Under The Cover Of Love Page 8

  He took his time with her, bringing her along slowly, luxuriating in everything about her – the smooth, pale, soft skin, the quiet gasps that became much less, so as he continued to explore her, the way she tried to arch her hips when his fingers found her there but refused to actually touch her.

  "Tsk," he scolded, and she immediately moved herself away from him. "You don't decide when I touch you, do you, Jenna?" he chided, knowing it would make her blush and fully expecting an answer that would heighten that lovely color.

  "No, Merck."

  "That's right, my girl. Who's the only one who can decide that for you, hmm?" He deliberately made it just that much harder for her to answer him by leaning forward to swat her behind.

  "Uh – oh – no! You are. You are, Merck," came her tremulous, breathless reply.

  "That's right, baby girl. You stay still. I'll do all the work."

  He made her wait for her impudence, a long moment during which he took in everything she was, the unbelievably sensual tableau that she presented to him, feeling more blessed than he ever had in his life by the trust she was brave enough to place in him so that they could be together like this.

  Then, when he could stand it no longer and his fingers were literally aching to delve into her secrets, he released the tight rein he'd held on himself, although not on her. The fingers of his free, strong right hand cupped her for a scant second before the tips of them parted those soft, swollen folds, feeling the honeyed evidence of her desire for him flowing over them as he sank two of them deep within her. Watching and listening closely to her, he felt her reactions as if they were full on strokes of his aching dick. "Oh, my sweet girl, you are so wet!"

  She hoped he didn't expect her to respond intelligibly, because she was already well beyond that, into a realm she'd only ever been to with him, where nothing existed for her but him and what he was doing to her or saying to her or demanding of her. Jenna had never let herself go as completely as she had with him, but – despite their rough beginning, or because of it, perhaps – she had discovered an innate trust of him that defied the cautious nature she had cultivated since she and Abel had parted company.

  She had given herself the freedom to submit to him completely, and he had met that responsibility – met that trust and vulnerability on her part – with a confident, quiet, powerful strength that only reaffirmed what she felt about him, always looking to her pleasure, her comfort and her safety first, well before his own, every time.

  "I'm going to make you cum, Jenna, and you're going to let me. But it's just the first of many, I promise you."

  His thumb found her as his fingers continued to fuck her, harder and faster, while the roughened pad of his thumb barely teased itself over her, making her cry out in frustration. Desperately wanting to move herself against him, but knowing he wouldn't hesitate in the least to interrupt these delicious proceedings to put her over his lap, reducing her to tears and well beyond to impress upon her the lesson that he must truly despair of her ever learning – that of obedience. After what seemed like an eternity of that sensual torture, she could stand no more. This man reduced her to begging, when no one else ever could, and in ways that no one else ever would again, she was quite sure.

  She knew he had prohibited her from speaking, but he had said she could beg him for release. "Merck! Please, please!"

  She couldn't see it, but she could see his lazy smile in her mind as he drawled, "Tell me what you want, beauty; and I'll see what I can do."

  It amused him that she was sometimes reluctant to ask for that which she so desperately – so obviously – wanted, which was precisely why he required her to do it. "No, oh, please, Merck!"

  He sounded truly regretful. "I'm sorry, baby, but you know the rules. You have to ask me, politely, for your pleasure, or I won't give it."

  Damn him! He knew just how much saying that kind of thing made her blush – whether it ought to or ought not, at her age, when other, dirtier things did not. She didn't know quite what it was, but forcing her to do it turned her on to no end, as hard as it was for her to comply.

  She was actively contributing to her own sensual torture!

  And she was taking so long that he made as if to withdraw his hand altogether, saying, "All right then, I guess you don't really –"

  "No! Please! Don't stop! Please, don't stop." She came dangerously close to committing a cardinal sin and removing one of her hands from his legs to try to stop him from removing his hand from between hers, but she caught herself. Just barely.

  His hand was there, but it was just cupping her, not moving in the least. Not even petting her a little bit, and she growled at the loss, and the tremendous, unfulfilled ache.

  "It seems to me that a woman who nursed a man, she thought at the time was an outlaw, back to health ought to be able to say what she wants him to do to her. Don't you think?"

  His softly posed question hung there in the sex-heavy air between them for a long moment.

  Then, corralling what remained of her wits about herself, Jenna said what she knew she had to, to get what she wanted, "Merck, would you please make me cum?" Exactly the way she knew he wanted her to.

  He was smiling again, the bastard – that self-satisfied grin was plastered across his gorgeous face – she didn't need to see him, to know it for a fact. "Well, of course, my darlin'. You know how hard it makes me to watch you writhe helplessly on the tips of my fingers while you scream your lungs out."

  His fingers claimed her as they had while he spoke, that big thumb settling more firmly over her than it had been. Mere seconds later, she found herself amidst that mindless, primitive state he brought her to so easily, so joyfully, letting her hair go but keeping his hand on her back. Knowing she needed his support as he continued to call his tune, and she continued to respond to it with everything she was, not holding anything back, buffeted relentlessly from one orgasm to the next until he sensed, somehow, that more would not be better for her.

