Savage Thunder

Chapter Twenty-three

No sooner was Jocelyn alone than she yanked off her robe, wadded it up in her hands, and threw it down at her feet. She just about stomped on it as well. That miserable, detestable.

"And when the hell are you going to lock this damned. door?"

The "damned door" in question had been opened again for Colt to snarl that question at her. Jocelyn didn't answer it. She had sucked in her breath at his sudden reappearance and seemed to have lost the knowledge of how to breathe, let alone speak, the second her eyes collided with his.

Colt seemed to have the same problem, for he had barely gotten the last word out, nor were any more forthcoming. He stood with one hand gripping the door handle, the other pressed flat against the outside wall, merely leaning into the room, which was as far as he got when he saw her. And he didn't move from that position — at least his body didn't. His eyes were moving plenty, however, slowly, over every inch of her, from the flame-tinted hair, now in wild disarray, to the bare toes peeking out from the bottom of that incredible sheath of shimmering, clinging green satin, and what was in between — Christ Almighty. What the sight of her standing there like that did to him should have reduced him to ashes.

"I wondered about it… often. what you slept in."

Jocelyn wouldn't have known what to reply to that even if she could. She had only just started breathing again, and that with difficulty. Speech was still beyond her, as was movement. She was afraid to take a step for fear her knees would buckle. And that wasn't her only fear. His eyes, usually so opaque, were blazing now with such heat she felt scorched by them, thrilled beyond measure — but frightened too. She couldn't help it, not when she recalled that he had never once been gentle with her, and looked anything but gentle now.

Without taking his eyes from her, Colt stepped far enough into the room to close the door behind him.

Below the handle was the lock and he turned that too, still with his gaze riveted on her.

If she hadn't already known her time of waiting was over, that would have confirmed it. But she did know. He was going to have her. She couldn't deny him now even if she wanted to. And she didn't want to. She wanted him, despite the fear, despite knowing she would be getting raw passion rather than gentle lovemaking. Why that didn't change her mind and send her fleeing out the window again she wasn't sure. She just knew he had to be the first, that she couldn't imagine anyone else touching her the way she was going to let him touch her.

Her budding passion and nervous determination were not as pronounced as her fear, which was all Colt sensed in her stillness or saw in her wide-eyed stare. In a primitive way, it only inflamed him the more.

But in the back of his mind he was aware that she hadn't instigated this meeting, that if he was lynched for it afterward, he would have nothing to blame but his own weakness. He would be a real bastard to use the same tactics now that he had used previously to frighten her off. Having lost the battle, he had no need for them. But he had a need for fair-ness, especially when she couldn't stop him, not by herself, not without help. So despite his single-minded determination, he forced himself to give her one last opportunity to escape what he could no longer control himself.

"Scream now, Duchess, while you've got the chance. You won't get another."

Jocelyn wished he hadn't said that. It sounded too ominous by half, as if she wouldn't survive this en-counter, or had totally mistaken what was going to happen.

"W — why?"

Her voice acted like a magnet, drawing him across the room even as he answered with brutal clarity, "Because I'm going to lay you on that bed and fill you with my flesh."

God, she hoped so. The words alone sent her blood racing and her heart knocking against her ribs.

There was no question of screaming. Moaning maybe. She already felt the need to moan and had to consciously resist it, not wanting any sound to escape that he might mistake before he reached her.

When he did, the opportunity was lost. His fingers immediately threaded into her hair to grip her head and tilt it back, applying enough pressure so there was no escaping his mouth as it lowered to cover hers.

And as she had anticipated, it was a ravaging kiss, fraught with need too long denied, searing and hurting and angry.

But Jocelyn understood the emotion behind it, or thought she did. If Vanessa had the right of it, Colt was probably furious with her right now for breaking his control, but even more furious with himself for letting it happen. It was up to her to tame that fury before it got out of hand.

