Razor's Edge Page 3

  “You’re so tight.” His voice was rough as sandpaper. His fingers withdrew to the tips, then thrust deep. Her quivering thighs lost their grip on his hips.

  Jack pulled free of her clinging pussy and cupped the backs of her legs, bending down to help her feet touch the floor. She fell back against the wall with her eyes closed, her palms pressed flat against the wainscoting, her breathing quick and shallow.

  He caught her face in his hands and kissed her, his mouth slanting across hers with a ferocity he hadn’t displayed earlier. Whatever resistance he’d felt before was gone, replaced by a sharply focused determination that made her heart race.

  She’d had it so wrong. There was no way she could have prepared for this. As his mouth moved along her cheek to her throat, suckling and nibbling the tender skin, she felt herself unraveling. All the stability and structure she’d forged for herself melted away beneath the scorching heat of Jack’s single-minded desire. There was no hesitation in his approach, no tentativeness in his touch, no caution in the command he exerted on her body.

  His hands moved from her jaw to her shoulders, then down her arms. As the liquid heat of his mouth surrounded a tightly puckered nipple, he gripped her rib cage in his hands and pulled her to him, arching her backward so that her breasts thrust toward him like a gift.

  Her eyes flew open, focusing on the shadowed ceiling above her. The feel of Jack’s tongue fluttering over her nipple was so exquisite, she thought she might orgasm. Her stomach quivered and her hips writhed. Her clit pulsed with need.

  “Suck me,” she begged, needing a quick release to take the biting edge off her lust.

  He did as she asked but not in the way she needed. Not fast and not gentle. Every slow, hard suck radiated downward, intensifying the hunger gripping her in an iron fist. The hot tugging at her breast was echoed in her womb, with sharp rhythmic contractions spurring her need to climax and driving her insane.

  “Faster.”

  His mouth moved across to the neglected nipple, his teeth scraping over the hardened crest, pausing at the tip to flicker his tongue across it.

  “Jack. Please.” Her head fell to the side, her flushed cheek pressing against the cool drywall. “More.”

  “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Soft and sweet. Too sweet to rush tasting them.”

  “They’re smaller than you like,” she gasped.

  His next suck was so strong it brought pleasure bordering on pain. She whimpered and dug her short fingernails into her palms. He drew hard on her again, then soothed the throbbing point with soft licks.

  “You’re what I like.” His hands moved in counterpoint to the recent fierceness of his mouth, his thumbs stroking tenderly across the crease beneath each breast, gentling her. Two sides of the same man—one careful and reverent, the other rough and wild. “Every inch of you.”

  Urging her back against the wall, his hands slid down past her waist to her hips, his knees bending as he moved lower. He kissed the moist spot between her breasts. “This inch.”

  His tongue followed his downward path, licking along the center of her stomach to dip his tongue in her navel. “And this one.”

  When he gripped her buttocks in each hand and pulled her hips forward, electricity raced across her skin. He nuzzled against her bare mound. “Definitely this one.”

  “Jack . . .” She didn’t know how she’d survive it if he put his mouth on her. She didn’t know how she’d survive if he didn’t.

  “Hold yourself open for me,” he ordered, his voice husky. “Let me see you.”

  Her gaze locked with his. Although he spoke with command, there was a softness to the way he looked at her that prevented shyness or second guessing. Inhaling deeply, she reached down and exposed her pussy . . . and so much more of herself than he could possibly know.

  five

  “Very pretty.”

  The admiration in Jack’s voice flowed through Rachel in a warm rush of pleasure. He blew a gentle stream of air over her and she whimpered.

  “And so sensitive,” he murmured. “Your clit is peeping out at me, greedy thing.”

  “Tease,” she accused.

  “Teases don’t deliver.” Licking his lips, he leaned in. “I’m going to make you come so hard the neighbors will hear you.”

  He paused for an endless second, making her wait. When she was about to scream, he stroked the flat of his tongue across her. Biting back a cry, Rachel fought to remain standing. Her hands shook as she kept herself spread for him, her knees threatening to buckle.

  “You better hold on to me,” he warned darkly, then he dove full force for the aching flesh between her thighs.

  Wielding the point of his tongue like a lash, Jack caught the tip of her distended clitoris and fluttered over it with lightning quickness. She climaxed with a low moan, the orgasm tearing through her senses with a force she never knew she could withstand. Her body was wracked by violent shudders, her toes curling painfully into the hardwood floor.

  And he didn’t let up. His grip on her ass tightened and he tongued her like a man possessed, his hungry growls throwing her headlong into a second climax directly on the heels of the first. Incited by his wildness, she caught his head by the sweat-dampened roots of his hair and rode his working mouth. She took what she needed, grinding against his wickedly skilled tongue. Shameless in her pleasure, she didn’t care who heard or saw her. The only thing that mattered was Jack and what he was doing to her.

  When the rush ebbed, it took all of her energy with it. She sagged into the wall, gasping for air and trembling.

  Jack stood and lifted her over his shoulder, then turned back toward the couch. When she regained the ability to speak, she was going to tell him again how hot his caveman tendencies were to her. Or maybe she’d just show him . . .

