Dagger's Edge: A Brute Force Novel Page 3

  It took far more than just having sex. Far more than just a lover, Ivan knew that. It would take releasing that inner core of hunger he’d noticed rising each time he saw her before her disappearance. It would take ensuring she saw herself as more than just a one-night stand or a mistress.

  “And if there is?” He tipped his head to the side, watching her carefully. “Would I be risking that pretty little fist again?”

  She packed a punch, he thought in amusement. The night he had brought her to the estate that fist had punched into his face, busting his lips and, he swore, perhaps loosening a few teeth.

  Surprise flared in her green eyes as a flush worked from her neck to her hairline and sensual awareness filled her eyes. Innocent, curious awareness.

  The blood beat hard and fast in her neck, her breasts rose and fell in agitation, and she gave her head a little shake, as though suddenly uncertain.

  “I d-d-don’t understand…” she said with a little stammer, her breathing jerkier, her expression less confident and confrontational than moments before.

  He’d bet several of the sizable fortunes he possessed that she was a virgin. If not a virgin, then not far from one. He watched the blood beat at the vein in her neck, the way her gaze locked with his, uncertainty and innocent sensuality filling her expression. Her breathing was heavier, her breasts rising and falling as sexual excitement began pulsing through her.

  In his life, he’d never seen a woman experience that first moment of pure, overriding lust. But he saw it then. He watched the flush that colored her face, the darkening of her eyes, that moment of distress when the hunger overrode caution.

  “Don’t you?” he asked, moving closer, staring down at her, allowing her to see the hunger in his expression.

  And her nipples were hard. They were stiff and tight beneath her too-thin T-shirt. He knew a woman’s body, knew their responses, and his little Syn was primed for a lot of sinning.

  And he was just the sinner to show her the way.

  chapter two

  Brain cells were crashing, hormones were raging, and Journey was certain she could feel her common sense melting beneath the dark, wicked look on Ivan’s face.

  No, not dark and wicked, his expression was carnal.

  She couldn’t breathe. She felt frozen in place.

  She swallowed tightly and nearly choked on her own spit.

  “Stop.” It was all she could do to force the word past her lips and make herself step away from him. How she managed it, she had no idea. She felt like a frightened rabbit faced with the ravenous wolf. The meal he’d make of her would destroy her.

  Unfortunately, away from him put her closer to the bed, something those wicked blue eyes didn’t miss.

  The corners of his lips quirked with a knowing, mocking smile. The sensual knowledge in his gaze, in his expression, threatened to steal her breath.

  A woman needed a little sexual experience to deal with Ivan Resnova and the pure, carnal wickedness he was capable of projecting.

  “Join me downstairs.” He wasn’t asking. “We’ll have dinner and a drink and watch the snowfall in the solarium. Alexi has a fire in the fireplace and the snow’s beautiful as it falls outside the glass walls. We can have a drink and have Alexi put us together a light meal.”

  Dangerous. He was so dangerous.

  “I would make a really bad one-night stand, Ivan,” she burst out, unable to hold the words back.

  His lashes lowered, the male hunger gleaming in the dark blue depths intensifying.

  “You should let me be the judge of that,” he murmured. “But I can be a rather greedy man, Syn. I doubt one night would be enough.”

  She was going to suffocate if he kept saying things like that, because the words, the look on his face, had her heart racing, her breath coming hard and fast. She couldn’t get enough air to combat the effect of him.

  Confident arrogance. He wore male strength with subconscious grace. It was a part of him, all the way to his bones. It wasn’t a learned art but a natural part of who he was, and it was dangerous.

  “You’re playing with me,” she accused him as confusion, arousal, and anger mixed in a chaotic mess.

  He knew what he was doing, and he knew the effect it was having on her, no doubt. But he couldn’t know how badly she needed to be touched, to be held, to be warm. He couldn’t know that she had wondered what it would be like to feel his lips on hers, to feel him touching her, since she’d first seen him just after her father’s and grandfather’s arrests. He couldn’t know how many times she’d fantasized about him.

