Take My Dare (Stark International Trilogy 4)

"Turn around," he ordered as he stood, then gently kissed his way around her body. He felt the way her skin tightened and heard the uneven draw of her breath. It was as if she were a mirror of his own desire, and he was that close to losing it.

His body tightened, demanding release. He was driving them both crazy by these insubstantial touches when they craved intensity. By gentleness when they wanted it rough.

He spun her back around without a word, and her moan of surprise and anticipation told him it was time. Besides, he was so painfully hard now that he couldn't wait another damn minute. "Bend forward," he ordered, though he was already pressing his hand on her back to force her to comply.

She did, then held onto the edge of the barrier for balance. "Good girl," he said, unbuttoning his jeans and lowering his fly to free his cock. He moved his hand from her back to her hip, holding her still as he inched forward so that his erection nestled tight against her ass. He leaned over her, his chest against her back, his other hand cupping her breast. He brushed his lips over her hair, breathing in the scent of her.

They were so close he could hardly tell where he ended and she began. Her skin was hot to the touch, her breathing coming faster and faster.

Christ, he wanted her, and her response to him--so sensual, so open, so full of need and trust--both humbled him and turned him on even more now than it had before they were married. Now, their connection was complete. Now, she was truly his.

Now, he couldn't wait another moment.

But he had to. Because this morning was about her. What she wanted. What she needed. And so he slid his hand down from her breast to her belly, then lower still until his fingers found her core. Hot and so incredibly wet. And when she squirmed in silent, wanton demand, it took every ounce of restraint not to thrust his fingers inside her.

For that matter, it took all his strength not to hold her tight, take her hard, and fuck her wildly, brutally.

But he still clung to some remnant of sanity, and he paused, his hand cupping her gently as she squirmed against him, so clearly wanting more. He turned his head, so his lips grazed the back of her ear. "Tell me what you want, baby. I want to hear you say it."

"You," she said, the passion in her voice both filling and humbling him. "All I've ever wanted is you."

Chapter 3

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You.

My word floats away, as if the wind is carrying the truth of it to the world. Because it is true. I could live without so many things. But to truly survive, it is Jackson that I need.

I sigh and tighten my hands on the balcony in order to force myself to obey and stay still the way he wants me to. But I'm going to break the rules soon, because I'm almost ready to snap. I'm desperate for his touch, wild with anticipation. And any moment I'm going to break out of the cage of his arms, whirl around, and demand that he fuck me.

He chuckles, the vibrations rolling through me, and I realize he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "Patience," he murmurs as his hand strokes my sex in slow, rhythmic motions. I shift, spreading my legs apart, silently demanding that he touch me. Fill me.

Instead, the bastard slides his hand free, then moves it slowly up my body until he is cupping my breast again. He pinches my nipple, taking me to that point where pain slips gloriously into pleasure. I close my eyes, letting myself enjoy this new assault on my senses. But with Jackson there is always more, and he shifts position so that his steel-hard erection that had been nestled against my ass now slips between my legs, his shaft stroking me from ass to clit as he thrusts again and again.

"Legs together," he demands. "Arch up."

I comply eagerly, and he thrusts harder, one hand kneading my breast as the other moves up from my hip to hold my neck, his thumb and forefinger tight against my jaw. It's an incredibly intimate position, one of absolute control, and I surrender completely, losing myself in the trust I have in this man and the pleasure with which he is battering my body.

"Tell me you like this," he demands, as his fingers tighten on my nipple, as his cock pounds roughly between my legs, stroking and teasing. Never quite taking me far enough, but leaving me in a perpetual state of aroused anticipation.

"I do."

"Tell me you need it."

"Yes, yes. You know I do."

He bends his mouth to my ear, then tugs my lobe with his teeth. "Tell me why."

As he speaks, the hand on my breast snakes down, and he thrusts his fingers inside me even as his cock continues to stroke me intimately. Immediately, my body clenches around him, wanting this, yes. But wanting more. So damn much more.

"Tell me," he repeats, thrusting his fingers further inside me, the deep command in his voice reverberating through me, taking me all the way to the precipice and leaving me teetering on the edge.

"Because I need to surrender." My voice is little more than breath. "To give myself to you completely."

"That's right, baby. But why?"

"Because--" I cut myself off, the words so hard to form. "Because I'm scared," I finally blurt out. "Afraid that when they unlock the jail door they'll also unlock all the memories. All the pain. That the nightmares are going to start all over again."

"And you're afraid I won't be there when you need me?"

"No! Oh, Jackson, no. I just--I just want you now. Now while everything is still okay, as a defense against what might be coming."

He brushes a kiss over the top of my head, and that soft connection soothes me in a different way. "No matter what comes, we'll face it together."

"I know," I say, because if nothing else, I am always certain that Jackson is with me.

"Good girl," he says, and think I hear a hint of a tease in his voice. "And what do you want as your reward?"

"Please," I beg. "I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me."

"Such demands," he says, and this time I'm sure he's teasing. "And here I thought I was the one in charge."

I'm about to respond that I have no shame, no will. Nothing left in me except desire and that he can have me anyway he wants, if only he will have me. But he doesn't give me the chance. It doesn't matter, anyway. He already knows it. Hell, he's known it from the first moment we met.

Now, he pulls back, then turns me around to face him, the motion so quick it leaves me breathless. I'm still dizzy with lust when he grips my waist, then lifts me so that my ass is on the polished top edge of our glass patio barrier.

I swallow, suddenly aware that I'm naked and balanced precariously above a flagstone patio, and that if I fall it re

ally won't be pretty.

Except Jackson would never let me fall, and so I force myself to relax in his embrace. "Sweetheart," he murmurs, and I hear the understanding in his voice--the knowledge that I surrendered to him even before he asked. That where Jackson is concerned, he can--quite literally--take me to the edge.

He holds me firmly, one arm around my waist and the other at my shoulder. His body is between my legs, and when he tells me to spread my legs and lean back, I hesitate only a second before complying. And as I do, he steps closer, his cock at my core, teasing me but not yet entering. "Legs around me, baby," he says, and the moment I comply, he enters me, thrusting hard as I tighten my legs, both to keep me anchored and because I want to feel each thrust as tight and as deep as possible.

He is filling me completely, his rhythmic thrusts building into a marvelous crescendo that promises a spectacular release. I'm on the edge, leaning back, held aloft only by Jackson's grip. And as my body quivers with the electricity of his touch, infinity spreads out in front around me. The world is at my back, the sky above me, and the sound of the distant ocean all around me.

I'm flying above the castle that Jackson built for me.

I'm loved.

I'm home.

I explode in his arms and feel him do the same. And when his cry of, "I love you baby," washes over me, I know that no matter what demons still haunt me, my life in the moment is perfect.

He eases me back up, and I cling limply to him, making soft sounds of satisfaction.

"You were right to go to Vegas," I murmur as he pulls me back and I wrap my arms around his neck as his strong arms hold me steady. His fingertips lightly stroke my back. "But I'm so, so glad you came back."

"Me too, baby." His voice is as gentle as his soft caress. He lifts me easily, then carries me to the oversized lounge chair that used to be on the back patio of my Santa Monica condo. I have a tenant there now, but I kept the chaise. How could I give it up when it held so many sweet--and bittersweet--memories?