and up. My face was flush with shock, my heart beating loud from exhilaration . . . and arousal.

So base.

Man is so base.

I heard the tearing of a condom wrapper, felt the jungle breeze during the momentary absence of touch.

When he stood up, his large warm body spooned mine. He pressed me forward and down against the railing, petting my hair, grasping my breast, while moving his penis around my wet slit, asking with each circle, “How does that feel?” He hummed in my ear. “You like that?”

“Yes,” I gasped, the inside of my vagina walls ached deep with need. The pleasure I had felt in my clitoral climax had only whetted my appetite.

“You want me in you, Charlie?” He sucked my earlobe.

“Yes,” I uttered.

“You
need
me in you, Charlie?”

Oh.

So that’s what need feels like.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Hm?”

“Yes, please” I added louder.

“Good-oh, because I
need
to be in you,” he hissed.

I felt him press the tip of his head inside my hole, stretching it, and I clenched up, a memory of pain. He curled back over, whispering in my ear, “That won’t help.” I tried to relax. He pulled the tip out and pushed it back in a few inches deeper, and pulled it out and pushed himself in a few more inches, and out and in, deeper, stretching me wider, wider, wider. He held my hips in place each time I stumbled and pulled away, unsure I could take much more of the sensations he was creating. He kept breathing out, slow and loud as if to calm himself.

I was captive and limp from the erotic spasms I felt just gripping his penis as it slowly filled me up. I pressed a hand back against his thigh, as though I could stop him. Just when I could not imagine any more room, his thighs rubbed against mine, and he curled over me. “Howzat,” he choked out, an arm wrapped around my waist and another gripping my shoulder.

“Feels good,” I gasped.

“Mmm,” he groaned, pulling out halfway, then pushing back in, causing me to make a very loud noise from the pleasurable pressure inside my vagina. He moaned out, too, and said, “You like it, feels good, right?” and realizing he was waiting for an answer, I replied, “Yes. Please. More.”

“You need more?”

“Yes!”

He stroked in and out slowly, and again, my vagina walls created deep friction, and my knees trembled from the overwhelming . . . heavy . . . asphyxiating peaking . . . release, peak, release, peak . . . He was building up speed in an exulted frenzy, so much so that with his increasingly powerful thrusts, even the sharp tender pain I felt deep inside was just a sacrifice in the greedy, lustful naked dance . . . him taking more only as he gave more . . . his growling moans reassuring me I was giving too, and I felt I was going to orgasm—

He stopped, sucking in his breath.

Desperate, I whined, and moved my own hips on his shaft, but he held me in place and hissed, “Don’t move.”

We stood, heaving for air, still, him inside me. I was confused. Frustrated. He let his breath out in a low whistle, then leaned over, laughing a little, grabbing my breasts, his full body weight pressing me into the railing. “You’re so fucking sweet I can’t control myself.”

Oh.

I tried to be sympathetic; however, I was deeply annoyed. “But I was about to orgasm,” I gasped. I wanted to instruct him he needed to start over, but all that came out was “Please. Hard. Fast.”

He sucked in air, growled, and then pounded into me. I had to hold onto the railing for support from our violent desire, picking right up where he led me in the hunt, and I moaned, even as I heard him groaning and grunting louder, as if in pain. My face was rubbing hard against the cement railing as I embraced all that he had to give me, whispering in my ear the whole time how “sweet my cunt is.” I came in a burst of blinding light, soaring high into a vertical white tunnel. I stayed up there for as long as I possibly could before crashing back down.

He was completely supporting my body, and struggling to do so. I stood on my own tingling feet, regaining my senses. He backed out of me (he had apparently come while I was in the vortex), holding me close to him.

I turned around and our wet bodies slipped against each another, the coolness just now hitting my skin, before he hugged me to him, burying me in his warm chest, squeezing me tight to him. I embraced him back and ran my hands over his lean muscles, marveling at how this hug was different than any other hug I had experienced. I felt the scar tissue on his back, but before I could ask he let me go, kissed my mouth, and led me back into the room. Letting go of my hand, he headed to the washroom to discard the condom.

I climbed onto the bed and under the top sheet, exhausted, too exhausted to clean my own wetness. I was physically and emotionally satisfied.

And yet, I could not associate with the events that had just taken place.

That was me. And I had had coitus—

No, I had made love, with Jace again. I played with his first name in my head. Jace.

Jace had been inside my body. Jace liked my “sweet cunt.”

Jace appeared from the bathroom and climbed under the covers on his side. We shifted in close, he wrapped an arm around me, and there, we stared at each other, smiling.

He was the most astonishing, extraordinary human being. All his imperfections, his scars, his need to control, his lies, were somehow assembled in such a way, to me, that made imperfect sense. He was a logical disaster.