  “Playing suggests it’s a game.” His voice was a dark, sensual rasp. “What I have in mind is no game. Simply pleasure.” His hand reached out, the tips of his fingers caressing over one side of her face. “Or are you still dreaming of happily-ever-afters?”

  Happily-ever-after? Now wasn’t that one a joke?

  “I’m not a child.” She flashed him what she hoped was a suitably insulted look. “Nor do I engage in delusions concerning my life. I’d appreciate it if you’d remember that.”

  There was no such thing as a happily-ever-after for her, and she knew it. What man could possibly love a woman whose family was as stained by blood and depravity as hers? What man would want to risk a life and children with a woman who carried her genetics?

  “That’s a good thing,” he murmured. “I’m no white knight, love. But a white knight could never give you the pleasure I could give you either.” He stepped back, though the lust in his expression remained. “I’ll be in the solarium if you decide to join me downstairs.”

  “And if all I want to do is watch the snow?” Dammit, she sounded breathless. Uncertain. She hated that.

  A slow, wicked smile curled at his lips. “There’s no pleasure in rape or in coercion, love. Unless you come to me willingly, without games and without lies, then neither of us will find true satisfaction. Come, watch the snow if that’s all you want. The choice is yours.”

  Then his head lowered and before she could even think of avoiding him, those wicked, sensual lips brushed against hers.

  Journey froze, shocked by the heat and sheer pleasure she felt at the caress.

  It wasn’t the first time a man’s lips had touched hers. It wasn’t the deepest kiss she’d ever had. It was the most shocking. Staring into his eyes, watching them darken, feeling just the brush of his lips …

  She was dazed, more uncertain than she’d ever felt in her life.

  “More?” he whispered against her lips as she felt his palms against her back, his hands, broad and so warm through the thin material of her T-shirt.

  He was so warm and soon, so very soon, she’d be out in the cold again. What would a kiss hurt?

  “More…” It was barely more than a breath of a sound, and in it she could hear her own need.

  How pathetic. To hunger so much for the touch of a man she feared was no better than the one she was running from. The difference though: this man made her hungry in ways she’d never been before.

  She should have considered her answer though. Should have considered the nature of the beast holding her. Before she could do more than gasp his lips covered hers, his tongue stroked past them, touched her own, and the waves of sensation that tore through her stole reason.

  Lips parting, a moan whispered past the kiss as Ivan’s lips slanted over hers, he deepened the caress, deepened the pleasure she found herself helpless against.

  She couldn’t believe this was actually happening. He was kissing her, pulling her closer, surrounding her with his arms, and lifting her closer to him.

  He was tall. So tall she felt defenseless, felt intensely feminine. She felt overwhelmed, sheltered.

  Bad idea. Very bad idea.

  If she was discovered, the repercussions wouldn’t be pleasant. If this man ever learned who she was, he’d probably kill her himself.

  But she was helpless, ensnared.

  She hadn’t realized how desperately she needed to be touched, how
cold and hungry she was inside.

  She stilled in his arms for just a second as she felt a tidal wave of need suddenly erupt inside her. Instinct took over and her lips parted, her fingers fisted in his silk shirt, and she found herself on her tiptoes as she fought to get closer, to taste more of him.

  She’d never been kissed like this. With such experienced male lust and determined sensual intent. He didn’t make allowances for the experience he had no idea she didn’t possess. One hand gripped the hair at the back of her head, the other pressed into the small of her back, lifting her closer to him, and the engorged length of his erection pressed into her lower stomach between the layers of clothing separating them.

  He was warm, hard, strong.

  His lips moved over hers, demanding a deeper kiss, leading her along a path of wicked delights, and her body was more than willing to follow the dark sensuality pulling her in. He wasn’t gentle. His lips slanted across hers, his tongue spearing between them, licking, tasting her as he let her taste as well.

