Crescent Moon (9 page)

Juste held her hips and stood there, damning himself for
being weak. If she didn’t change her mind and quick, he was going to fuck
her—every way he’d imagined since he’d roamed his hands over her soft skin
while he’d bathed her.

Ever since her bath, he’d been hard and horny. Sick in his
belly because he knew he was all wrong for her. She was his responsibility. And
whether she was truly innocent, or simply couldn’t remember the last time she’d
had a man, or was outright lying about the fact, he shouldn’t be here. Not with
his dick slicking her belly and his hands curling around her trim hips.

Worse, he was too far gone to even be gentle. When she’d
nuzzled his neck, he’d seen images of him taking her, from behind, from on top,
her legs wrapped around his waist and then his neck …

Then and there, he’d known he was a goner. Hell, he’d been
resigned since he’d turned off the bathroom light and headed to the bed with a
rubber coating him, instead of heading straight to the couch.

He wasn’t a gentleman. Wasn’t good, not deep inside. Lately,
he was ruled by his anger and his lust. And he was angry with her for tempting
him. And lust? Sweet fuck, he couldn’t look at her fingering her own nipples
without being jealous he wasn’t the one giving her that pleasure.

It was inevitable—her being in his bed, him staking his
claim, driving deep. Once he’d discovered her in that crate and unwrapped her
like a present, like a gift from God, he’d been lost.

Lost his damn mind. No turning back.

He picked her straight up by the waist and turned. Her legs
bent as they met the mattress, and he crawled onto the bed, his knees on either
side of her thighs and hips, his hands still clutching her, shoving her not so
gently toward the center of the mattress.

Her gaze never left his face. If she’d blinked or shown a
moment’s fear, he’d have reared back and fled. But she met his gaze, boldly
fascinated, dipping to his mouth then back up, an invitation he was accepting.

When he had her where he needed her on the bed, he eased
down, blanketing her lithe, supple form, his hard contours crushing hers until
he came up on his elbows.

Her fingers tracked the edge of his jaw.

In his mind, he saw them flirting with the flared edge of
his corona. “I have to have you,” he growled, his groin tightening painfully as
he resisted the urge to grind against her tender belly.

“It is … inevitable,” she whispered. “Amun’s will.”

Fuck, she felt it too. “So don’t bother fightin’?” he
muttered.

Her smile was very nearly a smirk.

“What are you playin’ at?” He narrowed his gaze.

“I’m not playing. But you are worrying too much about what
this means.” Her finger traced his bottom lip. “Relax. Give yourself. Find your
pleasure. Help me find mine.”

Her pleasure. She was a virgin. Maybe. He groaned and closed
his eyes, forcing out the words through a tight jaw. “I don’t know how to do
this.”

She laughed softly. “That I don’t believe. You are too
beautifully made. Women must follow you home.”

“Not talkin’ about … lovemaking,” he said, wincing
because he’d nearly called it something else. “Making love” wasn’t part of his
normal vocabulary. But then, the women he brought home knew the score. And if
they hoped he’d call back, well … he was sorry, but he didn’t do repeats.
Those got sticky, and he didn’t like sticky.

So what the hell are you doing, you horny bastard?

Juste knew he was entering dangerous territory. The last
thing he wanted was to hurt the girl, but he didn’t see any way around it. If
he couldn’t have her, he’d die. Just once.

He snorted because already his mind was leaping ahead to the
next encounter, and the next …

Rather than keep thinking thoughts that shook him to his
core, he lowered his head. His lips met hers and that spark he’d felt before,
the one he’d pretended didn’t matter, shivered through his frame, sparking the
top of his spinal cord and shooting straight down his back. His groin drew up,
balls tucking tightly against his body. And good lord, his dick had never ached
this badly.

Her slim, long-fingered hands soothed the back of his neck,
and he realized his mouth had frozen atop hers. He hadn’t kissed her so much as
mashed his mouth against hers. Not that she seemed to mind. Her wide eyes stared
back; the stiff tips of her breasts poked him.

Juste drew a deep breath, called on what little control he
had left, and angled his head, aligning their noses. He’d show her how this was
supposed to be done—even if it killed him to go slow.

