The Virgin's Revenge (23 page)

Kinda
. “No,” she said slowly, drawing out the word as she rolled onto her back and found him there, holding his head up on his hand. His smile was soft, like the kiss he placed on her lips. Then her chin. Her neck. He kept going, nipping and nibbling along the line of her neck, laving teasingly at the hollow of her throat. Even better, he’d abandoned the gem to caress her breast, his thumb already teasing the tip.

You are so much better at this than you are in my head.

His chuckle told her she’d accidentally said the words out loud.

“Do I do this in your head?” He rolled her nipple between his fingertips, plucking at it gently.

“Yes,” she murmured, watching him move under the sheet.

“Hmmm.” He pushed the sheet down, baring her to the open light, continuing to stroke and plump her breast. “How about this?”

He lowered his mouth, licking it, curling his tongue around the tip, then blowing across the wet surface.

“Yes…” She just barely got the word out, lifting herself toward his mouth for more.

“Hmmm, you seem to know me pretty well. But did I ever do this?” That tempting hand snaked down her body, searching out the curls at the juncture of her thighs, shamelessly dipping them to cup her as if he owned her wet folds.

Maybe he did. Her legs opened for him and she moaned. The faintest soreness inside remained, but it faded as the slickness increased. He rubbed along her entrance, at the same time grazing his lips over hers, mimicking the motion. She opened her mouth for him, anticipating his kiss. He gave her what she silently demanded, taking her mouth deeply as the same time his finger thrust inside. She was torn between gasping and groaning, her senses buzzing, her body arching hard.

She spiraled, her body thrashing as his commanding strokes gave her no choice but to coil tighter, following the elusive path to her release. He added another finger, stretching her gently.

“Oh, God!” She gasped, reaching for his shoulder even as his mouth descended to her nipple, sucking hard. So aggressive, so…demanding. He switched breasts, doing that flicking thing with his fingers and his tongue at the same time. She reached up for the headboard, her hands finding purchase on the curving brass bars.

“Do I make you come in your imagination, Amanda?”

“Yes!” she cried, hanging on for dear life now.

“Every time?”

“Yes!”

“Do you touch yourself and think of me?”

Oh, he was going to make her beg, wasn’t he?

“Because I think of you.” His breath tickled her ear now. He pried one of her hands from the bar and pulled it down to the rock-hard length of his cock, fitting her hand around it. “Touch
me
this time, Amanda.”

Her eyes snapped open, and her hand flexed around him. So hard and hot. He kept his hand around hers, silently showing her how to hold him. How to stroke, pumping it down, then up over the damp head. Over and over, she gripped him, sliding as he showed her, until he took his hand away, sitting up and letting his head fall back in total abandon.

She stared at him, this beautiful man in her bed, his arousal slipping through her fingers. Masculine eroticism suddenly made so much more sense, she decided, staring shamelessly at the muscles of his belly and chest.

She’d read so many books, knew so many things she wanted to experience. More than any of them, though, she wanted to taste him. Before she could talk herself out of it, she levered her body around and brought him to her lips.

He swore, the words hot and virulent, his body jolting at the first slow swipe of her tongue over the head. Again when she fit him to her lips and took him inside her mouth.

Both his hands buried themselves in her hair, pulling her closer to take as much of him into her mouth as she could. She wanted to remember all the things she’d ever read about this, but none of that knowledge came to mind. She sucked, her cheeks hollowing around him, pulling her head backward before he led her forward again. At first, it was all she could do to hold him within, but as she grew used to it, finding a rhythm all her own, she licked at the underside of his flesh.

Even better, she wasn’t the one doing the moaning anymore. It took no effort at all to push him onto his back and simply feast her senses on him. Licking his length from base to tip made him growl and the hand in her hair tighten. Wrapping her hand around the base to steady him and pumping him slowly while sucking just the tip practically made him sob.

“What the hell have you been reading?” he suddenly demanded, watching her with a deep scowl.

“You want me to stop?”

“Hell no, I want to get you more—
shit
!”

Okay, so a lick along his sac really worked. Thank you, shape-shifter romances!