  Pleasure overwhelmed her, mesmerized her. He led her past her fear of the unknown and her own inexperience with sensual temptation and sensations she could have never imagined existed.

  Those diabolical lips slid to her neck, stroked, tasted, his teeth rasping, her senses held hostage to the most incredible pleasure. And she was weak, so weak.

  She knew he was undressing her. Her t-shirt was jerked over her head before his lips returned to hers, the clasp of her bra released before she realized it, and one broad, callused palm cupped her sensitive breast, his thumb rasping her nipple.

  Oh God …

  What was she supposed to do? She needed to do something, anything to return the incredible pleasure she was feeling.

  “That’s it, baby,” he groaned as she felt her back meet the mattress of her bed. “That’s it; just let me have you.”

  Hard hands tugged at hers, pushing them above her head as she forced her eyes open in time to watch him shrug the silk shirt from his shoulders.

  “How beautiful you look,” he crooned. “My perfect Syn.”

  Bronzed flesh, a light mat of hair covering his wide chest, hard, heated flesh. Her fingers curled into fists, the need to touch him battled with her inexperience, her uncertainty, and the weakness that swept through her.

  Rising to stand next to the bed, he quickly loosened his belt, then the slacks he wore, and a second later shed them before her stunned gaze. Not that he gave her time to do more than glimpse the erection he released. And he sure as hell didn’t give her a chance to consider what she’d seen.

  She was on the verge of voicing an objection, or at least considering one, when he bent to her, his lips returning to hers for several deep, hungry kisses as he released the band of her jeans.

  Those kisses …

  She moaned, arching to him, the tight, sensitive points of her nipples raking against his hair-roughened chest and sending pleasure lancing at her senses.

  She had to touch him. Feel the heat of his flesh, the flex of powerful muscle beneath. As her hands clenched on his biceps she felt her jeans being pulled from her. They cleared her hips, her thighs, leaving her naked, undefended before him.

  For a moment, fear of the unknown threatened to swamp her, to dilute the mesmerizing sensations wrapping around her.

  His lips slid from hers, kisses moving along her neck, holding her spellbound, wrapped in a heated warmth she couldn’t fight. His tongue stroked against her flesh, his fingers cupped the mound of one breast, then those diabolical lips covered the painfully tight peak.

  “Ivan…” She was barely aware of breathing out his name, but she was intently, intensely aware of his lips closing on the peak, drawing the hard bud into his mouth and sucking her with hungry demand.

  Oh God. No one had ever touched her there, not like this. She’d been groped, pinched, a time or two, but this?

  She arched to him, holding on to him for dear life as her neck tipped back and she fought to just breathe.

  Just breathe.

  Because it was so good. Because the sensations were like being trapped in the most exquisite chaos, spreading a heated warmth clear to the depths of her bones. This went beyond pleasure.

  Her hands slid from his shoulders to his hair, spearing into the thick black strands to hold his suckling mouth closer, to feel the sensations deeper. His tongue rasped the peak, licked it, caressed it. His hand shaped the mound, plumped it, held her nipple in position for his mouth to devour her.

  A moan broke past her lips as he moved, only to turn into a shattered cry when he turned his attention to her other nipple. Fingers of electric ecstasy raced from her nipple to her sex. Her clit was swollen, as tight as her nipples; she could feel the wet heat spilling from her, preparing her.

  “Sweet Syn,” he whispered, his voice decadent with the sound of male lust. Rough, dark, the hunger that filled his voice had a moan escaping her.

  She was shaking, she realized. Forcing her lashes up, she stared up at him as he levered himself away from her, staring down at her, the deep blue of his eyes appearing black in the dim light of the room.

  “Come up here, baby,” he whispered, easing her up along the bed as he pushed her thighs apart and eased between them.

  Then his lips were on hers again, kissing a path down her body until they met the mound of her sex.

  “Ivan … wait…” she whispered at the same second his tongue licked over her clit.