He rubbed her mouth gently, eating at her lips, his tongue
sneaking inside her mouth as she gasped in surprise. He nearly smiled, but
continued exploring. He discovered her mouth was softer than any he’d ever
kissed, and that she tasted just right. Sweet, but not too sweet. His tongue
swept inside, teasing hers, gliding and thrusting like he wanted to do below.
To his great surprise, she quickly reciprocated, mimicking his actions, even to
the soft suctioning he began against her mouth.

He cradled her head, liking the added control and the fact
his fingers tangled in her thick, warm hair. “Ain’t you ever been kissed?” he
growled.

“By you,” she nodded. “Right now.”

He shook his head, but believed her. She was a quick study,
but the shocked gasps and the way she followed his every action proved her
innocence. Which caused his heart to thud against his chest.

Dread settled in the bottom of his belly. If he did this, if
he took what she so enthusiastically offered, he couldn’t just walk away. He’d
be bound. Not for life or anything, but to making sure she stayed safe, that
she was happy when he left. He couldn’t get up off the bed and wash her off his
skin the same way he had every other woman he’d played with. Somehow, he didn’t
think he’d forget her as fast.

Again, he sank, trailing his mouth along the jut of her jaw,
then smoothing his lips down her neck, lifting on his hands and knees to scoot
lower, knees spreading to clamp around her thighs, her knees, and then
arriving, at last, with his head hovering over those hard-tipped, impudent
little breasts.

He liked their pert, round shape, their youthful firmness.
Liked the beige color of her nipples, just a shade or two darker than her
golden skin. Smooth as velvet, their surface tickled his mouth as he circled,
rubbing them over and over.

Her hands gripped his shoulders and squeezed, and his lips
tightened in a feral smile. He knew what she wanted, even if she couldn’t form
the thought. He fluttered his tongue at a rigid bead.

Beneath him, her belly quivered. Her back curved, forcing
more of her breast against his mouth. But he pulled back, continuing to lick
the tiny bud, ignoring the soft, keening moan she made, the fingertips digging
into his skin.

When at last he latched onto her nipple and sucked, air
hissed between her clenched teeth.

“Too much?” he asked, lifting his head to stare down at the
reddening tip.

Gasping, she shook her head, a wildness in her eyes that
matched his own galloping heart.

“Do you like it?”

“I’ve pinched them before, when I used that phallus …”

He grunted and gave her a scowl. “You gonna tell me this
ain’t any better?”

“No.” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “This is so much
more. My skin … Please, Justin.” She cupped her other breast and pushed it
up, offering herself again.

Because his foster mama had raised a polite boy, he took
what was offered and gave her back his silent gratitude, licking and sucking,
tapping it with his tongue, before finally chewing gently until her belly
undulated beneath him and her legs moved sinuously between his knees, trying to
open.

Relenting, he raised one knee at a time while she slowly
opened her thighs, letting him look down at the sweet sexy treasure she
exposed. Juste went lower, kissing her belly, gliding his hands and his mouth
down her smooth skin, pausing to plunder her navel, before going lower still.
When he was level with her mound, her hand snuck between them and she cupped
herself.

He glanced up, recognized the dawning shock for what it was.
“I want this, Khepri. Swear you’ll like it.”

She shook her head, her mouth opening.

To give a protest, no doubt, but he bent, stuck out his
tongue and licked at the seams of her clenched fingers, watching as her eyes
grew smokier and darker, pupils dilating. At last, she spread her fingers,
allowing him to tongue the tangy flesh she protected.

Prickles of awe at her trust, at the feeling this was as
he’d suspected all along—more than he’d bargained for, more than just
sex—raised gooseflesh on his arms. Something about her drew him in.
Instinctively, he knew he’d be changed by sharing intimacy with her.
Irrevocably.

The burning, insistent ache in his groin never eased, but he
slowed again, savoring the journey. He cupped her harder, hugging her bottom,
gliding his cheeks against her inner thighs. She was so wet and tasted like an
ocean breeze. He growled and burrowed deeper, his nose and chin shoving away
her fingers until only his mouth covered her pretty, nude pussy.

He drew her lips into his mouth and tugged and licked. Then
stuck out his tongue to feather the edges of the pink inner lips. He didn’t
miss her thinning breaths, the shivers that quaked her thighs, or the pulsing,
involuntary clasping of her sex.