  Merck withdrew from her with the utmost gentleness, knowing that, when he fucked her like that with his fingers, it hurt her a bit when he withdrew. He did it slowly, and only after she'd come down some, feeling her loosen her vice-like grip on him and easing himself out of her with nary a whimper from those panting lips..Then he pulled her up from where she had sprawled herself over his legs, not to mount her immediately as most men probably would have, but to roll them onto their sides to that he could hold her, his rampant desire between them, as yet unfulfilled.

  But she couldn't let him stay that way for long, despite how wonderful it felt to have him hold her and rock her within those strong arms, clamped to his chest, her cheek resting on a lightly hairy, rock hard pec.

  After a very short time, she lifted her head to kiss him, whispering his name against his lips in supplication.

  He gave her a bone-breaking tight hug and stopped her when she would have opened herself to him by hooking her top leg over his. Instead, he turned her around, so that he tucked his throbbing front against her ample bottom. Guiding her leg back and himself into her, at the same time, with a low, growling grunt of pure satisfaction, he buried his cock within her and his face into her hair as he began a brutal rhythm not necessarily designed to get her off. It surprised him wonderfully when it did. That had him hooking his arms under hers, his fingertips, some of which were still wearing her particular personal scent, over her collarbone to prevent her from moving away from his tremendous thrusts. Fucking her powerfully, deeply, to the core of the both of them, until they each shouted their release and collapsed, his arms remaining wrapped around her, holding her still as he shrank from her body.

  They were quiet in the descending darkness, having not left a light on, listening to the loons' mournful calls from the pond below. Eventually, he shifted them both lazily, refusing to let her move to her own side of the bed, but keeping her caught to his side.

  She felt, rather than saw him put his arm over his eyes, and, after a long while of no movement and no talk
ing, thought that he might have surrendered to sleep, and she wasn't far from that herself.

  Eventually, though, he lifted his arm, bringing his hand to cup her cheek as he kissed the top of her head.

  And his calmly put, seemingly innocuous question, when he asked it, struck much more terror into her heart than when he'd threatened her with his knife.

  "Do you want to know when I'm going to leave?"

  She wondered silently, unbidden, what the other choice was, and he was entirely too quick to provide it

  "Or do you just want me to disappear?"

  Jenna almost couldn't swallow, it was so hard to think of what he was speaking about at last. "I-I..." She truly didn't know. Both were equally devastating, equally unacceptable to her.

  "Do you want me to decide for you?" he asked, when she hadn't answered him.

  "No, no, please. I want to know." She so didn't, but it would be an even worse torture not to have had the chance to say goodbye.

  "All right then. I'm going to leave tomorrow just after sunset. I should leave tonight, but… He paused and cleared his throat. "I- I want one more day with you."

  She cried herself to sleep in his arms as he held and rocked her, doing his best to soothe her, but knowing – because of how inconsolable he felt himself about it – that there was nothing he could say or do that would really help, except that which he couldn't. He couldn't stay here any longer. Every day, every hour, every minute that he hung around – because he wanted and needed to have her – put her in grave danger.

  He should have been strong enough – for her – to have left in the middle of the night, but he wasn't anywhere near strong enough to do that to either of them.

  Unfortunately for the both of them.

  * * *

  Now that he had determined just when he was leaving, he was even more greedy for her than he had been, waking her up multiple times in the night to have her, to pleasure her. She greeted the dawn with another of her full-throated screams as he availed himself of her feminine delicacies for the fourth or fifth time – he'd lost count.

  "You should sleep," he whispered into her ear as he cuddled her against him.

  Her now perpetually wet eyes skittered to his, then away quickly. "I'll sleep when you're –" She couldn't bring herself to say, "gone," because that was much too close to 'dead.' "Not here anymore," was her flat, tight answer.

  She ate breakfast from her lofty position, sitting nude on his lap, hand fed by him what she'd made for them that she'd learned was a favorite of his –biscuits with sausage gravy, eggs and home fries. He ate most of it, but he made sure she got a good-sized portion, not allowing her to refuse what he presented to her, on pain of a spanking.

  Jenna knew she was clinging to him like a limpet, but she didn't know what else to do. She couldn't bear for him to be out of her sight until he absolutely had to be. Luckily, he seemed to feel the same way, at least he didn't make any complaint about her constantly touching him, leaning against him and kissing him.

  Hell, she wanted to throw herself at his feet and beg him to let her come with him, which she already knew he wouldn't consider. The other alternative was to beg him to have someone contact her if he was injured or if he made it, although she knew he didn't think he was going to live through whatever it was that he thought he had to do.

  But she couldn't bring herself to ask him that, figuring she knew the answer to that, too. He'd said it himself when he'd talked to her about Simone. She had wanted more than he felt he could give, and Jenna was finding herself in much the same situation. She wasn't about to ask him for something he obviously felt he couldn't give.

  Besides, she reminded herself. He lived in the city. She couldn't imagine how much he would hate it out here, and she knew she would feel the same way about living in Boston.

  It was best for the both of them if they parted this evening, as he'd planned.

  Then she'd be alone to cry herself into an early grave.