  Sensation tore through her. Pleasure, so much pleasure. Her fingers locked in his hair, the distant realization that she was pushing his head closer, that she wanted nothing more than to feel that caress again, shattering her.

  Lifting her legs until her knees were bent, her feet flat against the bed, he proceeded to still any thought of protest. He destroyed the ability to think. His hands slid beneath her rear, lifted her, and showed her just how wicked, how carnal, he could be.

  He kissed, licked, moaned against the bare folds between her thighs and within seconds had her screaming his name as her body began to vibrate with a surge of pure rapture. She was trying to cry out his name, so breathless, so lost in the sensations tearing through her mind, that she wasn’t even aware of him rising between her thighs.

  The pressure at her sex at first was lost within the storm tearing through her. His lips came over hers again, his tongue plunging past them as the pressure became heavier, thicker, pressing inside her.

  He was taking her, so slowly. The strange, heady blending of ecstasy and fire made distinguishing between pleasure and pain impossible. His erection stretched her flesh apart, spreading it, burrowing deeper.

  “So damned tight…” he groaned, tearing his lips from hers, burying them against her neck as she arched closer.

  Pleasure and pain.

  The sensations building inside her were so intense, unfamiliar, so blinding, she didn’t have a chance to understand exactly what they were. She had a moment to regret her inexperience, to wish she could make him feel the power, the fiery, lashing sensations as she felt them. To please him as well.

  In the next second he pulled back and returned with a thrust that tore through the thin veil of her virginity. She heard herself cry out. Not for the pain, though there was the surge of flaming heat mixing with the ecstasy.

  She could barely breathe, she wasn’t even certain she remembered how to breathe, when he stilled over her.

  She thought she heard him curse, the sound torn, filled with conflict. His large body was tense above her, so hard and thick inside her.

  “Don’t stop…” she gasped, needing, desperate, to ride the brutal waves of sensation she could feel threatening to break over her.

  One hand slid to her knee, lifted it until it rested over his hip as he thrust inside her again, going deeper as her inner muscles tightened with involuntary spasms around the intrusions.

  It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t ride that border of pleasure and pain with such a fine edge. She shouldn’t be begging for mor
e. But she was, a whispered cry, desperate whimpers, as she writhed beneath him.

  “God. Baby. Easy,” he groaned at her neck as he took her deeper, filled her more. “Sweet … So sweet…”

  The thrusts quickened, deepened, until he pushed in with one hard lunge, filling her to her limits, the feel of his flesh throbbing inside her so hot … He was heating her from the inside out and she craved more. Her body was begging for more. Her inner muscles were clenching and unclenching, rippling around the invading force as a rough, desperate growl sounded at her ear.

  Then he was moving. Moving and intensifying those sensations, building them, making them race inside her, to build and build like a storm growing out of control, tearing through her mind. Tighter and tighter with each hard thrust, each caress of her inner flesh.

  The impalements were hard as he moved between her thighs, thrusting through the brutally clenched flesh, stretching her, taking her. She arched, shuddering as the sensations inside her became more forceful, like a tornado of sensation racing out of control. Brutal. So hot—

  Then it erupted in a conflagration she was certain tore the life from her body. She couldn’t breathe. She was only barely aware of Ivan tightening above her. All she knew was the brutal heat exploding through her, rapture imploding outward, and stealing her mind, perhaps her soul.

  Conscious thought was lost, unwanted. Hard shudders wracked her body with each inner explosion, jerking her hips against his, dragging a cry from her lips with each one, a shattered male groan from his.

  How long it lasted she didn’t know, didn’t care. She’d remain there forever if she could, always warm, always safe.

  But nothing lasted forever. She knew that. She’d known that for years. And reality intruded, though it did so with a hazy veil of exhaustion.

  She moaned in protest as she felt Ivan move, felt her body fight to hold on to him as he retreated. She drifted on a cloud of such satisfaction as he gently wiped her thighs that she couldn’t force herself from it. She was simply there until his warmth enfolded her, sheltered her, and allowed her to drift into sleep.