Last Chance Rebel (12 page)

He couldn't bring that to this. Not now. He would never have been the one to ask that the lights go off, but since she had, he was willing to take that easy out.

Now all he could see was her silhouette, nothing in detail, and as much as he mourned not getting a chance to take a look at that beautiful body of hers, he welcomed what it would conceal.

He grabbed hold of the flowing hemline of her dress, tugging it up over her head and running his hands over her bare curves. Then he dispensed with her bra, pushing her panties down her thighs, and taking a step back.

He could see the silhouette of her figure, and those long legs—long in proportion in spite of her diminutive height—still partly covered by those high boots.

“Damn,” he said, his curse almost reverent, “you're sexy.”

He saw her breasts pitch with her sharp intake of breath. “Really?”

He moved forward, grabbing hold of her arm and tugging her toward him, placing her palm right over his cock. “What does that feel like to you?”

“I... I... I guess...”

He chuckled, bringing her in even closer, pressing his lips to her ear. “I want you. I'm so hard for you I'm about ready to burst through the front of these jeans. I want to bury myself so deep inside you I won't be able to feel anything else.”

She trembled in his arms. Honest to God trembled. She didn't say anything in return, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. He supposed he should be happy that she wasn't talking, that she finally wasn't fighting him. At least not now.

He separated from her for a moment, tugging his shirt up over his head, then moving to his belt, jeans, underwear and boots. Then, he pulled her back up against his body, letting out a sigh of relief when her skin was pressed against his. Every inch of her, against every inch of him.

He kissed her again, moving his hand between her thighs, finding her wet and needy for him. His breath hissed through his teeth and he drew his fingertips through her damp flesh, teasing the entrance of her body before drawing her moisture out to that sensitive bundle of nerves, moving his thumb in a circle until a short, shocked cry escaped her lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice like gravel, his dick so hard he thought it was going to break.

He wanted her so much. In spite of everything between them. Hell, maybe it was even because of everything between them. Maybe he was just that sick. Maybe he was just that destructive.

Maybe he was just his father. He'd run for a lot of years, and yet here he was. Back at the scene of the crime.

He gritted his teeth, pushing back at that thought.

“Tell me,” he coaxed, “I want to know exactly what you want me to do to you.”

“I don't know,” she said, a shiver lacing her words. “I don't know. I've never... I don't know what I'm doing.”

“Rebecca?” he asked, that one word a demand for clarification.

“I'm a virgin.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

S
HE
WASN
'
T
SURE
why she'd told him. Maybe because she knew there was no way she'd be able to hide it. Because she knew that there was no way she could possibly appear to be experienced when she was shaking inside and out. When she needed someone to take her hand and lead her through it, to show her exactly what was supposed to happen.

Or maybe, it was because she was still hoping he would back out. Because some part of her wanted to be completely, totally absolved of the decision. He would either turn back now, or move forward, but that admission had put the ball back in his court. She was a virgin, she was inexperienced and that meant all of this was his domain, and he had to know it.

The virgin could hardly be held responsible for her actions, right? She didn't know if it was a big decision or not. If it was actually possible to have sex and not form a connection, if this was actually what she wanted, because she couldn't really know the consequences of sex.

Yeah, basically, she had admitted it not because she was brave, but because she was scared. She hated that. She hated that she was that much of a trembling little coward. But she was a trembling, turned-on little coward, so she didn't want to turn back... Exactly. But, she also wanted to wash her hands of the decision making yet further.

That was actually kind of understandable. She was about to make love with the man who was supposed to be her mortal enemy. The monster in her closet, as she had told him before. And he was the man who wanted to make love to her even knowing that. She didn't know which of them was more messed up.

Maybe they just both were. Maybe because of each other, or because of that one event that connected them. Maybe because of something else entirely.

She wasn't really sure of anything right now. And she was very much uncertain about what the intense expression on his face meant. He was just standing there, his eyes glittering in the darkness, his large, muscular frame held taut and stiff in front of her.

She was grateful for the darkness, even as she wished that she could see him better, she was grateful he couldn't see her. That as obscured as he was, she was equally hidden.

She'd had this dream before. Standing with a man in the dark. But she didn't want to scream at him, not now. She wanted something else entirely.

Something a whole lot scarier than screaming.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

“Is there more than one application for that word?”

“Do you mean as an expression? Like, it's been so long since you've been with somebody you might as well be?”

“No, I mean the literal application,” she said, shrinking back, wrapping her arms around her midsection.

