Wanted by J. Kenner

  I shuddered, my nipples tightening simply from the promise of his words.

  "Or should I tell you how I want to feel the sting of my bare hand on your naked ass until your cheeks are red and your cunt glistens." He leaned in closer, his whisper ragged at my ear. "I want you naked, Angie. Naked and bound and wet for me. I want your legs wide and your body exposed. I want to see you. Hell, I want to feast on you. I want my mouth on you, my tongue driving you mad. I don't want you to know a goddamn thing except me and the pleasure I bring you. And I want to watch the way your eyes go bright when I finally let you come."

  I was breathing hard, my panties soaked, my thighs damp and trembling. His words shocked me, yes. But they also turned me on.

  I leaned back, increasing the distance between us infinitesimally, but only because I had no choice. It was either find support against the rough brick wall or collapse to the ground, my body no longer quite able to hold me upright.

  The second I edged back though, a shadow crossed his face. "Like I said, I'm an asshole."

  Despite the fact that he'd completely undone me--despite the fact that every bone, muscle, and tendon in my body had turned to jelly--I somehow managed the smallest shake of my head and the tiniest noise. "No."

  I drew in a gasping breath, then said more forcefully, "No. I'm not running. I'm not going anywhere." I licked my suddenly dry lips and glanced down at the ground, embarrassment overtaking me. But not enough to cripple me. Not even close.

  Traffic rushed by at the end of the alley and the pulse of music filtered through the thick walls of the club. None of that noise penetrated, though. The alley seemed still and quiet, as if the world had quit turning and everything--my existence, Evan's, the whole damn universe--was stuck in limbo until I spoke again.

  I steeled my shoulders. "Everything you just said ... I--I want it, too."

  My cheeks were so hot I was certain they must be flashing as red as neon, and I kept my eyes down, afraid that if I looked up and saw him I might spontaneously combust.

  "Angie. Oh, Jesus, Angie." He took my head in his hands, his fingers sliding into my thick tangle of hair as he tilted my face up to see his. "You completely unwind me." There was such intensity in his voice that it sounded almost painful, and the tenor of his desire shook me to the core. "Tell me you want me. Tell me you want this." The words were rough and urgent. "I need to hear you say it."

  "I want you," I said, the words sounding inadequate against the complexity of the emotions behind them.

  For a moment, he held my gaze, as if he was searching my face for some sort of deception. I didn't flinch. I knew what he saw in me--himself, reflected right back.

  He stroked my cheek with the pad of his thumb, the sweetness of the gesture in stark contrast to the rawness of all the things he'd said he wanted to do with me. But somehow, that simple touch made me melt even more.

  He was everything I'd ever wanted. Everything I needed. Hell, he was more than I could have imagined. And in that moment, I knew I would do anything to keep him there with me.

  "I want you," I repeated. "I want this."

  "This?" he repeated, then leaned in to brush a trail of feather-soft kisses down my neck, then along my collarbone. His touch was lighter than air, and yet it pounded through me like the steady, rhythmic thrum of a bass drum building to a crescendo.

  "Or maybe this?" He ran his hands down my arms, then twined our fingers together. He pressed his body tight against me as his mouth sought mine, his tongue demanding entrance as he thrust our arms out to the side as if readying to take flight. He deepened the kiss, exploring with his tongue, delighting me with his teeth, nibbling on my lips. And as he did, he slowly maneuvered our arms up until mine were completely above my head and he gently released his fingers from mine. "Or maybe this is what you want," he said, manipulating my hands so that I was clutching my own wrist above my head.

  "Evan, I--"

  "No." He brushed his lips over my ear, his voice so low I had to strain to hear him. "No talking. No moving. The arms stay up, the hands together. Nod if you understand me."

  I licked my lips.

  "Nod," he repeated.

  I nodded, so lost in him that if he'd told me to strip naked and spread my legs right then, I think I would have done it, and eagerly. I was that much in thrall to him.

  Yeah, he was dangerous all right--but damn me, it was that danger that I craved.

  "Good girl," he said, then brushed the gentlest of kisses over my lips. "And I think we've found what you want," he added, closing his hands over mine.

