First Debt
Page 25I splayed my hands, mocking him. “You said you’d do anything I asked.”
He chuckled softly. “I said something worthwhile.”
“Kissing me isn’t worthwhile?”
His gaze latched onto mine. A second ticked past. Another.
Then he lost his icy shell. “What the fuck do you want from me, Nila?”
My heart stopped.
Nila.
He’d called me Nila.
I’d won. I’d somehow made him say my name.
My heart winged just as surely as my core flickered with desire.
Say it again.
Let me hear the bliss of winning.
Jethro’s eyes widened, noticing his slip, then furious temper etched his face. He stormed forward, threading his fingers around my throat. The smooth edges of his control were now jagged with temper.
I backed up until the bed stopped my escape. Jethro followed, his fingers tightening around my neck. “Tell me, goddammit. What the fuck are you trying to do?”
My heart hurt at the indecipherable expression in his gaze. He hid himself so well. The brief flashes of truth I’d gleaned didn’t add up. I was fishing for something that didn’t exist.
It does exist. Keep pushing.
My eyes were heavy, body pulsing with rapidly building lust. “I just want….”
There was no point to this argument. It was over before it began.
“I need…”
To know you are capable of caring, just a little.
For you to want me, just a little.
For you to find something inside me that prevents you from killing me.
It was like wishing for Pegasus to fly in and whisk me away. I wouldn’t get anything I wished for. Whatever I felt for Jethro was misplaced, ill-advised, and false. I’d seen him hunt me. I’d seen his cold enjoyment of talking about taking my life. Everything else that I thought I’d seen had been a lie.
He breathed hard, his scent of woods and leather surrounding me.
My hands flew up to hold his, trying to pry his fingers off. “Just…forget it. Let me go. Forget I was stupid enough to say anything.”
Jethro dropped his hands, pacing away. “Forget it? You’re the one bringing it up. Time and time again, you bring it up. I’m fucking sick of you asking me to kiss you.” Dragging a hand through his hair, he added, “You’re the one ruining the agreement between us.”
“What agreement?”
“The debts, Ms. Weaver! That’s all we’re meant to do. I don’t care about your wellbeing or emotional satisfaction. Sex between us is meant to be a punishment, yet you keep making it seem like a reward. A fucking delicious reward.”
His jaw clenched at another slip, his features blackening. “You ruined a straight-forward obligation by trying to fucking kiss me in that coffee shop! This is all your fault. If you’d just been fucking petrified of me, then this would’ve been easy!”
My head shot up. Jethro was close to losing it. His eloquence became littered with curses.
Jethro exploded. “It would’ve been better than me fighting a fucking battle every damn day with how much I want to fuck you!”
My heart swooped, nipples pebbling with the tormented need in his voice.
“Don’t you think I have the same problem? How can I live with the knowledge that I hate you, that you’re my future killer, yet I can’t stop my body from craving you? Don’t you think I hate the fact that you make me wet against my wishes?”
Shit, I shouldn’t have said that.
Jethro froze, panting hard.
The silence was deafening.
Sighing, I tugged my plait. “Look, I tried to kiss you that night in the coffee shop because for the first time in my life, my father gave me freedom. Can I help it I found you attractive? We’re suffering the same pain. Our bodies want what the mind knows it shouldn’t. It’s the law of chemistry, and I refuse to let you put this disaster on me. You’re the one who stole me. You’re the one in control of my fate. If this is anyone’s fault—it’s yours!”
The atmosphere changed, shedding its brittle battle for heavy heat and intoxication.
His lips twitched. “You found me attractive?”
God, he was so obtuse.
I couldn’t stop the insane laugh bubbling from my mouth. “Do you honestly think I would’ve sucked you in the forest? Do you think I would’ve writhed on someone else’s fingers the way I did yours? I’m sexually starving but I’m not so desperate to allow someone to touch me unless I want them to!”
I clamped a hand over my lips. Shit. Another thing I hadn’t meant to say. That was a lie I was hiding unsuccessfully, even from myself. Sex with Jethro was supposed to be a weapon. Whenever I thought of him touching me, it was to win—not to give in to my overpowering urges.
I wanted to take from him. Not enjoy what he’d give me.
Jethro prowled closer, pinning me against the pole of the four-poster bed. His body heat sparked hot and dangerously close to mine. His hands opened and closed at his side. So close. So temptingly close.
“This is getting interesting, Ms. Weaver. You mean to tell me you want my cock? You want me to…fuck you?”
My stomach twisted. Wetness built in my core as the argument switched from exposing his weaknesses to exposing mine.
I bit my lip, refusing to answer.
He smirked, his eyes dropping to my mouth. His lips parted as his breathing turned heavy and ragged. “Tell me what you want from me. You have my undivided attention.”
All the frustration from dealing with Kite came back. Despite the crudeness of our sexting, I missed messaging. Talking dirty fanned the need inside, amplifying the sexual burn. I had no reprieve from living an endless torture with a man who meant to kill me. A man my body wanted more than anything. A man who gave me the gift of pleasure—who would always be wrapped up in some twisted way in my soul.
I embraced the heat of anger, glaring into Jethro’s golden eyes.
Don’t do this.
You’ll get hurt. Terribly hurt.
I couldn’t stop myself.
“I told you what I want. Kiss me.” My arms swooped up, looping around his neck.
He reared back, breaking my hold. His chest rose and fell as he breathed hard. His eyes were almost black with need. Need I was sure reflected in mine. “Stop asking that, damn you.” He snapped, “Why would I stoop to kissing you? A kiss is emotion. A kiss is a weakness.” Placing his hands on either side of me, he grabbed the post and murmured, “I’ve told you time and time again; a kiss is not something you’ll get from me.”
