He had to stop. She couldn't break away from him, even if he allowed it. All she could do was stand there, her nails raking against the wood of the door as her legs parted further for his touch.
"I want inside you." His voice was so deep, so rough now. "You're so sweet, Rachel, so hot. The thought of how tight and slick you'll fit around my cock steals my breath."
Hearing it stole her breath.
Rachel's head fell back against his shoulder as sensual weakness assailed her. The dangerous, overwhelming sensation of vulnerability washed through her, making her feel feminine, more sexy than she had ever felt in her life.
Jonas did that to her. Whether he was touching her or not, he had the ability to make her feel too soft, too female.
"There, my Rachel," he crooned, a rough, rasping sound that sent shivers of arousal racing over her as his fingers circled her clit. "Just rest against me, baby. I'll take care of everything."
Everything was sliding his fingers lower, pressing two together, and with blunted force thrusting into the narrow, tight confines of her vagina.
"Oh God, Jonas." The words tore from her throat. "It's too good. It's too good."
She was so close. She could feel her orgasm raking at her womb, pounding at her clit. Flames were licking across her flesh, centering between her thighs and causing her abdomen to clench with violent pleasure.
"Think how much better it could be." His fingers bent just enough to caress, to stroke previously hidden nerve endings and tender tissue. "Think, Rachel. I could be fucking you, filling you with every inch of my hard cock instead of my fingers."
She should have been insulted. She had never allowed Amber's father, Devon, to talk so explicitly to her. She had never enjoyed it--until she heard Jonas do it.
Fighting to breathe, she turned her head, her lips glancing the hard line of his jaw as he continued to thrust slow and easy inside her. His fingers caressed with knowing strokes, rubbing, easing through the clenched muscles of her pussy as his other arm wrapped beneath her breasts to keep her on her feet.
Her lips parted, pressing to his jaw, her tongue stroking over his sweat-dampened flesh to taste a hint of cinnamon and cloves. Her hands held on to his wrist, her fingertips rubbing against his flesh in concert with the strokes of his fingers inside her pussy.
"You make me regret," he groaned as he lowered his head, allowing her lips to move as close as the corner of his lips.
"Don't regret, Jonas." Her voice was broken, breathless from pleasure. "You have nothing to regret."
He was a man. A man who had broken rules, one who had done things that perhaps were not even legal. But he had done what he had thought had to be done to save himself as well as his species.
He was a man whose touch was pure pleasure, pure heat. A man who held her with strength and yet a gentleness in the face of overwhelming, animalistic pleasure. And still, he was in control. She could feel him fighting for it. Feel the struggle for it. The intent.
Her body tensed, drawn tight as the pleasure built inside her. His fingers thrust deeper, stroked, firmed, fucked her with increasing speed until she began to pant for air, for mercy.
Her nails bit into his arm, her lips parted against his cheek as a wail began to tear from her.
Rapture exploded inside her. Blood pounded, boiled, erupted. Sensation raged, flaming through nerve endings, racing across her flesh, striking her clit, then deep inside her pussy at the same time, and throwing her into a cataclysm of such astounding pleasure that she completely lost her breath.
Flaming fingers raced up her spine and back again. Her muscles trembled as sensation tore across it and her entire body became a writhing mass of complete ecstasy.
"You're mine, Rachel." The growl at her ear was a snarl, a hard, primal vibration of sound that in no way resembled Jonas's voice. "Remember that when their eyes flame with lust, when the scent of their hunger is like a disease filling the fucking room. Damn you, remember you're mine."
She shook her head desperately and could have sworn she heard him say with utmost softness, "I belong to you."
CHAPTER 8
The party for the ambassador to Switzerland was everything Jonas had known it would be: completely and utterly fucking boring and filled with the scent of male lust. There wasn't a second to escape the overwhelming male hunger each time their eyes centered on Rachel.
She was like a breath of fresh air in the room, an oasis of color and sweet ease they couldn't resist. A buffet of sensual pleasure, which they were greedy to partake of.
In other words, a typical D.C. party. Plenty of booze, high-calorie food--there wasn't a steak to be seen or smelled--and enough false joviality to make a saint curse. Enough attention given to his mate that he was on the edge of violence at any given moment.
Drey Hampton's ballroom was filled to capacity. The double French doors on the garden side were thrown open; the band on the patio was smooth and unobtrusive, but it wouldn't have mattered. The noise level inside the ballroom would have drowned the music out anyway.
And then there was the ambassador to Switzerland, David Slussburg--a fine piece of work. What the hell had ever possessed the president--who seemed to be a fairly astute individual--to assign this man as ambassador to any country, Jonas couldn't figure out. He was a cesspool of greed, deceit and lust. Beady eyes, a vain, pinched expression filled with calculating interest.
"So tell me, Wyatt, has Racert managed to convince you of the value of joining some of his pet projects?" Slussburg gave a false little laugh as he asked the question. "Now's the time to get in."