throat. He nipped her pulse point, and ecstasy arced, lashing her with white-hot pleasure. Suspended in glory, J.?J. screamed his name. Wick shouted, muscles tensing, body throbbing, coming deep inside her.
As he twitched against her, she wrapped him up and held him close. He sighed and settled warm and heavy against her—hips pressed between her thighs, strong arms around her, his face tucked against her throat. Trusting her completely. Giving J.?J. her due. Relaxing into her embrace as he drifted into the heated curl of afterglow.
So amazing. Unbelievable. It was beyond anything.
J.?J. hummed in satisfaction. She loved making love to him. But holding him in the aftermath? Having him in her arms, skin-to-skin and heart-to-heart? Pure heaven. And as he murmured her name, she whispered back, her heart so full she could hardly contain it. Beautiful man. Incredible in so many ways, and as repletion drew her into relaxation, she pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, so very thankful he belonged to her.
Or at least, he would… when she got done with him.
Too sated to move, Wick lay in the shelter of his female’s arms. Still deep inside her, unwilling to leave the warmth of her body, he breathed her in, loving the richness of her scent along with the fact she no longer smelled of another male. Ridiculous, he knew. Unconscious from blood loss, Forge hadn’t touched her. No sex involved. Just the touch of her hands, a connection that allowed Jamison to share her life-saving energy. Exactly what his brother-in-arms needed to heal and rebound.
Knowing it, however, didn’t make it any easier to bear.
He hadn’t been able to stand it. Had needed to wipe all trace of Forge from her skin by replacing it with his own. Stupid. Possessive. Irrational. But there it was… his dragon half out in full force, being bitchy even in the face of his comrade’s need.
But it was over, and now she lay in his arms. His for the taking. His for the loving. His in the here and now… in a very public place. Wick grimaced. Fucking hell. He’d made love to her in the middle of the gym. Under the bright lights, on an exercise mat, in the shadow of a basketball net where anyone might open the door and see them.
Not the smartest move.
Then again, he hadn’t been thinking straight at the time. And right now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. She felt too good against him, and as he nestled in, Wick took another breath. His mouth curved against the side of her neck. Cinnamon and spiced candy. It never failed. Her natural essence suited her. Called to him. Made him yearn and commit it to memory, imprinting it on his senses and in his heart. He needed to remember everything. Every last detail. How she tasted, the way she smelled, the softness of her skin, and how well she fit in his arms… so delicate yet oh-so-perfect.
Small things. Big impact.
Each one must last him a lifetime. Endure years without fading. Tide him over and bridge time, allowing him to remember her with perfect recall. He knew it would come to that… to disappointment and the inevitability of good-bye. She would leave. A female of her caliber would never choose a male like him. Wick accepted it with certainty, but instead of making it easy, doing the right thing and pushing her away, he hung on tight. A few more minutes. Maybe an hour if he got lucky. After that, he’d find the strength to let her go. To allow her the life she deserved instead of the one he could give her, and then learn to survive.
Without her.
It wouldn’t be easy. He mourned her already. Losing her would hurt like hell. It would be easier to ignore the truth, but Wick refused to lie to himself. There was no going back. No chance of erasing the last few days. He didn’t want to anyway. Jamison made it impossible to regret meeting her. Instead, he felt grateful. Such a short amount of time, and yet, her impact on him was undeniable. Irrefutable. Incredible too. He hadn’t believed himself capable of loving a female. But fact didn’t allow for fiction. He loved her deep, loved her true, craved her in ways he didn’t understand yet somehow knew to be right.
A bitch of a thing. Especially while faced with the prospect of leaving her.
Fingers stroking through the soft strands of her hair, Wick pressed his mouth to her pulse point. A gentle kiss against her skin. A tough good-bye said in silence. An excellent reminder of what he must do. Taking a fortifying breath, he raised his head and lost his heart all over again.
Fuck, she was pretty.
Lifting his hand from her hair, he traced her eyebrow with his fingertip. She sighed as he drew a gentle circle on her temple, then drifted down over the curve of her cheek. Eyes closed, relaxed in his arms, she accepted his touch, turning her face into his palm. So trusting. Too vulnerable. Beyond beautiful. Unable to resist, he leaned in and brushed his mouth against hers. She hummed in welcome, allowing him to play, one hand caressing his nape while the other moved over his shoulder. Her touch made him needy. Her taste made him kiss her again, long, slow, and sweet. As he tangled his tongue with hers, Wick called himself a fool. Nothing good would come from putting off the discussion. Best to get it over with, instead of prolonging the unavoidable. But as he drew away, she opened her eyes and met his gaze head-on.
Which… shit on a stick… made him kiss her again.
How long it went on, Wick didn’t know. A minute? Ten? He lost track somewhere after the second kiss. Not surprising. Half the time he couldn’t remember his own name around her, but with her hands in his hair and her taste in his mouth? Sad to say, but sensible didn’t stand a chance.
Mustering every ounce of willpower he owned, Wick turned his face away. She grumbled in protest. He cleared his throat. “Jamison, we need to talk.”
“Don’t,” she whispered, touching her fingertip to his bottom lip. “Forget about sending me away. I’m not going anywhere.”
Wick blinked as surprise blindsided him. He hadn’t expected that, but as he met her gaze, he saw the acceptance. Along with a shitload of determination. He frowned, trying to make sense of her reaction. No way should she be…
Jesus. He didn’t understand. “It would be better if you left.”
“For whom?” Both brows arched, she gave him a no-nonsense look. “You or me?”
“You.”
“Not true. I’m exactly where I need to be… right here with you.”
“
“I don’t want one. And if you’re honest with yourself, neither do you.”
“It’s not about what I want. It’s about what you need.”
With a curse, Wick planted his hand on the mat and pushed away from her. He needed some space. A lot of it. No way could he hold the line while touching her. But as he left the cradle of her thighs, she refused to let him go. Giving him a shove, she sat him down, and throwing a leg over, straddled him. Wick twitched. Small hands pressed to his chest, she nestled in, setting her exquisite ass in his lap and… Jesus help him. So much for holding out. He couldn’t help himself. He palmed her waist, reveling in the softness of her skin, temptation urging him to toss aside hesitation and claim her for his own.
He went the honest route instead. “Jesus, Jamison. I’m not built for this shit. I don’t know how to be your mate. I’ll fuck it up. I’ll hurt you without meaning to and ruin everything.”
“Bullshit,” she said, her bad language surprising him. Again. Par for the course, he guessed. At least, for the current conversation, ’cause… wow. Everything she said seemed to shock the hell out of him today. “I don’t accept that. You wanna know why?”
“Tell me,” he murmured, unwilling to shut her down.
A bad decision? Probably. But hope was a bastard with an axe to grind—amping him up, making his heart pound, whispering softly until he dared to believe that maybe… just
Leaning in, she set her mouth to the corner of his. A quick brush of her lips. A faster retreat. Hardly a kiss at all, but… shit. It proved effective, grabbing his attention like nothing else could. “Nothing is perfect, Wick. The best things in life don’t come easy. They take commitment and hard work, and you know what else?”