  I drew in a shuddering breath, because he was right. He had me trapped--maybe not by reality, but by the promise of my own obedience. The result was the same. I was desperately, hopelessly turned on.

  "You like this," he said. "You're open to me--open to the world. Down and dirty with me in an alley where anything could happen." Once again, he leaned in to whisper. Once again, I was struck by how well he knew me. "This excites you, doesn't it? Not knowing where we're going next. What's going to happen. Who might turn that corner. Not knowing if I'm going to kiss you or fuck you." He paused, and his next words made me moan aloud. "I'll give you a hint, Angie. I'm going to do both."

  I hadn't noticed when he'd removed one of his hands from where he gripped mine, but I noticed now that he was trailing his fingers up my thigh, slowly lifting the hem of my skirt as his hand rose higher and higher.

  I whimpered a little, but the hand on mine held fast, and he shook his head. One tiny motion. No.

  I closed my eyes and surrendered to both the unspoken command and to my own overpowering need to revel in the exhilaration of this moment. He had me pinned against the wall, held in place by his large hand cupped around my wrists. His body was so close to mine I could feel his heat. And his hand was rising higher and higher toward my now-soaked panties, my throbbing clit, and my cunt that was slick with arousal.

  Every scrap of reason inside me was screaming that I needed to open my eyes and tell him no. That I needed to walk away. That this was a bad idea and that I knew better and hadn't I told myself over and over that it was a bad idea to let myself go wild? That nothing good ever came of it.

  That I would regret it in the morning.

  But I didn't regret it then. Not one little bit.

  I shifted my stance and spread my legs wider--and I was rewarded by his low, sensual growl of approval. Slowly, his fingertip traced the edge of my panties, easing down the side of the V that covered my pubic bone. I whimpered as he teased me mercilessly, his finger grazing over silk and elastic, the edge of his skin barely brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

  "Frustrated, beautiful?" he murmured.

  My head was back, my breathing fast. "Are you insane?" In my head, I was screaming. In real life, I could barely formulate words. "Jesus, Evan. Please."

  He spread his fingers so that now he was teasing the indention at the juncture of both my thighs, his strokes light but firm. And never, ever touching the soft flesh beneath the silk or brushing over my tight, demanding clit.

  I struggled to pull my hands free, desperate to finish what he had started. But he held me fast, and I wanted to shout curses, to make demands, to drop down on my knees and beg. But it was all I could do to draw breath as my body shuddered, every nerve, every sensation pooled between my legs in anticipation of a touch that he seemed determined not to give me.

  "Please, what?" he asked, as I dragged my teeth over my lower lip.

  "Please," I repeated. "Please everything."

  His low, satisfied chuckle washed over me, teasing my skin with as much sensuality as if he were trailing a feather over me.

  "Touch me," I demanded.

  He bent closer so that his breath tickled my cheek. "I am touching you."

  I wiggled my hips in unspoken demand. "You know what I mean."

  "I do," he said. "But I want to hear you say it." He drew his tongue up the edge of my ear, and I bit down on my lip for fear that if I didn't I wo
uld cry out in both pleasure and frustration.

  "I want--" I swallowed and tried again. "I want you inside my panties."

  To his credit, he complied, and I sighed with pleasure as his fingers stroked my slick, swollen flesh. I was completely bare, having recently discovered Brazilian waxes, and the way his finger slid over my wet flesh was driving me completely insane.

  He didn't, however, touch my clit, and so I had no relief for the desperate, pounding growing need that was building inside me.

  I moved my hips, trying without words to let him know exactly what I wanted.

  "Demanding thing, aren't you?" he teased.

  "Dammit, Evan, you're being exceptionally mean."

  "Maybe." He stroked his finger lightly over my clit, and my entire body lit up. "But I'm damn sure enjoying myself." He slipped his fingers inside me, and I gasped as my muscles tightened around him, drawing him in. "That's it, baby. That's what you want, isn't it? You want to be fucked."

  I clenched my hands into fists, managing to gather enough self-possession to say, "You're just figuring that out?"

  He laughed softly, but whatever amusement I'd felt in the wake of my comment faded under the slow, rhythmic assault of his hands upon my body, sliding deeper and deeper, leaving me breathless and anxious and so very, very close.

