Page 76 of Teach Me
Oh yes, she was afraid.
What if…what if…what if…It was a revolving door blending her brain into a froth of foaming panic that would never stop until she made it stop, until she took control away from Brit’s dead hands and put it back where it belonged—into hers and Conlan’s. Life was never easy, and it sure as hell was never guaranteed. Things would go wrong, she would be afraid, but with Conlan by her side, she could face anything. They’d done it before, four long weeks ago, and now they would do it again.
Jess timed it just right, waiting until she sensed Conlan behind her, making one of his frequent trips to the door to check that she was still okay. Deliberately she slid to her feet to stretch, careful not to look back at him. She stood for a moment staring into the dark beyond the railing, trying to breathe through the racing of her heart. It wasn’t working.
Just hurry up and get it over with.
Gathering her courage and the hem of her oversize sleeping T-shirt, she drew them both up, slow and sure, until courage steadied her and her shirttail rested just under her breasts. Conlan’s gasp reached her clearly as her bare bottom came into view. It was the husky sound of that choked air that helped her over the last hurdle, and she pulled the shirt the rest of the way off, dropping it to the deck at her feet as she turned, head down, and gave him his first full glimpse of her body in a month.
She was shaking apart. Everything inside her screamed to grab her shirt, cover her scars. She couldn’t bear to look at them except in the privacy of the bathroom behind a securely locked door, and every time they made her cry. Con deserved better. He deserved someone whole. He—
She couldn’t do this. She reached for the cloth.
Thesqueakof the doorknob turning froze her. Light spilled out onto the deck. She closed her eyes, sick, knowing Con could see every faint, raised scar across her limbs, her stomach, the hot wash of tears from the fear she couldn’t shake, no matter how much she wanted to. No matter how much her heart told her he didn’t care. He loved her.
But what if—
And then he was there, right in front of her. Jess’s mouth went desert dry. She watched, fists clenched, as Con’s gaze traveled over her face, her neck, down her body, her stomach. He traced her limbs with a careful look that missed nothing—and what she saw reflected back at her wasn’t disgust or revulsion. It was heat. Desire. Love.
His love gave her back her confidence.
His gaze gave her back her strength.
His kiss, when it came, gave her everything inside him, nothing held back, and demanded the same from her. Jess could do nothing but comply. Brit couldn’t have her anymore. Con deserved every last part of her, and he was going to get it. Now.
Con ravaged her mouth. He licked and probed and suckled, he nipped and thrust, and the moans that filled the air—both his and hers—blended with the song of the night perfectly. He didn’t touch her anywhere else; he didn’t have to. Her body quickened for him, and when he finally released her, she moaned for more.
He didn’t wait. Placing his hands on the railing on either side of her hips, he bent slightly, aligning himself with her breasts, and sucked one taut nipple into the warm cavern of his mouth. Pressure built on the hardening tip, matching the pressure building between her legs. His hunger overwhelmed her; his need soothed her. It was as if he’d been waiting on that single indication of her readiness to let loose the restraints holding back the explosive desire that had existed between them from that first mutual spark in the coffee shop, and finally that time was here.
A softpopsounded as Conlan released her, allowing the heavy globe to bounce gently under his devouring stare. He took the other, sucking and sucking until her breath roared like a freight train and she could barely hold back the need to climb his body and demand what she so desperately missed. She twisted, writhing, begging without words for more, but his hands stayed on the railing and his mouth refused to stop.
“Conlan, please.”
He broke the suction with a grin. “That’s what I wanted.” He returned to her breasts, nipping the sensitized tips, and Jess surged up onto her toes, her body and words begging in unison. Conlan chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied.
But he made no move to take her. Instead he shifted, turning his gaze to the silky white, ravaged skin of her arm. He slid his tongue across each line he encountered, starting at the delicate ridge of her wrist and working his way up. The tenderness in each touch buckled her knees.
Hard hands grasped her bottom, lifting, supporting, holding her immobile for his attention. “You’re not going anywhere, baby. Now be still and let me work.”
He didn’t stop. The slight muscle of her biceps received his attention, the curve of her shoulder. The firm ridge of her collarbone. Every lick soothed and excited, and frightened and thrilled her. She wanted him to stop, wanted to hide the signs of the past from his eyes, his touch. But she also wanted it to continue, to have Conlan brand her flesh with a power stronger than any knife could ever wield, to mark her flesh and her heart in a way that was only possible with him—because she loved him. When he bent to her opposite wrist and started the journey all over again, she knew he would succeed. Her body belonged to him just as his belonged to her, two parts of a whole, and the past and the pain and the scars could never erase that. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and reveled in the pleasure of his touch.
With a final suck on the sensitive flesh of her neck, a suck she was certain left a visible mark, Con slid his hands from the railing, down her body, and knelt at her feet. His tongue worked its magic over every inch of her scar-striped legs, replacing fear with so much hunger she couldn’t help but shake. Sweat trickled from the nape of her neck as heat enveloped her. Pleasure built. Moisture pooled at the apex of her thighs. Her nipples throbbed with the need for attention, and still Con worked. He didn’t pause, didn’t hurry. And Jess didn’t flinch.
Until he lifted his mouth to the soft curve of her stomach.
The feel of his tongue against the deeper scars etched into her skin, the cuts Brit hadn’t held back on, was more than she could handle. A whimper escaped and echoed through the trees. She didn’t want to be ugly to him.
“Shh,” Conlan whispered, voice dark and knowing and determined. “You’re mine.”
She hunched, feeling like she’d taken a punch to the stomach. Those words, the hated words Brit had shouted at her, the ownership he’d taken, rang in her ears. She heard them, felt the blows, the slimy sense of evil. “No!”
“Yes.” Conlan stood, his steady hands coming up to cup her face. “You are mine, Jess.”
Her breath hitched on a sob. “I can’t— I…”
Conlan kissed the tears from one cheek, then the other. “You are mine. Hear me; hear my voice. Feel my love in every fiber of your being.”
“I-I… Conlan…”
