Jo Robertson - The Avenger

She was stalling, he thought, stalling because she wanted him to stay. Her scent wafted to him from the kitchen – the scent of nascent sexual interest – and the sound of her skittering heart echoed like thunder in his ears. With his heightened senses, he also felt her anxiety and indecision, but under both, her arousal pulsed stronger with each passing moment.

Minutes later she lounged on the sofa, her fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of tea while he adjusted the log with a poker that leaned against the brick of the hearth.

"I want to talk about the notes and the case." Olivia's tone was soft and musing, not at all like the objective words she spoke.

"You've had a rough time," he said over his shoulder. "We can talk in the morning."

"No, I need to solve this damn case as fast as I can and move on with my life."

He smiled. "You're going to solve the case all by yourself?"

"You know what I mean," she snapped. "I want this experience behind me."

Her bulldog retort amused him, but he picked up her empty cup, and went to the kitchen for a beer. He retrieved one for himself and another for Olivia and when he returned, he shoved her gently into a reclining position on the sofa. Handing her a beer, he sat beside her and pulled off her shoes. He began to massage her feet.

She eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you treating me like I'll break?"

He ignored her question and worked his thumbs into the delicate flesh beneath the arch of her feet, kneading the heels and toes. Like everything else about her, her feet were small and delicate and very smooth. He felt her relax beneath his touch.

"Thanks," she murmured after a moment, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the sofa arm. He reached across her calves to take the beer from her loose fingers and set it on the end table.

Because he thought she'd fallen asleep, her words surprised him. "He terrified me," she admitted. "And then I was furious that I allowed him to terrify me."

He looked up from caressing her bare legs beneath the hem of her jeans. "Why'd you marry a man like that?"

She grimaced. "I was young and stupid and… lonely. And Bill was very charming." She reached for her drink and took a deep swallow. "He was jealous of my success from the start. I knew after six months that it wasn't going to work."

"But you stuck it out." He smiled, thinking how typical that was of her.

"Yeah, for eighteen god-awful months." She frowned. "I didn't figure he'd retaliate like that. I didn't see it coming."

His hand worked upward, massaging her legs through the denim of her jeans, feeling the muscles quiver under his touch. As she propped one arm behind her head, her sweater rode up to expose a tempting slice of bare flesh. Abruptly, he pushed her legs aside, stood up, and reached for the fireplace poker, jabbing at a log that didn't need tending.

He came back to her, but didn't sit down. "Okay, let's work on the case then."

She shook her head, pulling him down beside her. "Later," she whispered, "I've changed my mind."

He pressed his face into the warmth of her neck and shoulder, inhaled deeply, and tried to control his rising desire. "You're easy. One foot rub and you fall like – "

"Don't even say it."

Her lips against his were smooth satin, her breath warm and heady as she explored his mouth. He deepened the kiss, felt himself wanting to ravish her, and pulled back. Holding her face between his palms, he stared into those amazingly brilliant eyes, sharp with longing that matched his own. "Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked.

For answer her breath came in sweet little pants that begged him to kiss her again. His tongue invaded her mouth and his teeth nipped at her bottom lip until she moaned and pressed her body closer. Sliding his hands down her back, he pulled her shirt from her jeans and slipped his fingers around the smooth flesh of her stomach.

"Upstairs," she gasped, grabbing his hands and tugging him toward the staircase.

He was painfully hard. The rush of blood to his erection felt like hot needles as he followed her into the bedroom. He told himself he could be with her, but not be with her, satisfy her needs without the actual risk of being inside her.

Being inside her would undo him, he thought, and unleash a power he was terrified he couldn't control. An image of himself came to mind, of him slugging away at the punching bag or running frenetically until the stitch in his side doubled him over. His body felt lethal, strong and hard and completely capable of tearing Olivia apart.

She landed on him and winced as they fell onto the bed. He ran his hands carefully over the firm curve of her bottom while she tugged her fingers through his hair and took his mouth in sweet aggression. Kissing her felt like he'd come home, and if he'd been capable of such emotion, he'd have wept.

After a few moments, she jumped off him, her breathing appealingly shaky, and hurried into the bathroom. "I'll just be a minute."

Jack swallowed hard and watched her cross the room, an expectant look in her eyes, a tender smile on her lips. As distance lessened the heady scent of her, he told himself to leave, get away from her before it was too late. But the roar of the beast yowled in his head. Nothing mattered but his need to have her. The rush of lust rooted him to the bed.

When the bathroom door opened, the light reflected behind her, and a calm, confident look shone on her face. She was his. She'd always belonged to him. He reached for her and shouted down the roar of the beast.

Their lovemaking was nothing like the very first time of heated groping and inept earnestness. Back then Jack's touch had been unsure, but sweet and gentle on her frightened body. This time, clearly an experienced lover, he knew all the right places to kiss and caress. His body was hard against the softness of her flesh and the urgency of their last encounter vanished in the tenderness of the moment.

She felt herself riding a wave of arousal that comforted her, enveloped her in a cocoon of security and solace. He knew exactly the kind of loving she needed to banish the ugly memory of Bill's touch. Jack's long, dark fingers grazed the bruises on her thighs and the scrapes on her knees. He kissed the abrasion on her hip where she'd landed hard on the pavement. She quivered when his mouth moved gently across her stomach.

As his lips moved lower and his tongue swirled around her navel and then trailed a moist fire down to the juncture of her thighs, she shuddered with hot need and lost all desire for caution. She arched urgently against him when his fingers entered her and one hand caressed her breasts until she cried out in the exquisite sensation of pleasure and pain. The first wave of climax pounded over her helpless body.

"Inside me," she groaned, feeling herself peak again as he continued to assault her senses with his beautifully carved mouth, his clever sculpted hands. "I need you inside me. Now!"

He entered her slowly, agonizingly. When he held back as if she'd break, she urged him on. "I'm not fragile," she growled into his ear and thrust her hips hard to increase the rhythm. Unloosening himself, he pounded into her, face buried in her hair, at last meeting her ardor with his own.

"Oh God," she moaned as a wave of unbearable pleasure rose to a peak and took her over the edge in another shuddering climax.

He emptied himself into her with a final violent thrust and then collapsed on her, his heart thundering against her breasts, his body slick with sweat.

After a moment, he rolled off her and lay quietly while their damp bodies cooled. He linked his fingers with hers and stared up at the ceiling. "Did I hurt you?" he asked at last.

She turned on her side to peer at his dark, almost angry face. "No! No, of course you didn't hurt me. Why would you ask such a thing?" She gripped his jaw and turned his face toward her. "What's going on, Jack? Why are you afraid to be with me?"