  When he drew his hand free, I actually whimpered, and when he slid his fingertip--wet with my arousal--between my lips, I moaned and took him in, closing my eyes as I sucked and teased, imagining it was his cock in my mouth.

  "Dear god, that's hot," he whispered. He moved closer, and I felt the press of his erection against my belly, tight and hard beneath the denim of his jeans. "I want you, Angie. I want to yank your skirt up and rip these damn panties off. I want to bury myself inside you and watch your face while you come."

  I said nothing, only drew him in deeper and relished the soft sound of his own, responsive groan.

  "But not here--not in an alley." He drew his finger from my mouth, and my eyes fluttered open. "I'm taking you home. I'm going to fuck you, Angie, but I'm going to do it properly. Say yes, baby."

  I nodded.

  "I want to hear it."

  Stupidly, I nodded again. "Yes," I said, after fighting to regain the power of thought.

  "Good girl." He gave me a moment to recover the ability to walk, then led me toward the street where, I presumed, he'd parked.

  We'd only taken two steps toward the intersection of the alley and the street when a shadow fell across the sidewalk, followed quickly by a form that I recognized. Bruiser.

  A second guy flanked him, tall and lean, with the kind of sauntering walk that told the world he could beat the crap out of just about anyone.

  A shock of panic--hard and fast and cold--shot through me. How could this have happened? I never take my guard down when I'm outside, and sure as hell not in a dark alley. And yet I'd been totally unaware of everything. I'd seen nothing, heard nothing, noticed nothing. From the moment we exited the club, there had been only Evan. I'd let myself go with him--I'd let myself fly--and everything had gone to hell. Fuck.

  "He the one that horned in on your girl?" the lean guy asked.

  "My girl? More like my slut." Bruiser aimed his beady eyes at me. "What would your mamma say about you doing the nasty in a dark alley with that son of a bitch?"

  "Fuck you," I snapped. Or, at least, I tried to. Instead, the words stuck in my throat, trapped there when I spied the glint of the knife in Bruiser's hand. A chill crept over my entire body, icy fingers trailing up my spine. I sucked in air, and tasted salt water. I closed my eyes, and saw blood.

  This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

  I didn't realize that I'd taken a step backward until I felt Evan's hand closing tight around mine, locking me in place. I froze, taking shallow breaths, trying to concentrate only on the reassuring feel of his hold upon me.

  He was order to my chaos, calm to my storm. Fear might have me tight in its grip, but Evan slipped out of its fist like butter. The alley--hell, the whole damn situation--was his to command.

  "I think you owe the lady an apology," he said smoothly.

  "Fuck you."

  "I'd really rather not," Evan said. "Now get the hell out of my way." His voice was hard, his manner equally so. He took a single step toward them, forcing me to take a corresponding one. I bit my lower lip, then tasted blood. I saw Bruiser's mouth moving, but I couldn't make out the words. Though I knew I was looking at this dark Chicago alley, what I saw was the barnacled posts beneath the pier. What I heard was the crash of the ocean against the beach. It was as if I'd fallen into one of my dreams, and I couldn't fight my way out of the nightmare.

  Then Bruiser lunged, leading with the knife, and the sharp pierce of a scream ripped me back into reality. It took a second before I realized that it was my scream, and that in that minuscule amount of time, Evan had released my hand, raised his arm, and managed to block the oncoming knife.

  "Shit, Chris!" the lean guy shouted as Evan twisted Chris-the-Bruiser's arm behind his back and wrested the knife free.

  "Motherfucker!" Chris snarled, but he didn't struggle, and from where I stood I could see why--considering Evan's grip, if Chris even breathed wrong, his arm was going to snap.

  "You fucked up bad, pretty boy," the lean guy spat, already in motion with his own knife tight in his hand.

  In the kind of move that Hollywood directors probably spent weeks choreographing, Evan shoved Chris aside, spun toward the lean guy, knocked his knife arm out of the way, then thrust the tip of the knife he'd taken off Chris into the flesh at the base of the lean guy's throat. Chris cursed and sprinted down the alley, leaving his buddy to Evan's mercy.