“But you've... You have experience. Some experience,” he said, his tone intense.

She shook her head, then realized he might not be able to see the gesture. “No. Not really. I mean, I've kissed a couple of guys. But that's it. It's never gone very far. I've never seen a naked man before... No man has ever seen me naked before... Although, you aren't really seeing me, because we turned the lights off.” She swallowed hard, aware that she needed to stop rambling like an idiot.

He didn't say anything. He just stood there, still naked, she knew, even though she couldn't make out the fine details of his body. She wished that he would do something. Wished that he would close the distance between them, or walk away. Of course, she was at his house, so she was probably the one who would have to walk away. But she wished that he would at least say something definitive.

She felt...she felt completely unguarded. Stripped bare. It had nothing to do with being naked. She didn't like it. It made her want to hit him, to yell at him again, to get into another fight, because it was easier than this.

She opened her mouth, ready to say something confrontational, but he overrode her. “This is what you want?”

She wished that he wasn't asking her. She wished that his voice weren't so enticing, so masculine and husky, thick with his desire for her. She wished that he didn't sound so tender. She wished that he were angry. Because that would make this easy.

He seemed intent on making it anything but easy.

“I said it was what I wanted. You're the one that's surprised by the virgin news, not me.” She despised the sound of her voice. Tremulous and uncertain, rather than sharp and clear the way she would prefer. But she was in over her head. Drowning. She needed him to reach down and pull her out, to show her what to do, to dictate what happened next. She was dependent on him. It was nothing like she had thought it would be.

She had thought to find some kind of power in this. To reclaim something. But she didn't feel it. Not now. She just felt hollow and vulnerable. She felt like any other woman, and yet at the same time so painfully aware that she wasn't. Because she was twenty-eight, and she was a virgin. Because her skin was scarred and most people would never be able to call it beautiful.

She just wanted him the way a woman wanted a man. But it wasn't that. It couldn't be. It could never be. Because of her, because of him. Her teeth chattered, and suddenly he reached out, cupping her cheek, his warmth enveloping her, sending sweet, warm honey through her veins. It slowed her blood, slowed her heartbeat, slowed everything down until all she could do was focus on him.

On where his skin made contact with hers. On his breathing. On the way it matched with the steady beating of her heart.

“I want you,” he said.

The words were simple, but they were everything. They were the only thing that mattered. Because they stripped all that other stuff away, and they left behind the things she wished she could be. So maybe, for tonight, just for tonight, here in the dark, she could be brave. Beautiful. Sensual.

She didn't say anything. She didn't have anything to say, which was a miracle in and of itself. Instead, she swayed forward, pressing her lips to his. His thumb skimmed over her cheek and she melted into his touch, resting against the strength of his hand.

Her stomach turned over, something about that simple display of strength, that encompassing heat made her feel safe in a way that nothing else had.

How could she feel safe in his hands?

She blinked back a sudden, unexpected sheen of tears. She wished that she could see him, and she was glad that she couldn't. Those two thoughts, those two desires, fought with each other as she gave herself over to their kiss. As she allowed him to pull her completely up against his body, so that she was pressed against him, from breast all the way down to her toes.

His arousal was hot and hard against her stomach, big and overwhelming, and something she couldn't quite bring herself to think about. She was much happier wrapped in this kind of gauzy prelude that wasn't overly realistic just yet. She was cocooned in darkness. In a deep, emotional hunger that made her feel so hollow she was desperate to be filled, and it all seemed limitless and endless. When she began to apply it to the physical, to reality, it seemed a little bit more impossible.

But he was sure, and he was certain, and she took a little bit of pleasure in the fact that she had been right about the kind of man she wanted to do this job. His hands were firm, knowing, as they slid over her curves, as he moved them both to the bed, laying her down gently, rising up over her, kissing the edge of her mouth, her jaw, down to her collarbone.

She might be hesitant, but he wasn't. She might not have any idea what was happening, what was going to happen next, but he did. That certainty spoke loudly through each and every touch, through every branding kiss that landed on her skin.

He moved lower, his tongue sliding over the curve of her breast. She gasped as he moved to the side, his lips brushing against one of her scars. He skimmed over it as though it weren't there. And she squeezed her eyes tight, trying to keep tears from falling, because that was exactly what she needed, and he seemed to know it.