She shoved desperately against his chest until he raised his head. He even dropped one hand so she could create a space between them. The other hand remained where it was, the fingers closing on her hair. As long as she didn't try to move too far away from him, it didn't hurt. But she knew he could yank her back at any second, that he was merely allowing them both a moment to catch their breath.

Hers was gasping, and instead of calming, it only became more rapid as she washed his eyes drift down her body, taking in everything again at this closer range. When she started to say something, anything that would break the mounting tension in her belly, he knew it without glancing up, and forestalled her with a shake of his head.

"Not now, Duchess." His voice vibrated with warning. "You had your chance."

She swallowed hard, and it was only because his direct gaze still remained diverted that she managed to get out, "Then call me Jocelyn."

In that moment Colt knew she was willing. His eyes shot up to her face to confirm it, and it was there, not fear, or horror, or even disgust, but merely un-certainty, and in her eyes — arousal. That knowledge acted on him like whiskey poured over hot flames. He groaned and reached for her again, and his hand was trembling as it touched her cheek, slid down her throat, then came to rest on her upper chest, where he could feel the wild tempo of her heartbeat.

Jocelyn released a sigh herself, certain now that there was nothing left to fear. She offered her mouth and he took it, exquisitely, with enough pressure to fan her desire but not enough to alarm or bruise her. Yet when she pressed closer and tried to wrap her arms around him, she found out that the savagery was gone, but not his impatience.

Colt wanted everything at once, to touch her, look at her, taste her. He wanted to be inside her already.

At the same time, he didn't want to give up the plea-sure of her mouth. So without breaking the kiss, which had become a sensual exploration of taste and texture, he hooked his thumbs in the narrow shoul-ders of her gown. By the time he had run his hands down her arms, the gown hung at her waist.

Only then was he tempted to lean back, and what he saw merely increased his impatience. Her breasts were small but perfectly shaped, the nipples hard little nubs, and he hadn't even touched them yet.

He was so amazed by that that he looked up at her and was hit with another jolt. The uncertainty was gone. She met his gaze steadily, and there was such naked desire in her look, he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"You want me." He said it in awe, unaware he said it aloud, until he heard her whispered "Yes" and felt her hands on his chest, her ringers working at his buttons, or trying to.

His own hands returned to swiftly finish what he had started, only he had no more luck than she was having with her own efforts to undress him. The gown wouldn't budge past her hips, and Jocelyn was too eager to get her hands on his bare skin to assist him.

"There are ties in the back," she offered helpfully.

"Do you care?"

"No."

The ties broke with his tug and the gown pooled at her feet. He set her back from him then so he could look at her while he got rid of his own clothes, the incentive adding unaccustomed speed and efficiency to his movements.

She wanted to watch him too, to miss nothing of this body she had fantasized about. But the small space between them brought on a sudden shyness, making her acutely aware of her lack of experience. She didn't know what was expected of her at that point, or if anything was. Was it rude to stare at him?

Shouldn't she remove his clothes, as he had hers? Or should she have gone directly to the bed to await him? It would be embarrassing if he had to tell her what to do.

Reluctantly, Jocelyn turned toward the bed, but his husky drawl stopped her. "I want to put you there myself. I said I would."

The reminder recalled his exact words, that he was going to fill her with his flesh, and even the memory of those words had the power to weaken her knees. Gladly she gave in to her first desire, to indulge her curiosity about his body, and especially that most mysterious part of the male form, which she had never seen before.

Vanessa had tried to explain what it looked like, had even drawn some sketches that were ridiculously funny but couldn't compare with the real thing. Could it? Just thinking about it made her senses reel, and before she did something really silly, like throw her-self at him, she forced her thoughts in a different direction.

She hadn't really noticed what he was wearing to-night, but she did now as each item hit the floor. His shirt and pants were dark, but normal for a change. In fact, with the gun belt, and the bandanna about his throat that she watched him cut off instead of untying, he came close to looking like any other Westerner.