  Unbeknownst to her, though, he was feeling at least as torn as she was, perhaps more. Merck was conflicted about his feelings for her when they weren't being intimate, and every protective instinct he owned was rebelling against what his heart clearly wanted and his every possessive instinct was clamoring for him to stay. Permanently.

  But he knew the reality of it much better than she did – knew the perils she faced right now that were purely on his head.

  And he hadn't been lying when he'd said that he was married to his job, either, and he couldn't bear the idea of giving her short shrift, or that she might be in any kind of further danger because of him, and he couldn't guarantee that she wouldn't be.

  All in all, he knew that his original idea was right – that he should leave her here, where she was relatively happy and could live a safe and quiet life, uncomplicated by all of the shit he'd already dragged into it and could potentially add to if they were to continue whatever this was between them.

  But it was going to kill him to leave her.

  He only hoped he had the strength to do what he had to do when the time came.

  Chapter 8

  As it turned out, he never really got the chance to say goodbye to her.

  It was after a wonderfully intimate dinner, eaten naked in bed, after which they had made torturously slow love to each other, that he finally pried himself away from her. Hauling himself to the side of the bed and forcing himself not to pause there but rather to get up and get dressed in the new, clean clothes she'd provided for him. He used every bit of his considerable will to be able to do so, when all he wanted in the world was to be able to jump back into bed with her.

  "You don't have to get up," he murmured as he watched her stirring, wishing that she wouldn't, that his last memories of her would be of her lying naked in bed, flushed with the ecstasy he had just brought her to.

  But he understood why Jenna completely ignored him, knowing she was doing her best not to let him see her cry, but wholly unable to do a very good job of it as she tugged her jeans and a tank top on.

  Being the organized sort that he was, everything he needed was already by the door, and even that was really just a small backpack she'd gotten him for two reasons, hoping it might help him look more like a hiker than a potential fugitive from the law and so that he could take some necessities with him. So all he really needed to do before he left was what he was already finished doing – dressing.

  He took her hand and walked to the back door, feeling as if he was going to his own execution in many ways, stopping every few feet to kiss her. Not bothering to try to brush her tears away, knowing that it would be a lost cause, his eyes moist at the thought of leaving her, despite the fact that he knew that it was the right thing to do.

  Merck stepped on the squeaky floorboard just outside the den and tugged her to him. "At least you know who it is that's caused that this time," he teased weakly.

  Jenna wasn't having any of it at all. She was full on weeping, and it made his gut wrench.

  A loud banging at the door nearest them interrupted his futile attempt to comfort her, and it was as if someone had flipped a switch. He already melted away from her, saying sotto voce, "Go ahead and answer it, but be careful."

  He didn't really have to tell her that. Jenna had everything she could do not to look back for him as she got to the door, but she didn't want to take the chance of tipping anyone off, so she didn't.

  When she opened it, it was one of the men who had come before, looking more agitated and less friendly this time. This was the tall one who had spoken first but not the one who had given her his card.

  "May I help you?" she asked, proud of how calm her voice sounded, hoping that Merck was listening, but she couldn't hear anything from behind her at all, not that she really expected to. The man was much too good at his job for that. "Oh, you're one of the men who came here before." She pretended surprise. Meryl Streep had nothing on her! "Did you find the person you were looking for?"

  "No, ma'am, we didn't, but w
e have a pretty good idea where he is now," he informed her politely while reaching behind him to pull a large handgun out from his waistband. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to come with me," he said, jerking her arm hard and pulling her out of the relative safety of her home to turn her around and tuck her up against him, walking them both backwards into the yard and jamming the barrel of the gun into her side.

  They both jumped when they heard the loud report of a gun echoing across the pond. "Merck, you'd better show yourself or your cute little piece of ass here is going to get it, you filthy pig cop," he yelled.

  Nothing. Not a sound.

  The man behind her was growing more and more agitated. She could hardly blame him – she wouldn't want to be in his shoes, either. Funny, how they both naturally assumed it was his partner, who had lost.

  "I'm not playing, Merck. You know me. You know what I am capable of doing. You spent enough time cozying up to me, you fucking rat. I trusted you. I brought you into my organization, introduced you to my friends, hooked you up, and all the time you were a cop." He ran the gun over Jenna's stomach and up over her breasts while she tried to remain still and not provoke him in any way. "I think I need to have some fun with her a bit before I waste her," he threatened, letting the hand that wasn't holding the gun roam up from her waist to cup and cruelly squeeze a full, round breast. He zeroed in on her nipple that he then pinched and twisted at the same time, fit to rip it clean off her.

  Jenna started to let a scream out, then stifled it, thinking the sounds of her distress might make Merck do something stupid to rescue her that might well get him killed, clamping her mouth shut, so that the only thing that escaped it were a few pitiful whimpers.

  Suddenly, she saw him, her entire body both flooding with relief at the sight of him and shaking with terror for him, as she felt the gun leave her side and turn on him. Merck seemed cool as a cucumber. He walked out into the open, gun up and aimed at the man behind her, advancing with his body turned sideways as much as he could, to provide the smallest target area possible, stopping about fifty feet away from where the man was holding her.