Sweat glistened through his short hair, his skin so golden against mine, his dark eyebrows flat lines over his deep, dark caves. And I was curled up inside them, safe from the outside world. Where I belonged.

We did not say a word, though I almost broke the trance by announcing my discovery.

Some time passed, then he leaned in and kissed my lips softly.

“You scare me, Charlie,” he said quietly.

My eyebrows knitted together, and the speed with which I was thrown from his cave upset me.

“How you make me feel, I mean,” he clarified.

Oh. Was he feeling what I was feeling? Why did that scare him?

“Should I be scared, too?”

He smiled fully. Two of his bottom teeth overlapped slightly, another charming imperfection.

“No, Charlie. Never.”

I glanced at his lips, their amusement fading. And I felt him will me to kiss them, and I did, softly, because I could, and I realized I had longed to take such a liberty since the moment I met him. And then I realized how good I am at denying myself desires.

When I was done, I asked, “How did you know we would . . . make love?”

“What do you mean?”

“When you came out onto the patio with a condom. Surely you do not just
happen
to have condoms in your pockets?”

The smile slid from his face, and my heart thudded. Perhaps I should not have asked.

“Because I knew I was going to fuck you.” He held my eyes without blinking. My heart skipped a beat and then fired twice before resuming a rhythm.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” he challenged me, no doubt seeing the confusion I felt level my face.

“About what?” I whispered.

“You needing me. You just needed me to show you.”

The music in the living room blasted suddenly and Jace jolted. Dread further smeared my perspective. Had he . . . seduced me, then? Is that what seduction is?

Jace leaned back and rubbed his face.

“Fuckin’ wankers,” he grumbled.

I agreed; however, I said nothing, not wanting a repeat of my last comment regarding his associates. Moreover, I was reeling yet from his admission.

Was my desire for him a weakness? Did he use it against me?

No, I decided. He hadn’t used it against me. I had wanted him.

But . . . he
could
have. So did that mean one must protect one’s desires from the person who evokes them? That seemed counterintuitive.

“I’ve got to go back out.” He sighed, frowning. “Make sure Bennie isn’t fuckin’ making a mess of things.”

I leaned up, sitting up fully. His hand rested on my back, a message not to leave the bed, perhaps. I did not intend to. However, while I did not want to get involved with his dealings with these people . . . I could not let Jace walk into possible trouble.

“Jace, there is something I need to tell you, about . . . your associates.” I spoke low and quiet.

He sat up, and I twisted around, tucking my heels beside me, holding the sheet in place to face him.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” He appeared . . . closed off.

“I overheard Mr. Bennett and Mr. Carlisle talking yesterday, by accident, while you were taking a shower.”

His brow raised, and I sensed an openness from him again.

“Oh yeah?” He rubbed his face with his hand, appearing more annoyed than concerned—I think. “What did you hear?”

“They discussed whether or not you were going to do something. They never said what, only that they had set up Dmitry’s arrival to test you in some fashion they did not explain.”

I watched him intently, rather concerned about the impact this knowledge would have on him, as I had been greatly torn about complicating matters. He gave me a reassuring smile.

“Not to worry, love. Bennie’s pissed off I had my own agenda to solve a big problem I’ve got with—”

“Mr. Knight, I mean Jace—” I cleared my throat “—I would really rather not know the details . . . any details at all, if that is okay with you.”

He stared at me, silent.

He wasn’t looking
into
my eyes anymore. I focused on the desk against the wall, behind him, and on a rather large spider crawling up the wall in the soft glow of the lamp. I ruled out the possibility it might be venomous based on the information I had read in
Dangerous Creatures of Australia
prior to my departure.

“Alright, Charlie. No details.”

His tone was off—I glanced at him, surprised he was watching me—but I could not determine how. I felt as though he was . . . oh I don’t know! I almost didn’t tell him the rest. “There’s something else you should know.”

After a peculiar delay, he, scoffed, and said, “Well, aren’t you the little spy.”

He was ready to tease me further, but then taking in my reaction, his eyes bore into mine.

“I wasn’t spying. It was accidental,” I protested quickly. When his eyes narrowed I added, “I can’t help it if I speak Russian!”

His mouth popped open. “You speak Russian?”

“Not well. However, yes, I taught myself in addition to . . .” He kept staring at me, skeptical, and it hurt like a toothache, so I did not add that I had also taught myself Mandarin and Arabic. “I was bored in school, and unable to afford any extracurricular activities; I borrowed the materials from the local library. I wished to advance myself in any way possible.”

I watched yet more darkness wash over his face, eerie like a pending tornado sky. His shoulders had stiffened.