“Condom,” he growled, pulling her hair a little to keep her from trying it again. “Now.”

“I think I like it when you get pushy.” She ignored the faint sting on her scalp to swirl her tongue over the top again. “It’s so much fun to ignore you.”

“Amanda!”

She laughed, licking her lips as she went to the drawer for another packet. She opened it, determined to do it herself this time. Finally, a lesson Cole could teach her himself. He seemed to realize her intent because he didn’t take the latex ring, instead using his hands to show her how to fit it over him, securing the tip with just enough room before rolling the rest down his shaft. Then, just to make him crazy, she took him into her mouth one last time.

It worked.

Next thing she knew, he yanked her over him, one hand grasping his cock, the other gripping her rear, guiding her to line up with him. Then suddenly, he was pushing her down, seating her until she was completely full of him.

She smiled down, delighted at the feel of his thickness within her.

“I had a feeling you’d like this,” he said, hands firmly gripping her hips. Very carefully, he nudged her into a rolling motion. Circling, stirring him within her. A few rotations and she didn’t need his instruction. She took over, lifting herself tentatively as she found her way.

Cole seemed determined to let her lead, almost as if it freed him to explore her in the soft light of morning. His hands traced the lengths of her arms, smoothing down her chest to claim her breasts. He squeezed, almost too hard, but the bite of it fired her blood. She rode him faster, rocking farther before suddenly he was there, curling up to kiss her. To guide her wild movements.

“Hands on my shoulders,” he rasped, reclining back and bringing her with him until she was stretched out across him. His arms wrapped around her, clasping her tight to his chest, her legs folded on either side of him, his cock still half buried within her. “Now whatever happens, keep them there.”

“What’s going to happen?” she asked, breathless already.

But then his mouth curved with so much wicked, she knew breathlessness was only the beginning.

His hips lifted, burying him full length again and making her gasp. “If you feel like screaming again?” he whispered against her lips.

“Uh-huh.” It was all she could manage, poured over him and so excited she could barely breathe.

“Go right ahead.” Then he
moved
, pounding into her from below and screaming was the last thing on her mind. By the time the blinding orgasm hit, she was sure she had no mind at all.

Cole wiped at the steamed mirror until he could see his reflection. Of course, the dumb son of a bitch in the mirror was smiling at him. What he should be doing was worrying how he was going to handle Amanda’s planned break-up once he finished dressing again.

He’d known, of course, when he came over the night before, that it was time to end this crazy game. He hadn’t wanted to, but he knew that gleam in Amanda’s eye. Every time she looked at him, she was hungrier. And damn it, so was he.

Some days, he could almost forget that Locke had set this all in motion with his ridiculous declaration and even stupider gamble. But once he thought that, he had to remember why the other man had thought it was the only choice.
Because until all this started, Amanda was settling.

Settling for a life without the love she wanted. The love she deserved. Settling for lowered expectations and lesser dreams. She’d pushed her way out of the Jackman home, but she hadn’t gone far. Hadn’t pushed for more from herself. Locke was right about that. The problem had never been her ability. It was her confidence.

Confidence she glowed with now.

Did she have any idea how much she’d changed in the last couple of months? She was reaching out to people she’d only acknowledged in a peripheral way before. Learning from them. Sharing with them. She didn’t need Cole for hardly any of it. Once he’d suggested another way, she’d taken it and run. She didn’t need him. Never had.

But he’d needed her. And had never known.

If he walked out there, joined her in the kitchen maybe, would she go through with her hit-it-and-quit-it plan? Who would have thought that being put out of her life would be the worst punishment he could think of?

He shook his head. Last night hadn’t been about anyone’s plan. It wasn’t about Locke, and it sure as hell hadn’t been about some command to marry her. Not for either of them. She still cared about him, even if she did mean to call it off. He’d felt it in her touch, in the way she looked at him. He had to believe in that, no matter what happened next.

Not seeing any point in dragging his heels any longer, Cole opened the bathroom door and headed down the hall in just his jeans. He could have sworn he’d brought his shirt with him when Amanda had lured him to the shower.

