One Woman (Naked Trilogy 2)

His hand slides to cup the back of my neck, and he drags me to him. “God, woman,” he murmurs, and the words are low, guttural. “My bother isn’t a killer, he’s not, but for just a moment, in my mind’s eye, I saw you go over the ledge together, and I swear I stopped breathing.”

I don’t know what this has to do with that call that upset him, but I’m pretty sure everything. “He hates me.”

“And what do you think I feel, Emma?”

The question surprises me. It’s not a denial of his brother’s hate. I’m not sure what it is. “What do you feel, Jax?” I whisper, afraid yet eager to hear his answer. Brody might have had me standing on a physical ledge, but Jax, Jax has me standing on an emotional ledge, and in some ways, that is far more terrifying.

“It’s damn sure not hate, woman.” And then he’s kissing me, a deep, drugging, own me kind of kiss, filled with angst and torment, and I don’t fight it. I don’t fight it because this is how he’s telling me what that call meant to him. I don’t fight him because I understand him. Because I want him. I need him. Beyond all reason, as he’s said to me, I need this man. So I let him own me. I’ve never wanted to be owned so damn badly in my life. I have a flashback again of me tied up, of my eyes being covered, and I mentally amend, no. I’ve never wanted to be that any time in my life while almost everyone in my life has tried to own me.

Dominance.

Power.

Jax is those things and life has taught me that those things equal trouble.

I tear my mouth from Jax’s and stare up at him, searching his face for a reason to hold back, willing myself to be careful with my heart, but my God. Yes, he not only personifies power and dominance, but I have no alarms with Jax. Defying my past, my deeply rooted history, this knowledge doesn’t push me away. Everything about this man draws me in, pulls me closer, makes me want him. I want and want and want some more. My hands slide over his body, muscles flexing beneath my touch, igniting the burn in my belly.

For long seconds, Jax just stands there, a hooded stare, watching me, staring down at me, unreadable, more stone than man by sight, but he’s not. I feel the push and pull in him, between us even. I feel his desire, his needs, more of that torment in him I’d tasted in his kiss. He watches me, letting me touch him without touching me, but when I tug his shirt from his pants, his iron control snaps with a low rough, masculine sound, and he follows it by kissing the hell out of me and catching the hem of my blouse. His hands, warm and strong, slide under the silk, and it’s over my head in an instant, and I don’t even know how my bra goes with it, but it does.

He eases back then, his gaze raking over my naked breasts, and at that moment, I’m vulnerable, naked while he’s fully dressed. The past charges into the room, demanding to be noticed and that damn flashback of me tied up again comes with it, but I shove the memory aside. I won’t go there. I might have learned the wrath of a controlling man, but I never cowered. I did regret. I don’t plan to regret Jax North.

I pull the knot on his tie down the silk and then give my command, “Undress.”

He catches me to him and swings me around, planting me on the bed, and the next thing I know, my knees are bent, and he’s on one of his own knees between my legs. His lips, those damn beautiful lips, curve with mischief before he leans in and licks my clit. I gasp with the unexpected intimate invasion that is not an invasion at all. He does own me. He’s still dressed, and I’m wet, warm, and officially all his, but I’m not sure Jax is all mine.

He gives me a devilish smile and unbuttons a few of the buttons on his shirt. “Just in case you thought I wasn’t going to finish what I started.” He pulls away his tie and tosses it before reaching behind him and pulling his shirt up and over his head. He then leans in and licks my clit again before he inches up and above me, his hands pressing my hands to the mattress. “Don’t move, or I swear I won’t do that again.”

Lord help me, his command has me burning alive. This man commands and I am set on fire. He leans in and presses his lips to my ear. “I’m not going to let that ledge be the way you remember this night. That’s a promise.” He leans back and meets my stare, those piercing blue eyes branding me as easily as his touch. “Don’t move your hands,” he repeats, and then his hands are slowly dragging down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His fists plant in the bed by my head. “Don’t move at all.” And then he’s leaning in, teasing one of my nipples with his tongue, and I’m panting with the spiral of sensations from my nipple straight to my sex.