  Evan didn't even spare him a glance, his attention focused entirely on the lean guy with the knife still twitching in his hand. "Give me a reason," Evan said. "Give me just one reason, and I'll slice through you like butter."

  "Fuck you."

  "Wrong reason." In a move too fast for me to see how it happened, Evan yanked the guy into a clench, his face a wash of rage. Now the length of his blade was pressed to the lean guy's throat. I saw a single drop of blood trail down his neck. "All I have to do is flick my wrist," Evan whispered, the voice so soft and menacing it seemed to be inside my head instead of spoken.

  The guy's eyes were squeezed tight, and the knife he still held clattered to the pavement. I caught the pungent scent of urine and knew that he'd wet himself.

  I heard a soft noise, like the cry of a child. At first I thought it came from the man in Evan's arms. Then I realized it came from me.

  I saw Evan's muscles stiffen, saw the shift of expressions on his face, the way he brought the rage down. The way his chest rose and fell as he looked at me and gathered himself. Slowly--very slowly--he drew the knife away, and I couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if I'd stayed quiet. The thought should have terrified me. It didn't. This was Evan, and like Jahn, he'd do whatever it took to protect me.

  "Get the fuck out of here," Evan said, his voice like the low roll of thunder.

  The guy didn't waste any time. He took off down the alley, practically tripping over himself in the process.

  Slowly, Evan moved to the trash bin and tossed the knife in. Then he came toward me, moving gingerly, as if I were a wounded animal. I didn't understand the reason for his tentative approach until he crouched in front of me. Only then did I realize that I'd slid to the ground, my knees pulled tight to my chest.

  "Hey," he said, his voice as gentle as I'd ever heard it. "It's okay. You're okay." He reached out and stroked my hair. "They've gone. They're not going to hurt me, and I'd kill them before I'd let them hurt you."

  I nodded, thankful for his touch. The pitching, tossing waves inside me began to settle into soft, undulating swells.

  I reached out a hand for him to help me up, but he shook his head. "No. I've got you."

  Before I could protest, he had his arms under my legs and behind my back. I thought
I should protest, but I couldn't quite work up the desire. Instead, I curled against him, letting his steady strength soothe the rawness of my memories.

  I have no idea where it came from, but the moment we emerged from the alley onto the street, a familiar-looking black Lexus pulled to the curb. A burly man with arms as thick as my thighs hurried out and opened the back door for Evan, who moved gingerly as he placed me on the soft leather.

  "Don't go," I whispered, as the icy prickles and hard knots of fear began to return.

  "Never," he said, as he slid in beside me. And then I was in his arms again, safe and warm. I curled up next to him, my eyes closed. I heard the door slam, then the sound of Evan's palm against the back of the front seat. A signal to go, I realized, because the next thing I felt was motion and power as the Lexus pulled out onto the street.

  Evan said nothing, and for that I was grateful. I didn't want to talk. Didn't want to explain. I didn't even want to be reassured. All I wanted was for him to hold me, and he did that, his arm around me, his fingers idly stroking my upper arm. My head rested on his shoulder, and though I thought I felt his lips brush over my hair, I couldn't be sure, as I didn't have the strength to lift my head and look at him.

  I was tired. My body drained, my muscles limp. Everything was coming at me too damn fast. I didn't want anything but the feel of Evan's arms around me, and if I had my way, I would have stayed like that, held tight in the warmth of his embrace, forever.

  seven

  Forever ended all too soon.

  The next thing I knew, the engine had stopped and we were parked in front of Jahn's building. As I blinked groggily, I saw Tony the doorman hurry over. He pulled open the door and Evan slid out, then bent back in to give me a hand.

  "I'm fine." The breath I drew in was shaky, and I knew that my voice was going to sound petulant, but I couldn't help myself. "You brought me to the condo."

  His gray eyes were clear and full of understanding. "I thought you needed someplace familiar."

  I nodded, even though he was wrong. I didn't want familiar. Hell, I was familiar, and wasn't that the whole point? To get as far away from myself as I could? I'm not sure I knew anymore. All I knew was that for years, I'd felt lost. Until tonight, that is. Until I felt Evan's touch and knew that I'd finally come home.