He scrubbed his face, amusement and awe rolling together at the memory of that. The way she’d practically danced, wrapped in the bed sheet, her hair bouncing around her face. He’d remember her smile, her eyes alight with happiness, for the rest of his life.

But, Lord, the things that woman wanted to try!

He could still hear her rambunctious laughter when he’d said, “You want to put that
where
?”

Kinky little virgin.

He padded barefoot down the hall toward the kitchen, his stomach rumbling. Did she have any of that lasagna le—

Amanda stood in front of the open fridge, leaning down to peer inside, her long, long legs bare, his thin black White Stripes T-shirt draping over her, the collar falling over one shoulder. If he had stretched that shirt just one inch less, he’d be seeing heaven right now.

She must have sensed him staring because she turned and smiled.

Relief lifted the dread weight from his shoulders. She didn’t look like a woman preparing to throw him out of her house and her life.

She closed the fridge and came his way, her eyes growing sleepy and sensual. Her kiss-puffy lips were already pursing to say his name.

“Hey, Mandy, I hope you have—”

Cole looked over at the open front door, Amanda’s head practically swiveling as she gasped. Already inside, his big hand still on the knob, Locke froze at the sight of them.

Time stood still, almost endlessly, as Locke looked from his sister to Cole, Cole’s chest to Amanda’s legs. And yet, Cole knew it took less than a second for the shock in Locke’s eyes turn into absolute rage.

“Locke,” Amanda began, but her brother was already moving forward, hands knotted into fists. She tried to move in front of him, but Cole could see where that was going in a hurry. He put his arm out, pushing her back, which unfortunately left him wide open for Locke’s right hand to slam the side of his face so hard he wasn’t sure he was seeing stars or the speed of light.

“You son of a bitch!” Locke picked him up—wait, was he on the ground or the table?—by his neck, and slammed him into the wall.

Maybe it was the light switch digging into his back or the sound of Amanda screaming at her brother registering faintly in his ears, or maybe it was just his desire to live suddenly asserting itself, but either way, Cole’s vision cleared, his own fists tightened and everything he’d ever thought he’d ignored about the elder twins’ training rushed back.

“Don’t think about it,” Dean would say, smacking a punching bag with his meaty hand. “Just keep your hands the way we showed you and pound the shit out of whatever’s trying to kill you.”

“It doesn’t have to be fancy,” Daniel had told him a thousand times. “Just get them off you and run your skinny ass out of there.”

Still, it was hard to say who was more surprised when he twisted in Locke’s grip and used his fists to rock Locke’s head over to one side and then to the other. The bigger man actually reared back and blinked. But it took Cole’s knee slamming into Locke’s midsection to get the behemoth to let him go. The reprieve was short. Locke simply grabbed him again and slammed him down face-first to the hardwood floor.

“I trusted you!” Locke hissed, his voice sounding almost strangled, probably from all those giant muscles flexing to pick Cole up just enough to slam him down again.

“I love her, man,” Cole managed, spitting the blood out of his mouth so Locke could hear what he was saying. “I
love
her.”

Locke rolled him over and in that second, Cole actually thought it was over. That Locke had heard him.

But the pissed-off Viking glaring down at him blew all that relief out of the water.

Or maybe that was just Locke’s fist when it plowed down and turned the whole world dark.

Yelling, hitting, pounding and even kicking Locke did nothing to tear his attention away from pummeling Cole into the wall. Desperate, Amanda looked around the kitchen for anything. Cast iron pan…no, that could kill him and it was too tempting to consider. Aluminum ones were in the oven.

The solid slam of Cole’s body into the ground made her jump, and the choice was made. She jumped for the glass flower vase on table.

“I love her, man.”

She stumbled, hugging the vase to her chest as the words spilled out of Cole along with the blood in his mouth.
Oh, God…

“I
love
her.”

Locke flipped Cole over like a dead fish and she thought—like Cole must have thought because he almost seemed to smile—that it was over. But then Locke’s fist snapped forward and Cole’s head snapped back.