Cupping her bottom tenderly, he raised her. “Spread your
thighs wider,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Without hesitation, she complied, the movement exposing her
opening and stretching the thin membrane covering her clit. Glinting red and
swelling, the round nub was impossible to resist. He glided his tongue over the
smooth knot, ignoring her broken cries and the fingers pulling at his hair.

He licked and soothed until the thin hood receded entirely
and his lips could close around the small nub. Then he suckled there, his
tongue continuing to push against it inside his mouth. With a slow move, he
snuck a single finger inside her, circling her opening, testing her acceptance
of his intrusion.

Issuing a long sigh, Khepri raised her legs.

From the corner of his eyes, he watched them straighten, her
toes curl.

Her back curved too, her head digging into the mattress
while her hands cupped and caressed her breasts. She was so beautiful, so
natural, not a false note or warble. When the shivering grew harder, he set her
down and crawled up her body, letting his cock drag against the inside of one
thigh as he came over her.

Her eyes were deep wells, her mouth wet and trembling. He
kissed her lightly, then bit her lower lip. “Pay attention.”

Her mouth pursed and she blew out a breath. “Justin—”

“
Cher
, hold on tight.” He shook his head, cutting her
off. “I’ll be gentle as I can.”

Her eyes rounded, but she gave a little nod. When he prodded
her opening with the tip of his cock, she drew in a swift breath.

“No, relax. Let me in.” Reaching down between them, he held
apart her folds and pushed against her with a slight side-to-side motion,
easing inside. She was tight … and getting tighter. “Sweetheart, let me
in.”

She gave him the oddest look, firming her mouth, then
closing her eyes, the line between her brows easing then disappearing, her
features growing slack.

“I said relax, not go to sleep.”

When she didn’t respond, he frowned. “Khepri. Sweetheart.”

At last, her eyes blinked open. Her mouth curved softly.
“I’m ready now.”

That was the first time he’d had a female meditate in the
middle of getting laid. A fact he found a bit unnerving. “This doesn’t have to
happen,” he muttered.
Please don’t tell me to stop.

“I’ve waited forever for this moment. Come into me, Justin
Henry Boucher.”

Into her creamy depths, he slid like a knife through butter,
wanting to pause to let her adjust to his girth, but unable to hold back once
he was there. And Jesus, when he was there, every inch snug inside her channel,
he let loose a groan. “Never felt like this.”
Shut up, you idiot.
“Never,
cher
.” So it was the truth, but he wasn’t some dumb teenager
getting his first taste of pussy. Although he felt new, refreshed, cleansed
somehow of all past transgressions. “I wanna move.”

“I’m all right.”

“Just all right?”

She gave a little laugh.

The sound made him lift his head. Joy glimmered in her
sparkling eyes. Joy in his own, he knew, shone right back at her.
Give it
up, Boucher. You’re a goner.
“It’s time. Wrap yourself around me, little
girl.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Wouldn’t be in my bed, if you were. It’s an …
endearment. An expression.”

“Oh. So I should call you ‘little boy’?”

Accompanied by an arch of his eyebrow, he gave her a gentle
inward prod. “Seriously?”

Her cheeks reddened, and then her glance fell away. “I shall
call you ‘my warrior.’”

“Call me what you like. Right now, conversation’s gonna get
tough.” Juste dipped his head and kissed her shoulder. Then he pushed up on his
arms and began short, tentative strokes, gauging her comfort and then her
growing desire from the expressions that chased across of her face. First,
surprised, then swiftly unraveled, her jaw slackening and eyes rolling when he
gave her a particularly well-targeted thrust. He didn’t need to wonder whether
she enjoyed it—her nails bit into his skin, her walls clenched spasmodically
around him, her hips lifted, meeting his thrusts awkwardly at first, but then
with growing fervor.

“Juste, oh Juste,” she whimpered.

“I’m here, baby. Right here. Let go.” For the first time,
her
pleasure rather than a
mutual
fulfillment became his priority. He tamped
down his own excitement, reciting police codes, thinking of Maines and his
scrawny neck, anything not to acknowledge the tension winding tighter and
tighter inside him.