  He sat her down on the armrest of the couch and stepped between her knees. With a hand behind her head, he urged her backward, balancing her so that her torso hung suspended over the cushions.

  With no leverage whatsoever, Rachel could only accept what he gave her—the teasing glide of his tongue along the seam of her lips . . . the nip of his teeth at her jaw . . . the questing of his fingers as they parted her again and pushed through oversensitive tissues . . .

  “Jack.” Rachel caught him by the belt loops, arching helplessly into his grip.

  His fingers curved upward inside her, stroking, searching. She writhed, her abdominal muscles so tense they cramped. The anticipation was a torment all its own, as was the illicitness of their location. The couch was set in front of the sliding glass doors to take advantage of the ocean view. The slanting moonlight ended at the base of the sofa, only an inch or two away from the shadows where Jack fucked his fingers into her.

  “There.” His mouth curved wickedly as he tapped against her G-spot. “Let’s see what happens first: I make you come, or you get into my pants.”

  Rachel really wanted to win. She wanted to see what he looked like, what he felt like. But she was a mess. Emotionally. Physically. And he had a head start. As she fumbled to rip open his button fly, he pressed and rubbed with his roughened fingertips. Fingertips that were strong enough to hold his entire body weight while rock climbing, yet were achingly gentle with her.

  She’d barely freed his cock from the restrictive denim when the orgasm hit her. Moaning, she instinctively tried to pull away from the overload of sensation, but he held her immobile and made her take it. He leaned over her as she quaked, pressing his lips to her ear and crooning words she could barely hear over the rushing of blood in her ears. Let go . . . I have you . . . You’re safe with me . . . His hand thrust and twisted between her legs, the relentlessness so at odds with the gentle tone of his voice. It felt so much like a feral sort of claiming, a branding, a demand that she surrender to him completely.

  That
man will never accept anything less than one hundred percent of a woman’s soul, her much wiser mother-in-law once said. Rachel used to wonder what kind of woman would be strong enough to share so much of herself. Now, she knew. She went slack in his arms, embracing her newfound fortitude and turning herself over to the passionate side of Jack she’d fantasized about.

  “Rachel,” he murmured, the one word filled with an aching tenderness. His fingers left her.

  She exhaled audibly. “I want to feel you. Inside me.”

  “I don’t have any condoms.”

  “It’s okay. I got back on the pill two months ago, the day after you made plans to come out here.”

  His breath hissed out between his teeth.

  Rachel cupped his cheek. “You never stood a chance.”

  The kiss he gave her was fierce and passionate, relaying so much more than lust and desire. She clung to him, soaking up the flood of emotion from a man known for his reserve and austerity. This was why she could blossom for him, why she felt fearless and audacious. They were so much alike in that way, their still waters running deeper than most.

  Jack broke the kiss, breathing heavily. He moved her with unsteady hands, turning her so she draped bonelessly over the couch arm, her back to his front.

  She’d never felt more emotionally raw or physically vulnerable. When she heard the rustle of his jeans, her hands fisted beside her head. She stared sightlessly out the open patio door, feeling the cool evening air flowing over her damp skin. There was no longer any tension in her, no resistance, no aggression. When Jack cupped her inner thigh, she widened the spread of her legs of her own volition, needing a deeper physical connection to him.

  His hand stroked down her spine, then up again. “You okay?”

  Rachel gave a jerky nod.

  He brushed her sweat-soaked bangs away from her forehead and pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade. “Can you take more?”

  She reached behind her to cup the back of his thigh. Feeling the bunching of his jeans, she realized he’d only bothered to push them down just enough to gain the access he needed. The image of how they must look—she, drowsy and naked; he, tautly focused and partially dressed—sparked a renewed flare of desire. “Yes.”

  Jack straightened and a heartbeat later she felt the broad, plush head of his cock tuck into the clenching opening of her pussy. He was so hot and hard as steel. The feel of him made her bite her lip while the first slow push had her clawing at the white slipcover.

  “Easy.” He restrained her hips with a firm yet gentle grip. “Just relax. You’re nice and soft now. Let it happen.”

  He couldn’t know what he was asking of her. As the wide crown breached the tautly stretched entrance to her body, the intense feeling of possession was overwhelming.

  “Oh God . . .” she breathed, every nerve ending electrified by the leisurely thrusts with which he worked his cock into her.

  If she hadn’t been so languid, Rachel doubted she could have taken him. As it was, the stretching was so acute she swore she could feel every ridge and vein, every beat of his racing pulse. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced. She was grateful to be facing away from him, needing to shield the raw emotion she knew must be visible on her face. She couldn’t scare him away now. Not after this.

  Bending his knees, Jack pushed the final few inches inside her. She buried her face in the sofa cushion to muffle her plaintive moan. He was so thick and hard. Every shuddering breath she took made her feel how deep he was.

  She felt his tongue slide upward along her back, then a sharp possessive bite at her shoulder.

  “Rachel,” he whispered, reaching beneath her to cup her breasts in his large hands. Clutching her to his heaving chest, he began to move. Withdrawing partway, then gliding home. Being far too careful, as if she was breakable. Although she felt as if she might shatter, she didn’t want his restraint. Not when she’d started falling apart the moment he’d touched her.