He moved lower then, shattering her thoughts as he drew one tightened nipple into his mouth, sucking hard before lapping at her gently, then scraping her with his teeth, a little bit rough. She squirmed, unable to keep back the hoarse cry that broke through her lips. It was the combination. That sweet, almost deferential touch that paid homage to her inexperience combined with the more challenging elements—scrapes of his teeth against her skin, hot, roughly spoken words that made her shiver at the erotic promise in them.

He continued to blaze a trail down her stomach, to that tender skin just beneath her bellybutton, where he paused, tracing a lazy circle there before dipping his head lower, his breath hot over that bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

He groaned as he nuzzled her aching body, then pressed his lips to the most intimate part of her. She arched up against him, not sure if she was trying to get closer, or get away. Knowing about something intellectually was a lot different than actually experiencing something. Exposing yourself to something so intimate was different than anything. She didn't have a single thing she could compare this to. This surrender of herself, of her inhibitions—of which she had plenty.

But with each pass of his tongue, a few more were stripped away as her arousal was wrenched up higher, impossibly so—she cared less and less about anything except what Gage could do to her with his mouth and his hands. He was holding tightly to her hips, holding her to his mouth so that he could control the pressure and the speed with which he ravished her.

Pretty soon, she wasn't worried about anything except the promised pleasure that he hinted at with each wicked taste. She found herself moving in time with him as best she could, even though he was holding her so tight it was difficult to move at all. She liked that too. Enjoyed the evidence of his strength, of how large and male he was. How different he was from her.

He released his hold on her with one hand, sliding it between her thighs and pushing one finger deep inside of her, then another as he stretched her gently, thrusting into her in time with each pass of his tongue over her clit.

Something began to fracture in her chest, breaking her apart piece by piece. It was horrible, and wonderful, blinding and completely overwhelming. She felt herself splintering, shattering, starting near her heart and moving on down, deep and low, the resulting damage causing answering waves to begin to swell inside of her.

She tried to fight it, tried to hold herself back, digging her heels into the mattress as the pressure built and built until she could barely breathe. She was fighting a losing battle to hold the pieces of herself together, even though the damage had already been done. And when she dissolved, she wondered why she had ever tried to stay whole.

Because being broken and sobbing in Gage's arms, reaching this peak of pleasure that rivaled anything she had ever fantasized about, made her controlled, rigid existence seem so dry, so very small. Like she'd been living in one room when all she had to do was open the door to find the freedom she'd always craved.

As the aftershocks continued to shudder through her, Gage moved away, right when she needed to cling to him. He moved to the edge of the bed, opened his nightstand drawer and pulled out a box of condoms.

“Hold tight,” he said, his voice strange.

“Okay,” she responded, because she wasn't really sure what else to say. It wasn't like she was going to get up and run out of the room now, even if part of her wanted to. She was too... Well, she was boneless for one. For another, she wasn't going to go this far without taking it all the way.

While he took care of the protection, she closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the package tearing, fighting against the anxiety starting to chase around inside of her.

Then, he moved back to her, positioning himself between her thighs. He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning her face and pressing a kiss to her lips. She kept her eyes closed.

He moved his hand back down between her legs, stroking her a couple of times, groaning when he found her wet.

“I'll try to go slow,” he said.

She just wished he would quit talking. Because suddenly everything felt way too real, and who he was seemed impossible to ignore, and what was about to happen was so incredibly huge.

And it was Gage West.

She gritted her teeth, turning her head as he pressed the blunt head of his arousal against her entrance, sliding inside of her slowly, stretching her, filling her. It was impossible. She could hardly breathe. He was too much.

Instinctively, she grabbed hold of his shoulders, clinging to him even though part of her wanted to push him away. She held on to him so tightly her nails dug into his skin, but he didn't stop her, didn't act like he was in pain.

He made a harsh sound as he pushed into her all the way, and she started to shake. It was terrible. It hurt. He was so big she didn't think she would ever get used to the feel of him inside of her. And he was so close. Of course he was. He was in her. But, she hadn't fully appreciated what that might mean. Or maybe, she had. Maybe that was why she'd never done this before. Because she knew how it would feel.

He was over her, around her, in her, all-encompassing in ways she had never anticipated.

He consumed her every sense. Every part of her.

How was she supposed to keep him at a distance when he was in her? How did she keep her shields up when he was so far past the walls? She should have known. And somehow, she hadn't. All that want, all that longing had been so big she'd forgotten the rest. Forgotten words like
intimacy
and
possession
.

A tear slid down her cheek, and she was thankful he couldn't see it. Thankful that it was dark, and he was lost in his own pleasure, too wrapped up in all of it to realize that she was unraveling.