I moved forward, pressing my chest against his until he broke away. He stepped backward; it was my turn to stalk him for a change. “A kiss is nothing. What are you so afraid of?”
What am I doing?
What were we doing?
Rules were being broken. Houses were being betrayed.
All I cared about was Jethro’s lips on mine.
He dodged my grasp, then forced himself to stand tall and unmovable. I pressed myself against him, looking up into his gaze. His lips were so close. My heart fluttered like a dying hummingbird, my stomach twisted. So…close.
I couldn’t move.
Jethro didn’t shift back, he stood there, his hips flush against mine. Suddenly, his hands came up, grabbing my waist, holding me in place.
We didn’t speak, only breathed. The truth crackled around us. We knew how dangerous this fight was, how frayed our self-control had become.
We’d been dancing this tango for weeks, and the electricity between us was a lightning storm threatening to incinerate everything in its path.
“Stop. Stop playing me. What did you hope to achieve? That I’d kiss you? Fuck you? Come to care for you? That I’d fall in love with you.” Jethro dropped his voice to a whisper. “That I wouldn’t kill you?” He shook his head. “You’re still as clueless and naïve as the day I stole you.”
You don’t believe that.
“Prove it.”
His nostrils flared. “I will not.”
Cocking my chin, I anchored myself in as much courage as possible. “Prove it, Jethro. Prove how cold you are by giving me something I desperately need.”
I need to see there is hope. Just a small shred of hope.
“What makes you think I can be manipulated? I don’t care about your needs or desires.”
“Liar,” I whispered. “You do care. Otherwise, you wouldn't still be here. You wouldn’t be fighting this.” I rested my hands on his chest, digging my fingernails into his t-shirt. “You would’ve struck me and left if you were anything like you portray.”
I stood on my tiptoes, reaching for his mouth. “I told you, you’re a hypocrite.”
He paused, calculation dark in his eyes. “One kiss?”
I nodded. “One kiss.”
Jethro's control broke. “Just one fucking kiss? Don’t you know what you’re asking from me? I don’t want to fucking kiss you!”
My heart broke. Was I so repulsive he didn’t want his lips anywhere on mine?
I withered in his gaze, falling back to my position of Weaver Whore. But then, I stopped. This was the only time I might get him this undone, this close to snapping. It might be my only hope.
Glaring, I snarled, “Kiss me. Give me one fracture of human company, and I’ll never say another word to you again. I’ll be whatever you want. Just kiss me!”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re an idiot.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“I don’t want to kiss you!”
I lashed out. My arms came up. I opened my palm. And I slapped the self-righteous, egotistical arsehole on the cheek.
The moment went from lust-heavy to stagnant with violence. We stared, caught dead centre in war.
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he snapped.
“You’re ruining my life.”
“Kiss me.”
“You’re—”
“Kiss me, Jethro. Kiss me. Just fucking kiss me and give me—”
His body crashed against mine. His hands flew up, grabbing my cheeks and holding me firm. His lips, oh his lips, they bruised mine as his head tilted, and with pure anger, he gave me what I’d wanted for weeks.
He kissed me.
My lungs were empty—he’d stolen all my air, but I no longer survived on oxygen. I survived on his mouth, his taste, his unbridled energy pouring down my throat.
His tongue tore past my lips, taking me savage and hungry. There was nothing sweet or gentle. This was a punishment. A reminder that I hadn’t won. He wasn’t kissing me. He was fighting me in every underhanded way.
His hands dropped from my cheeks, cupping my breasts. The violence in his touch throbbed instantly. I arched my back, opening my mouth wider to scream, but he swallowed my cries, kissing me deeper, harder, stealing every inch of sanity I had left.
I thought a kiss would put me on even ground—show him that he did care. That he was human—just like me. I hadn’t gambled on being detonated into a billion tiny pieces that had no notion of who I’d been before he’d stolen my soul.
He backed me up, faster and faster to the bed. His breath saturated my lungs. His touch skated from my cheeks, to my breasts, to my waist, to my arse. Jerking me hard against the huge length of arousal in his jeans.
The bed stopped our motion, tumbling us onto the sheets, but nothing, absolutely nothing could unweld our lips.
We were joined, kissing, frantic, desperate.
He groaned as I slid my hands beneath his t-shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine.
He was blood and fire and heat.
So different to the glacier he pretended to be.
“Fuck,” he grunted as my fingers drifted to his buckle. I thanked my past of making countless pairs of trousers as I ripped through the barrier and dived into his boxer-briefs with eager fingers.
His teeth clamped around my bottom lip as I stroked him. The faint taste of metallic smeared between us as our kiss turned into pure violence.
My vision went black, seeing only white sparks and sensation.
Jethro’s hands suddenly went to my waist, rolling off me to shove up my dress and tear my knickers from my hips. He shoved them desperately down my legs.
The world spun faster and faster as we discarded every item in our way and left the rest. Our lips never unglued; our heads twisted and turned as our tongues slipped and glided.
Moans and groans echoed in my ears, but I didn’t know who made them. Fingers bruised my skin, nails scratched my flesh, and our souls grew teeth—snapping and tearing, trying to consume the other before it was too late.
We were furious.
We were wild.
We were completely delirious with lust.
Jethro grabbed my hip, planting me hard against the mattress. My inner thighs tickled with wetness of all-consuming desire. I’d never been so wet. Never been so slick and dying to be taken.
His hand disappeared between my legs, wedging his naked hips between them. The moment he found how much I wanted him, he groaned. “You—fuck—I—”
My heart winged at his incoherency. I loved that he’d given up, given in. Stabbing my fingernails into his lower back, I panted, “Don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.”