  She threw her hips back at him. “Fuck me. Don’t play with me!”

  Jack stilled, which allowed her to feel the fine tremors in his hands and thighs. As deliberate as he seemed, his body betrayed him—he was leashed, but only barely.

  As much as she was able, she tightened her inner muscles around the rigid cock throbbing within her.

  He cursed and gripped her tighter. “Rachel . . . damn it.”

  “Now!”

  Hunching over her, he pulled his hips back, then slammed deep. The weight of his heavy sack smacked against her clit, sending fire racing along her skin in a prickling wave.

  “Is that what you want?” He flexed inside her, teasing nerve endings she hadn’t known she possessed. “How hard do you want it?”

  “Yes—”

  He was fucking her before she finished. His hips thrusting and churning, shafting her tender pussy with hard, heavy drives.

  She climaxed with his arms wrapped around her, holding her as she sobbed with the pleasure. He groaned as she rippled around him, joining her, jerking violently with every hot thick spurt. His cheek pressed tightly to her temple and the scent of his skin surrounded her, filling her mind along with her name.

  As he emptied himself inside her, it was her name he repeated in a jagged litany, spoken in a serrated voice that pushed her over the razor’s edge of infatuation into something far more dangerous.

  Somehow, she’d managed to get under his skin. She intended to stay there.

  six

  Jack tucked one arm behind his head and watched as the ceiling lightened incrementally with the rise of the sun. Rachel lay sleeping on the bed beside him, the white cotton sheet tangled around her torso. Her lips were slightly parted, as if in expectation of a kiss, and he fought the urge to wake her and have her again.

  He wasn’t certain what time she needed to get up to prepare for Riley’s party, but it was barely six, so he figured she could sleep for at least another couple hours yet. She needed it. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her breasts were reddened by the scratch of his whiskers. When she’d been curled on her side, he saw the faint indentation of his teeth in her shoulder.

  Damn it. She was too tender and soft for him to lose control with her—both emotionally and physically. Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. And he’d made a gross tactical miscalculation. In the light of day, he was no longer willing to be a one-night stand.

  She’d been planning on going to bed with him for months . . .

  Fuckin’ A. Just thinking about it tore him up.

  Yes, Rachel deserved better than him, but he could make some adjustments and sacrifices, he could learn what she needed and give his best shot at delivering. He could show her that he could make love to her slowly, sweetly. Take his time. Let her set the pace. He had no option other than to try; he couldn’t pretend last night never happened. Maybe she’d come into it because of Steve, but he could give her a reason to stick with it.

  Too wired to sleep, Jack slipped carefully from the bed and dressed for a run. He hit the beach and tried to clear his head.

  He’d never been good with words.

  Now he needed to find the right ones to change the rest of his life.

  RACHEL woke to the sound of the shower running. She smelled coffee and smiled, relishing the intimacy of sharing her morning with another adult. Rolling to her side, she searched for a clock and found one on the nightstand on Jack’s side of the bed. It was turned away from her, so she crawled over and moved it. Seven forty-five.

  Beside the clock was Jack’s badge and billfold. She stared at the silver star, feeling a rush of pride and respect. He was a Shadow Stalker, a member of the U.S. Marshals Service’s elite Special Operations Group. He’d explained the nickname to her once—the Shadow Stalkers unit hunted dangerous fugitives, or “shadows,” and waited in the shad
ows of federal courthouses during high-profile cases. His job suited him so well that she couldn’t imagine him doing anything else. She certainly would never ask him to give it up, even though the thought of losing him terrified her.

  Reaching for the badge, she accidentally knocked the wallet to the floor. It landed on its back and flopped open. Her smiling face stared up at her.

  She got out of bed. Bending down, she picked the billfold up. It felt wrong to pry, but she couldn’t resist. Whose image did he carry with him? Who were the important people in his life?

  Rachel turned each plastic photo protector slowly, touched to see pictures of Steve and Riley along with ones of her. But when she reached the end and found only one photo that wasn’t of her family—one with several guys in bulletproof vests and sunglasses—she frowned. There were no pictures of parents or siblings, or nieces and nephews. No photos of himself with anyone.

  Her heart broke a little. “Jack,” she whispered, wondering if he felt as alone as he suddenly seemed to her.

  She’d known that Jack grew up in foster care, but she’d assumed he formed some lasting connections with someone. Anyone. Was it possible he hadn’t?

  If she and Riley were all he had, no wonder he was wary and reluctant. It certainly wasn’t from lack of desire.

  Standing, she walked to the master bathroom. She gave a cursory knock, then cracked the door open. “Hey.”

  “Good morning.”

  His voice was warm and purring. The shower was enclosed with frosted glass, affording her just enough of a glimpse of his perfect body to light her up. She could get used to this.

  “Coffee’s brewed,” he said. “I picked up some of that sugar-free hazelnut creamer you like.”

  Sweatpants and a sweat-stained T-shirt lay piled on the floor. She couldn’t believe he’d exercised after their exertions the night before. She felt like an underachiever. She also felt loved and cared for.