Only the boots with spurs were missing, and, tonight, the hat. But then she saw the two thin braids in front. They blended so well with the rest of his flowing black hair that they weren't very noticeable, not in such dim lighting.

His brother Billy had told her about this quirk of his, that he dressed in this manner so no one would mistake him for what he was. Billy hadn't told her the reason, but she had a feeling it had something to do with the bitterness she had sensed in Colt when she first met him, rather than pride in his heritage. She wished she knew the cause, because it came to her, with considerable surprise, that she had a strong desire to rid him of that bitterness, to see this man happy.

She had another immediate surprise, however, to find she had distracted herself so thoroughly she had somehow missed seeing him in all his naked splen-dor. Being lifted off her feet brought that knowledge home, and she thoughtlessly cried, "Wait!"

"What?" he growled.

Idiot! You can't tell him you want to see his. "Nothing."

"Good, because I can't wait."

He did not pause in carrying her straight to the bed or in laying her on it and instantly coming down on top of her. Before she even had a chance to adjust to his unfamiliar weight, her legs were nudged apart by his knees. But more shocking than that was the real-ization that he really wasn't going to wait another minute. She might not have seen it, but she could feel it, the flesh he meant to fill her with, and it was going to happen now.

She tried to hold on, to brace herself, but he caught her hands and held them instead, making her even more frantic — until he kissed her, deeply, making her feel his urgency, making her want it.

And then he was looking down at her with such fierce passion she wasn't even aware he had made his first tentative entry. It was the withdrawal she no-ticed, that and his second thrust, which gained only another inch.

"Christ, you're tight," he gritted out as if he were in pain. "I think I could spend the rest of my days inside you, but right now I want you too much. Open for me, Duchess, before I explode."

He said this with his lips just barely touching hers, and although he still wouldn't call her by name, he made her title now sound like an endearment. But it was his groan when she did as he wanted that brought an answering sound from her own throat. He had slipped farther inside, but still not enough. She could feel what it was costing him to let her body adjust to his size instead of just plunging into her. His whole upper body was tense and straining, yet his eyes con-tinued to hold her mesmerized with their intensity.

"It'll be a rough ride. Can you take it?"

Jocelyn gulped, but nodded. She was rewarded with a smile of blatant male satisfaction.

"I figured you could," he added in a strained voice. "Has it been three years?"

She knew what he was asking. Other men she had rebuffed had insinuated that as a widow, she should be starved for sex. Colt would have his answer soon enough.

"It's none of my business, right?" This time he didn't give her a chance to respond. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

She didn't notice his harsher tone, or know that the thought of her with other men, like this, had just ended his desire to restrain himself for her sake. He closed his eyes and thrust deep, heard her sharp gasp, felt the barrier he had ripped open, and went still as death.

Jocelyn was tense herself, waiting for the inevitable questions. They didn't come. After a long agonizing moment, he started kissing her instead, his tongue licking at her lips, entreating them to part for him, then slipping inside her mouth to make her a little crazy with wild sensations rippling through her, the heady taste of him. And his hands caressing her — he was so incredibly tender with her now, she wanted to cry.

From her cheek to her throat to her breasts, his touch was so gentle, almost too gentle, until his mouth followed the same path and she was bathed in heat and the abrasion of his tongue across sensitive nip-ples. She moaned with pleasure. He suckled and she thought she would die.

Tears did come to her eyes as she held his head to her breasts. She felt cherished, precious, and so very desired. She felt beautiful in his eyes, something she had never felt before. And all the while he lavished her body with such exquisite care, she could feel his heat deep inside her, still, patient now, but throbbing with need she desperately wanted to fulfill.

There was no pain left when he began to move in her again much later. There hadn't been from his first shattering kiss. And he had built her desire up to such a fevered pitch, within moments she was dissolving in a whitehot flood of sensation. Through that haze of pleasure she barely heard him reach his own cli-max, and she was asleep before the last shudder left his body.